New Year Thoughts

These past days I've been sitting around reading or thrifting or playing with my kid cousins or reading or watching movies and when I get a chance to express myself all I can think is how much I'm going to get done, and what I'm going to get done, in 2013. And it's not like, "oh here is my new years resolutions" it's more like "PREPARE FOR WAR, 2013, CAUSE 2014 IS GOIN DOWN" I don't know whether it's like building the ultimate tree fort in the back yard or what, cause it definitely feels like I'm a kid in D-Z who just discovered how to sneak attack my little brother and shove my sister safely down the slides when no one was looking. It's a childish sort of victory I feel, plotting and planning my route to success... perhaps because it feels so doable, I feel so capable and so sure-footed. I am happy and excited and inspired, every day. So many of these days I say to myself, okay okay, well it's not going to last so you best enjoy it while it does. But then it keeps happening. And I'm like, shit I must be doing something fuckin right because this feels GREAT. The only thing I remember from Sunday School was when they talked about our paths that God has set in front of us, and that when bad shit starts happening, it means we're straying from our path. First of all, before any of you gets weird about anything, I was very conflicted about all that, myself. So I have spent many years returning to this idea. What is God? And who is he to choose what I will do with my life? I have come to the conclusion that while many Christians might want to believe there is a man in the sky, or some singular higher power, I don't think that's what ever was to be. I think God is the collective higher power, whatever that might be. The Universe and it's workings. That being said, since I was a child I have dreamed of being great. I have wanted to be a writer, a traveler, a model and a photographer. I have been a dreamer and desired to be nothing short of Great since I can remember. I want to make a difference, I want to help change the world, I want to see as much of our world as I can and understand as much of it as I can. I want to share beauty and pain, life and death, nature and nurture. And through this desire I have laid my path already. Through this *God* has seen fit to help me on my journey, in my passion and dedication. It is long laid and long strayed, shit has happened and people have helped me where they can. And now, having rolled in the dirt of my own stupidity and rebellion, I can say I see my path clearly. Maybe not too far down it, and certainly not straight or level... But I see it. I fuckin see it.

Cafe Thoughts

I could sit at this cafe for hours longer, even though I've been here for hours and I am frustrated with how much I have to do and how little I really have gotten done. I look at this list and it doesn't seem so hard, yet I sit here and I find it difficult... I suppose when you've let things get quite out of hand it takes a long time to sort it all out and put everything in place. I almost said "back" in place, but I don't think it was ever quite right. Indeed, I've thrived in being chaotic. I've wanted to disrupt, destroy, upset the balance- and grin, standing in the middle of it all. But I don't desire that anymore. I want to pick it all up, examine every piece and place it neatly where it belongs. I don't mind taking my time. I want to know every part of my world that I've created and built and collected. I want those entering my world to not be wild eyed and crazed, excited to see what I will do to lead them into some insane adventure- but to enter confident and comforted and powerful, building on creativity and inspiration. I want to be a muse in every way, to help people find their strength, art, love, passion. I want to save the world of mediocracy.

An Amazing Day with Horses (and Cameras)

And yes, it's quarter after seven at night and I'm about ready to hit the sack. That's what happens when you get up at three am to go to the track in order to help with the daily runs (and walks of the sick) race horses. It's freezing cold and the sun wont be up for hours but most people there are happy to be - I am not the only one enchanted by these animals. Though that isn't what brings all these people here. If not love of horses, then love of being a jockey- or, simply the love of the gamble and thrill. Though I don't think many of those people are at the stables at 4am.

R was thrilled when I actually got up in the morning to go with him, I think he doubted how much I really do love horses. It's a childish love, one that I was rarely indulged growing up (though my grandmparents did take us to ride a few times on trails where you could pay $20 for an hour, at your own risk). I shake with excitement whenever I'm around them, truly believing that horses are a part of the perfect existence.

I told R that I would be happy to brush horses, I love them so. He says, "They say what's good for the inside of a man, is good for the outside of a horse."

In my mind, dogs might be man's best friend but horses are a link to something spiritual. When you ride a horse, you're becoming part of them, moving with them, feeling with them. The are extremely empathetic and obviously ridiculously large and strong. I have never felt the overwhelming thrill and accomplishment like I have with moments of experience with a horse.

Today I sat bareback on a horse again. I was lead, like I was last time, but still, I sat. I got up via the fence and getting down R asks if I want the fence or if I can jump down myself. Pff, of course I can.

When I was about 12 I went riding with my sister and grandfather, in a group that was lead for the first half of the hour and the second half you could roam the trails on your own, though you were supposed to stay in pairs. Of course, I didn't. We got pretty deep into the woods and then turned back towards the barn, where the horse knew we were headed back and started going fast. Grinning, I held on, bent over it's neck while it jumped a log and ducking under branches. I had no business doing these things, but had no concept of what I was doing- just that it was fun. We came up on the stables pretty quickly and I was scolded for not letting the horse cool down and made to turn around and do it right.

Now I am older and have more concept that I can be hurt, but not enough to keep me from loving all up on as many horses as I can get around. My hands tremble with nerves every time I am around them, though how much of that is fear and how much excitement, I have no idea.

Afterwards we had a great shoot, to top it off. Naturally, I had my camera with me all day.

Silent Goodbye

I thought of you yesterday, while I took down my show. You're there, in everything that I printed. It felt like celebrating you, it felt like celebrating us- or what I thought we were. I pulled the photos off the walls and said goodbye, to the person I was the day before, to the person I was last year. To the person I was a minute ago, even. I said goodbye to you, looking in your eyes as I peeled you away and I apologized to you, silently, for all the things I did wrong. I forgave both myself and you for our mistakes. I didn't even bother to think about them all, or point fingers. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I let you go, and I forgive myself. That I move forward with the person I want to be.

I spent a lot of time thinking you were the best thing I'd ever found, the most amazing person in the world - that if I couldn't keep you in my life, I wasn't anything. Something in me put you on a pedestal, above me, above everything. I was wrong. Not that you aren't amazing, but that I am any less amazing. I told you once that I will love you forever, and I will. I told you that I wanted you in my life always, and you will be- even if we don't talk. You are a sister to me, a heart sister. My soul will always recognize you as the lovely being you are. I will cary you within my work, a part of me, a part of my experiences.

Sea Hair

directed by me, shot by Ed Ross

I brought the Pacific back east in my hair, the salt and sand still clinging to me. I've resisted taking a shower, the ocean is with me.

Ahhh, there's some sort of poetry in there somewhere, in my head, in the sea. I am a creature, a sea creature and a horse whisperer. It is love, love that they respond to. That and confidence. God, the feeling of triumph I still feel over not falling off of that horse. Naked, bareback, no reigns. He tested me and I passed with flying colors. Fistfulls of mane. Wild. Shaking with excitement and fear, I passed.

And I swam in the ocean. I slept under the redwoods in my hammock. I rode (and crashed) a mini dirtbike. I acted in a short film. I saw spirits. I photographed my best friend, making amazing polaroids for my show, which are nude and I'm not allowed to put nude images in said show, but I will find a way to make them let me.

"you're already a butterfly," she said to me with a small pained smile, "I'm still in my cocoon, trying to scratch my way out."

Maybe she's right. Maybe I've finally found myself. I feel full and beautiful and excited. I feel this love in my heart and I want to share it.

I instantly choke myself up, feeling these feelings. I'm such a baby.

Tears, tears are like ocean water. What an amazing thing. I can taste it, in my dirty hair.

I found crab shells on the beach. I saw this dark sand.

"Why is the sand sparkly?" I asked

"It's oil," She said.

Her red hair and pale skin feels foreign to my eyes. I am tan and I feel wild. Wild in a good way. Freedom is a state of being, I realize. Freedom is in your mind. I am more free than ever. Fly with me.

Fly with me...

Baby Blanket Woes

When I was about five, my aunt gave both my sister and I a quilt that she spent a couple years sewing by hand. Since I can remember, it's been my most favorite possession, granting me comfort not unlike that of a mother's hug.

At 26, this hasn't changed. I travel with this blanket, I sleep with it. I went about five or six months once, where I didn't, because I said to myself Meagan, you're being stupid, you don't need to bring your blanket. And then I regretted it. It's my sense of home. It might seem silly to most of you (though I bet not to some of the other traveling models who are constantly on the road) but to me, there is very little that is consistent and comforting to me.

But, it is in great need of repair. I asked my aunt to fix it and she said she might have to replace the whole back panel and I said no, that couldn't be done. That is the most important part. Though a third of it has slowly ripped off (I have the pieces). It is very important to me to keep it as close to perfectly the way it is as possible, but without continuing to rip!

I am not, mind you, asking for advice. I am merely expressing my stress over the matter.

So much pain has gone into this blanket, yet it somehow just absorbs it all and gives back love. Some sort of wild magick, I tell you!

June is my Birthday Month

It's my birthday month. Yes, month.

It's funny, for my 18th birthday I came to NYC. Now, for my 26th birthday, I want to go to Watertown, to hang out with the rafters. The town I graduated highschool from. The town I spent the three years I lived there, dying to get out.

I have a crush on a raft guide. That helps. 

I don't really have much to say I guess. I feel like I need to express myself somehow but it's not coming to me at the moment.

In other news, I'm almost out of film. Any of my friends out there who would like to get me a birthday gift, film is all I want. Color. 800. 35mm. Anything, though, really. I prefer Portra but I literally will take and shoot anything. I love all film.

Welcome Home

Last weekend, I went whitewater rafting up just outside of Watertown NY. My twin sister's ex boyfriend invited me to go and I said, shit, sure, why not. I think it was his way of getting at Melody but I didn't care, I just really wanted to go camping. Him and his group picked me up from the Syracuse train station in a rented RV. That should have been my first clue. But this isn't a story about them, it's a story about me. 

Originally, I wasn't going rafting because it was too expensive. We rolled into our campsite just at dusk and I immediately strung up my two hammocks. One of the guys says, you know, you can sleep in the RV. I told him, again, that I WANTED to sleep in my hammock, very badly in fact. I started a fire and we all drank jungle juice. I have nothing in common with them, or so it would seem, but I'm in heaven because I've got my hammock and a fire and the woods and the water, so I'm set. In the morning Matt insists on buying me a seat on their raft, even though I told him I didn't mind not going, though I'd be happy to go. I'm so happy he insisted I went! 

The girls were all nervous, but I wasn't. I wasn't afraid at all, I had no butterflies or anything. I was just excited. I felt like a kid going to an amusement park. And to top it off their was this cute boy who took one of our waterguns and was fuckin around and how could this day not go well? We gear up, hop on a purple bus and off we go. 

I've never had more fun in my life. My muscles burned and the rapids were high, I loved the feeling of riding out this wild ride, watching the rushing water advance. It was exhilarating and mathematical and magical all at the same time. 

When it was over I think I was the happiest I've ever been. I was like rubber and goo, my body so well used by the river. I'm in love. I was high off of it, walking around with all this mysterious energy, I couldn't sit still. And I wanted to see the cute boy again. He had been in the safety boat, a kayak, and was zooming all over the river and it looked like so much fun. Him and our guide ate dinner with us and Matt and I went for a big beer run. Later we had a party at our campsite with a bunch of the guides and guide trainees. In the morning I told Matt I was going to stay and have Kaylee, a guide trainee that I made friends with, take me to my mothers. It was a lie, and I don't really know why I told it. 

I spent the majority of the day walking around, lugging wood and being generally active, mostly because I wanted to feel the ache of my body from rafting the day before. I felt so alive and healthy and happy. I wanted to cry and laugh and bounce and shout to everyone about how amazing I felt and how life changing this experience was for me but there was no one to talk to. I was currently not talking to my sister or my best friend, and all the guides were on the water. But when Chris came back to his camp, there I was in my hammock, strung up between his tent and his amazing garden. 

Later, when we were packing up his truck to leave (he had to be to his weekday job in a town a couple hours away) I desperately did not want to leave. Then when we got into town it was like entering a foreign world, normal people doing normal things, just a few miles away from a place so magical as the camp. I mean magical. These guys that guide, they're all amazing people. The light in all of them is bright, they care, they love, and they are happy. One thing they all have in common, and that's their absolute love for the water. Which is cool by me, cause I do too! The camp is a small maze of trees and grass and tents, tarps, and random decorations. Beer and weed and laughter. I didn't want to leave. 

But I also didn't want to get turned away from my mother's house. She told me, while I'm standing helplessly in the door of Chris' truck, that she's got some bug problem and I couldn't stay there, there was nowhere for me to stay, even. She had thrown out her mattress and slept on the pullout couch. I was devastated. 

There's one thing to say you are homeless, a vagabond, a gypsy... That you carry your home with you, in your heart, and have no stupid ties like rent and furnature. It's a whole other thing when your mother tells you that you can't come home. 

So, my cute boy, he does the only thing there is to do: brings me back to camp. By that time it's night and he has a ways to go. There's no one at camp, and as far as I know the only people staying there is a couple. The rafting is only on weekends still for a few more weeks, so the weekdays are very quiet. When Chris drove away after leaving me at his camp, I felt heartbroken. I felt like an invader to this world I didn't belong, an unwelcomed guest. So I sulked sitting on his deck and drank a beer and smoked cigarettes and did a lot of sulking. Then had another beer and more sulking listening to a group of happy and laughing voices on the other side of camp, who had come back (I assume) from a beer run. Sulk sulk. Then I stood up, paced a lot, trying to get up, what? The courage? To go over and join them. I guess part of me was waiting for someone to fucking come hold my hand and invite me, but I realized how stupid I was being and these people are accepting and open and you already have a fucking invitation so stop being a baby and go over there and have fun! 

So I did. And I explained in short, why I was there. 

This one guy, also named Chris, who's camp we were at, he's got curly blond hair all around his ears, under a cap and he's always smiling and smoking weed, which is exactly what he was doing then. 

He says, "well then... Welcome Home." 

I will hold that moment, that specific feeling of belonging and comradery, in my heart for the rest of my life. 

Whitewater Rafting

is my new favorite thing to do. I've never felt better than after I was thrown about by the river, playing in it like never before. I can't wait to raft more, take pictures, learn to kayak, hike, get awful tan lines.

I'm starting to think that I really do want to do everything the world has to offer me. What if I could shoot fashion, erotica, documentary, sports, music, dance. What if I just did everything, and found fun ways to do it. I certainly have no desire to sit on the sidelines and photograph football or baseball, but I definitely want to photograph people doing more extreme sports.

Bring it on, universe, I'm fucking ready.

Livejournal

So I am sitting here going through my old yahoo email and deleting junk and checking out other old shit, and I go to Livejournal for some reason and I can't remember my username, so I find it in my email and plug it in. It's been deleted and purged. Part of me is relieved, the other part very disapointed. I've meant to save every page of that journal for years now. It was silly and I was really young and stupid but it was my teenager self, and I updated a lot.

I'm always fearing forgetting things. Forgetting when and where and how. The mind has the power to warp things but if you log everything, then you can be reminded of how it really went.