jeffrey + upstairsloft

It’s miniscule, seemingly insignificant, but a tad interesting. 3 pocket-sized moleskines and 2 moleskine weekly planners later, I made the switch. You know how when your pen dries and you spend about an hour or two browsing between different stationary stores to buy a new pen, and when you do, you feel refreshed and inspired to write, draw or sketch? Well, okay. That was me today.

Last year, Kate bought me a handmade, leather journal in East Village, NYC. I intended to use that after i fill up the one I just finished. Ehh. Wrong. I don’t feel ready to use it. It feels too special. Kate bought it for me for our anniversary, it’s from my favorite city from my favorite vacation and I just don’t want to uglify it until I feel ready to lay a single dot of ink on it.

So I bought one to use before I use that. Leather-bound. I spent a good half hour christening it—customizing it. I cut out a little window from the cover to expose the first page, which reveals my name. I dug through my trash can in Milpitas for something cool and found a disposed test inkjet printer sheet somebody at home must have printed out, and I sliced it up, taped it down and collaged it with cutouts of my business card so it has my name and number. That marks the spot of my new journal.

I love journals and sketchbooks. I’ve always been fascinated with how paper, walls, napkins and all that stuff can be filled up with thoughts, drawings, ink, nonsense or whatever. I’m shit at drawing and I always will be but I have an appreciation for empty pages and filled pages, noise and silence.

You know that scene in Se7en when they rummage through John Doe’s pad and they flip through all his journals? Oh! And the the addition of showing his journals in an already beautiful title sequence. My eyes were glued to the screen when I saw that. I’m a true nerd for this shit.

That marks my spring break. It’s seemingly insignificant, but to me it means the world. The last journal I started, my lola passed. Then my uncle passed. I hit several walls. Life is full of these kind of markers. The greeks (right?) gave us 365 days a year. Ancient China gave us a twelve-year cycle. Schools gave us quarters and semesters. Well I give myself journals. Today is a new year.

>>> upstairsloft.com

Just got back from Dallas for the DSVC conference. Met cool people. So tired. Tons of work. Spring Break in one week. I will dedicate more than half of that to get started on my senior book. I love design. Geez, I love design.

Excerpted from the moleskine.
It’s 630am and I’m far from losing my mind from a need of a slumber, but I need to admit and get this down on paper. I am fucking crazy. No doubt. I have deeply-rooted mental issues and those closest to me are sometimes convinced of it. Sometimes I convince myself of being institutionally retarded; Kate witnesses this when I crack for no apparent reason. No harm is done, I just, over-think and I crack for a couple of moments. I eventually nap it off.

I do, however, counter this thought when I realize how much better of a design-thinker I am shaping up to be. I lack so many cognitive skills. My math skills are inexplicably horrible, my ability to pay attention in anything I don’t relate to design is stupid. For some odd reason, Frank Miller’s 300 is a new story to me. Kate reminded me that we took a class last summer that went over the Spartans and Persians. All I could say at the moment was, “What the fuck?! There were Persians?! Aren’t the Spartans supposed to be fighting the Trojans or Athenians?” No lie.

There are a few major history lessons I missed out on as a kid (apparently as an adult,too). What I was doing and what I was thinking is beyond my grasp, but I can tell you I was in class—just not mentally.

My energy to pay attention was always directed elsewhere, so of course I’m not just a sitting vegetable. Lately, in the last year or two, my inability to focus has been strongly directed to relating ideas, concepts, thoughts, experiences to design. I’m obsessed.

Sometimes it causes me to forget how to carry on a conversation with people if it doesn’t involve design. What ends up happening is I talk about music, old school cartoons, Avatar, potty humor or a recent favorite of mine, The Office.

The point is, I am a retardedly bright individual and I am coming to terms with this.

This whole early daylight savings time is throwing me off. Late sunsets suck. I am a vampire. Also, the heat is kicking in. Kate and I went around to do some quick errands and guys found an excuse to wear their wifebeaters, as did girls with their hooch-wear. Shorts shouldn’t be that short. Stretch marks are clever things; they will make its way in creative places. It’s best not to show them off.

For some odd reason, it was a good day to run a Lindsey Lohan marathon, despite how much lack of respect I have for her as a person. Parent Trap, Mean Girls, Freaky Friday, Just My Luck (then I threw a curve ball with The Devil Wears Prada). They’re good movies. Shut up.

I haven’t felt inspired to photograph in over half a year. I know it’s just a phase. What really inspires me to photograph is just experiencing life openly—wandering around and just absorbing subtle surprises in life like unexpected moments from people doing funny things, to textures that strike me as interesting. I just haven’t felt that passion and inspiration to go out and photograph. Lately, it’s been more like a task.

There’s nothing wrong with it. When the time comes, I will be ready to take my cameras for a walk. It was never a skill I possessed, really. Many of the pictures I’ve taken were intuitively shot and just relying on sensibility to cool-looking things and experiences. Basically, I’m just not feeling fresh and inspired and I feel (keyword: feel) that I have covered a lot of ground. I know this is untrue and the ground is endless, but I just feel there is not much for me to explore right now. My focus is elsewhere.

But. With my disconnection to photography comes my re-connection to playing the guitar. It’s become a renewed connection and enjoyment. I just zone out, play sounds, create textures, adjust knobs, experiment with chord progressions, and vary light and heavy strumming. I really never played songs after my first two years out of college and I’ve been playing it since the end of my sophomore year.

But this reconnected enjoyment of mine is delightful and I would love to just sit around and experiment with tone, texture and sound for hours and fuck around with anybody willing to produce this shit with me. It’s meditation.

Everything in my life is very weaved into my design life and it’s more than important that I keep inspired whether through living precariously to let random “aha!” moments come to me, or grabbing those “aha!” moments myself.

My ideal work schedule:
Work/design 10pm-7am. Tea/coffee breaks every 2 hours. Nap at 11am. Wake up at 4pm.

I’d have to be in a city that never sleeps—a city with a Gray’s Papaya and 24/7 trains. A city for a kid who dreads sunlight. Sunlight fogs my brain. I can’t think straight when it’s too bright. I doubt studios regularly operate with those hours anyhow. Keep dreaming, Jeff.

I feel much more alive when I am zombified. I feel much more alive when I am productive. These are times when I truly feel creative and rich of ideas—much like Jimmy Page on acid when he’s writing some truly amazing shit. Yeah, it’s that; minus the drugs. I feel high when I am not fully conscious and when I refuse to let my mind rest. I’m not enjoying myself when I am attuned to everything. I prefer thinking, visualizing, experiencing the abstract concepts of anything and everything around me.

When I am zombified, I think of things in the inside, the outside, the side, in diagonals, inverted, exploded. I miss these highs. I used to feel like this when I created some truly unique guitar sounds when I experimented with pedals, knobs, tone and volume. I know I sound like I’m on something but it’s seriously just writing and thinking and refusing to let my mind rest. I haven’t felt this good since last semester. I’d adopt those lack-of-sleep habits in an instant if it didn’t tear me up every last two weeks before school ends.

Daytime sucks anyhow. I’ve always been a vampire.

Kate and I decided to get away and spend a night in San Francisco, in a flea bag motel, 1.5 hours away from Sac and it’s awesome.