going back to santa cruz

LAST night i dreamt i was on a bus to santa cruz. i was admitted to university of california, santa cruz in 2009 and enrolled in the winter of 2010 as a transfer student. what i didn’t know was my life would be forever changed by this decision and the pandora’s box it opened and continues to open to this day. every time i moved back to this town shit would hit the fan, and several problems erupted. the harsh beauty of the place ignited one problem after the next. not enough money to live there, not smart enough to study there, all against the backdrop of the bay or wintry winds and rain of the season. my divorce was ignited there, my sister went crazy while i was there, i attempted to finish school there twice and failed greatly yet i still want to go back. maybe i love drama and conflict. maybe i am spoiled and want to be among the beauty and scenery and crazy characters that is santa cruz. i just heard that the film “us” takes place in my achille’s heel, although most of it was filmed in los angeles, and the house was filmed in pasadena. in any event, i love that the city to date has only approved of filming horror movies, the last and only one being “the lost boys” back in the 80s. i met a descendant of george washington there, i met my crazy ex roommate who has peter pan syndrome there, i lived there with artists and musicians and drug dealers. i want to create a new story with this backdrop. i want to live there and thrive. i don’t want to merely speculate and watch what goes on around me, i want to be immersed in the culture and people. i can’t do that here in the suburbs of la. i’ve said before that i believe the internal reflects the external. no matter where i go, problems will follow, maybe in different forms, but they will still be there. since i do live with family, and the backdrop here is plain and boring, i could build a better foundation, try to become the person i want to be and allow the details of going back to santa cruz, if that is what fate allows, to unfold and fall into place on their own. i don’t want to be distracted by memories and the should or could haves. there are many things i should and could have done. i should have stayed in school, said fuck you to my ex husband and let him leave. i had no support up there, my only support is here and only because i am here. i need to be my own support system. lost in an identity crisis or not, my niche is definitely the different that resides in the northern beach town by the bay.

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you become what you behold

MAYBE i am supposed to be an actor. i have no unique way to identify myself at all. if people ask about me i talk about my family, and what interests them. my family is filled with singers, actors, artists, alcoholics, mathematical geniuses, a prodigy, a laywer, a doctor, a priest, two lottery winners, etc. sure i dabbled in painting and drawing but i suck at both. i haven’t mastered any medium to be able to deviate from it and just have fun with it. everything is a chore. and where ever i go i just copy those around me. what the hell is wrong with me? i’ve blamed being married so young on this problem. i never developed my own personality or interests. instead i did what interested my then husband and took on a lot of his personality. instead i developed mental illness like bipolar, depression, anxiety. life feels so clouded, i feel like my point of view just rots everything it comes in contact with. that’s not true entirely, but it feels that way sometimes. on the other hand, i get blessed with incredibly good luck at times. i come in contact with great, interesting people and artists. i can easily get a job. i live in a comfortable home in a quaint town near the foothills of san gabriel valley. it’s mostly always sunny here. i have many things to be grateful for. if life really is what we make it i am too damn lazy to do anything with it. i already want to give up going to the gym. i feel like this weight just doesn’t want to go anywhere. it’s when i am actually living, on my own that i lose any weight. maybe i am not pushing myself hard enough. when i lived in missouri i often heard the phrase, “you become what you behold.” the international house of prayer had it’s own language that linguists or anthropologists would have a field day studying or researching. anyway, this idea was said in the context of prayer, facing G-d daily and becoming like him. this was my identity when i was 15-16. i was a hardcore christian, interceding and praying for my family, friends, students, cities. i was more spiritual than religious. anyway, that spiritual side in me still resides in me somewhere. my mom is spiritual and an actress. i do not want to become my mother. i am a painter, an artist. even if i am a shitty one. it’s the process that i enjoy the most. and seeing what paint can do, you really can create smaller worlds or stories in just one brush stroke. when my mind cracked a year ago today (i’m still not over the experience), one major thing i experienced during and after the episode was everything i said or came out of my mouth rhymed. it was as though i was possessed by the god of poetry, or a muse. i’m beholding myself too much so it’s become chaos. too much isolation…

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this post sucks, don’t read it.

ON march 24, 2018 i went crazy. i hung out with this guy, we walked around china town in dtla, had tea, and i was falling in love. the way he looked, the way he talked, what he talked about, i loved it all. he just wanted to get laid. and in retrospect, there was some things i didn’t like about him and in retrospect, why didn’t i just sleep with him. anyway, when he dropped me off at home i didn’t sleep all night and it was down the rabbit hole. i went to a nearby liquor store waiting for him to pick me up, and instead cops came and took me away as a 51-50. most of it is a blur now but i was decapitated at one point, moved things with my mind, kept shouting out for some man i’m obsessed with, thought the world was ending, was part of an underground movement at the hospital, zombies existed and so on. what a crazy experience and one i hope to never experience again. i recently found a packet they gave me, the er gives you an information sheet on the diagnosis for your visit, and mine was “brief psychotic episode.” a part of me wants to believe i could really move things with my mind, that there are ways to defy the laws of gravity and that we merely restrict ourselves with limited thinking and repetition of belief passed down from our ancestral genetics. my brain de-compartmentalized, fell apart, and everything i’ve experienced, collapsed into this ambiguous, strange trip. i feel burned out, sad. my job feels overwhelming and i feel like it shouldn’t, or doesn’t need to be. all these feelings and thoughts i’m imposing upon myself, and for no reason. it’s so easy to observe and psychoanalyze, but when you’re in the thick of it, the present moment, it feels like suffering. i feel like i’m depressed, heavy. my job is odd. one day robots will replace us all. i heard they want to tax water in the state of california. it will be air next. i miss my crazy roommate. i know there are people who have things worse. who have children to worry about and harder jobs to work. stressed out state of mind. all for money and because of capitalism. i’m so tired i can’t even think of things to write about. i checked out random criterion films, my ex husband and i used to watch films together with commentary and special features and shit so i am trying to do that again. our hobbies can become my hobbies. in the employee handbook at my new job they talk about their policies on employees having blogs and not talking about their company, etc. freedom of speech dudes. i doubt they will find this blog but if they do, oh well, so be it. i would like to publish a book one day and just live off of the residuals and not even have to work.

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sunday + half assed review of “#femalepleasure”

YOGA was rough. it’s supposed to be relaxing (or maybe not?) but the girl who leads us really likes to turn into a pretzel and put the body in a number of different positions every second, nonstop. i’m still glad i went and will continue going every sunday. it is my new church. it is a lazy sunday. i ran a few errands after yoga but once i got home, those shackles weighed down were put right back on. i don’t feel like i can do anything. i didn’t feel like going to yoga, but i went anyway so i know it is just a state of mind. the brain can be controlled, overcome. 12 years ago, i was 20 and got married, married on saint patrick’s day. so random. i miss being married, having a companion. i also miss living in santa cruz, california. that place is crazy but i love it and will always consider it home. during yoga i thought of going back to ucsc to finish my degree, maybe i will some time in the future. i owe the school money so there’s no way i can go back soon, unless money somehow falls into my lap and i can pay off the debt. not sure my brain is ready to go back, but is anyone ever really ready for anything? i know i never feel ready. there’s always absence, room for improvement, knowing more. yesterday i saw a film called #femalepleasure, why it’s hashtagged is beyond me and should have been named “long live the vagina!” (actual quote from the film). i felt uneasy during the beginning shots of women naked, tied up, bent over, being stepped on, etc. also when an artist made a mold of her vagina and created art pieces out of it. hilarious when she made a 3D print of it, enlarged it, made a boat out of it and sailed away in her vagina. maybe because it was so beautiful outside there weren’t many people in the theatre as there were only two men and one other woman watching the film or people don’t give a shit about female pleasure. perhaps it sounded too pornographic of a title. in the film the four women focused on escaped societies where their bodies are literally mutilated (FGM) or they have been raped, harrassed or taught that their bodies are a sin to be covered up, and that they are basically just a baby making machine or objects for men. i have yet to come to terms with my own body. even when i was “thin” i was still insecure with myself. being fat just isn’t the ideal shape i want to be in. some women actually look good with more weight on them, but i shouldn’t compare myself. i just know that it’s been because i’ve lived at home, vegging out, doing nothing that i’ve gained unflattering weight. i have always felt i had a strangely shaped body, and do. but i would like to get to the point where i don’t give a shit and just love myself anyway.

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mid march madness

TODAY i feel tired and unmotivated. i went to the gym and had a good work out but i live with a bunch of energy draining vampires. as much as i love them, and need them in my life, i absolutely need independence from them. i hate that my very frame of mind is based off of escaping family ties. it has been this way since i can remember. i have always wanted to run away from home. i feel shackled and i’ve constantly tugged away, but i know i put myself back in this position, i freely locked my wrists and am struggling to set myself free again. i still don’t understand how life works. i struggle with codependent issues. i was strong in living in that room and just going to the gym each day, even using the showers at the gym to get ready for the day. life is how we design it. to whatever capacity we’re capable of doing. how funny and easy it is to spew theories and self help shit, but actually putting this shit into practice it ultimately comes down to just doing it. i went to a NAMI meeting yesterday and one girl there was my complete alter ego, the first thing she says when introducing/checking in to the group was “hello i’m here because i’m a loser and don’t have any friends” i seriously wanted to burst into laughter when she said this, the delivery of how it was said, her entire outfit, telling it like it is just amused me, i had to hold back laughter. i didn’t want to offend her or anyone by laughing out loud at a person in a place of authenticity so i kept it in. regardless of my stupid sense of humor, i’m very grateful for going to the group, and hearing everyone’s stories and how they cope with having various mental illnesses. some people are in better places than others, one underlying theme is it is a constant struggle, some days are just worse than others. i’ve experienced this all week, i had an incredibly productive day on thursday, then i just crashed friday, i was very reluctant to go to the meeting but i always hear something i could relate to or that is encouraging, and it gives me hope. there’s a particular person there who just personifies positivity and taking action. he inspires me to go to the gym everyday and someone i would like to emulate. broken people are authentic people. comfort kills. i’ve murdered myself again by moving back home.

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I FAILED

FIGHT or flight, and i fled. i couldn’t handle the room. the loud housemate and other things i am too embarrassed to mention. i freaked out. i feel like a failure because i am living back home with my parents. i did get a job and i start monday, so that’s good. hopefully i will stick with it and not find myself in the same “i don’t know where i am going and what i am doing” state. i still go to the gym everyday. i even went to a yoga class on sunday, it was intermediate which i am no where near, and i did i don’t know how many poses, where every problem existed turned into droplets of sweat and me remembering to just breathe. inhale. exhale. the instructor told us to to set an intention before we began and mine was just to relax. i worked to relax. the last pose laying on the floor was well deserved after all the bending and stretching and holding. i’m just glad i didn’t injure myself in the process. one step forward, two steps back. my therapist is new agey. and so am i to some degree, i do believe that we attract what is in our lives so i am embracing this person i have drawn in. she had oracle cards at our last session and had me shuffle and lay out four. the christian in me felt weird about the whole thing but i went with it anyway. the cards reflected my situation exactly. gimmick? coincidence? demons? satan? energy? i don’t know. if i was a materialist i would say they are just cards laying on the ground and it was merely coincidence, but the content did reflect my circumstance and was encouraging in what i need to do but it is something i already knew. how limiting “energy” reading is! give me prophetic dreams and visions. i’d rather work for GOD than satan or demons or whatever the hell tarot/oracle cards are. like a rubix cube. stuck, primary colors going nowhere, sure you can bring it order but it is just a cube. nothing grows nor changes. no progress. the only thing i found beneficial was the encouragement but i can get that from a bible verse. what you’re reading, dear reader, is my christian self struggling. i’m not a christian. i used to be. but i still believe. i think.

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writing while waiting

empty precipices filled with spices life is like this or you can deny it well written algorithms taken over by robots angered by ancestral apparitions making the decisions to complicate the mission, the matter, affected by the weight of gravity pulled by forces against and for me. dripping canvases with water brushes and pigments plainly seen on a screen through electricity, doubt filled strokes, stupid strokes, life filled strokes, story-telling strokes artful thoughts lingering words that rhyme and repeat. old adages rips facades off faces feeling nothing anymore when life became a chore and words became a bore and my head is sore my eyes are sore from over use, other limbs have energy in them but doesn’t everything fade with time, so might as well be someone or be no one, they’re both one in the same this isn’t a new idea, it’s repeated from a book i read a long time ago in my early twenties maybe teen years in high school, i should have finished college but according to whom? my life is perfect and fine just the way it is and i live in abundance. GOD is always good and i say this phrase often to proclaim what is already known but HE is worthy of praise and acknowledgment by HIS creation. opinion or fact? or another retold artifact? label it what you will i plead the fifth and sit still. legalities irk me but systems serve their purpose for order and structure, divine architecture. the story-telling body, poetic pieces found in everything and all around and within, sink or swim life is game, we’re all called a name, mine means bright fame but i don’t want to be famous i’d rather drift and in an instant be spontaneously singing or laughing or painting or drawing. what is truth? we’re in an infinite span of time but these are just theories and repeating stories limited thinking keeps me going so i’ll read more to retain less memory i’d rather stare at the artfully designed sky with clouds that creep by clustering and mishaping beams of light in different directions, this is just a projection, a reflection.

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feeling good

NINA simone sings these words through my head phones. i do feel good after my morning gym ritual. puffy white clouds fill the blue sky, the foothills are green from all the rain that has poured over the san gabriel valley. another day filled with crazy people, rude people, weird people, nice people, young people, old people, pretty people, hideous people. hideous people are my favorite. more interesting to look at than pretty people. there is an aversion to both beauty and ugliness. i’m convinced everyone is my ex’s clone or relative in this town i somewhat grew up and find myself residing in once again. third interview next week, hopefully someone hires me!!!! i used to work at caltech and a position opened there in their library, i usually work in libraries, hopefully they will call me. blah blah hope hope yadda yadda. the drive thru coffee shop phenomenon. anything useful or poetic or any words to say elude me. the streets near my room were blocked off by police, news vans were there this morning. citrus college and apu pastors and azusans walk in and out of the walls where i lack in words. tinted windows with hidden drivers. please do get over yourself and quit hiding. who are you? what’s the point in anything? i still don’t know what i am doing or know what to do with my time. last night i missed going to a drawing class and did laundry at the laundromat instead which was a bad idea since it was so late and there were bums and random cholos drinking around the place. not safe and quite stupid of me to be there at night, it wasn’t that late, but still wasn’t wise. i need pepper spray.

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time well spent

I feel sad and tired. burned out. restless. under stress. i’ve been going to the gym consistently since i’ve moved out of my parents house, nami classes and meetings. i’m at a starbucks, feeling unmotivated and a bit hopeless. but i know this is a feeling and that this too shall pass. i’m not dead. i’m not a bum on the streets. but i don’t know how to spend my time or money wisely. i just need a fucking job that i won’t give up on. is this life? just a struggle? i meet with my therapist today in the comfort of her aromatherapy essential oil filled office. another optical illusion of time well spent. what is time well spent? i hate my current living situation and hope to get out of it as soon as possible. i don’t want to be driven by hate but if that is what will get me out of this than so be it. i keep wanting a knight in shining armor to rescue me but that isn’t going to happen. or maybe it will. who knows. discomfort is about growth, so they say, but i don’t feel like i am growing at all. one point of reassurance is a calla lily is growing in the front porch of the place i am renting a room from. this flower follows me where ever i go, or where i need to be. i wish i knew what my purpose was in being here. deep down i know that any where i go there will be a problem, something to complain about. there always will be something. maybe i’ll just stay in this room forever and have disrupted sleep for the rest of my life. maybe this is a season of sleeplessness. i just wish it was due to boning some hot guy all night and not because my housemate is obnoxiously loud. if it was the weekend i would understand, and he is this hard working man who works hard and plays hard. but no, he just gets high all day, and every fucking night, plays loud music or has loud company over. his room is adjacent to mine and the walls are thin. i almost want to adapt the attitude of can’t beat em, join em but i need my fucking sleep. i’m literally just sitting in a coffee shop quietly complaining to about 10 wordpress readers. was this time well spent?

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cornered in a coffee shop

SHE sat cornered in a coffee shop, sipping bitter coffee with hints of sweetness from the soy milk she added to it, she does this every time. laptop open and shit every where, phone laid out, umbrella, journal, jacket, purse, books etc. while the rain pours down, whether heavy or light it has been nonstop. people in their cars glued to their smartphones drive past the window, waiting for their cup of caffeine, their morning fix, their drug. a latina woman walks up to the table and begins talking, looking out the window. “blah blah blah she needs to go home,” she laughs and then walks away. the barista calls the name “albert” a second time this morning. either azusa is filled with many alberts or the same guy keeps ordering coffee. that happens to be my father’s name, maybe i should pray for him. back to the latina woman. i am convinced demons whisper knowledge into the ears of susceptible people (maybe). or, people have super susceptibility to those around them and psychic abilities can be pulled from reading the energy from people. some people are prophetic. my nephew has this ability. last night i thought my brain was going to malfunction. i was afraid i was going to have another manic episode. it would have been a year ago march 24 when i had the melt down and subsequent hospitalization. i prayed that i would just sleep so i can heal, and not go into a manic state. i believe it was hypomanic which is less severe, but still frightening, as i do not nor will ever go into a manic state again. i do not want to live my life fighting this demon but it appears that it is something i must do. by taking care of my health. combating stress with peace and prayer. the broken sleep from my loud ass housemate is not helping. poverty. you need money for everything in this fucking capitalist piece of shit society, even silence. but the body is a complex and wonderful thing. i will be okay. i will not live in fear, and don’t, despite my bouts of doubt and anxiety. life is good, God is good and i am tired.

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