MICHAEL appeared at her window again. hey there! hi, michael. what are you up to this fine morning. i am still waking up, typing away at this keyboard trying to come up with something useful to say. useful? why write something of use unless it is a manual you are writing, or something “how to” but there is youtube for that. you’re right. we’re molded by memories but don’t get stuck in the past. michael, are you drinking again? i always do, he replied, taking another drink. what other state is there to be in than intoxication? i have a predicament, i’m in a predicament, i am a predicament! everything good has come from conflict. is that really true, i asked. just observe and you’ll find the answer to that. what is this predicament you speak of? aside from being stuck in the past, i live in a boring suburb with boring people, i feel so uninspired. i desperately want to fall in love. woah woah woah…wait. desperately WANT to fall in love? falling in love isn’t something you should want. love decides who falls when LOVE wants, and as you know, it is always when you least expect it. not true, i fall in love hard and easily with anyone that gives me the time of day…now that is desperation. listen, wait, no, i forgot what i was going to say. now i remember! you spoke of being molded, but you have to break through them first, you have all of these preconceived ideas of what love is supposed to be and how it is supposed to happen. why put love in a box? let the story unfold naturally, worrying about it will only delay it, or maybe it will happen this instant, this moment! love, there is plenty of it to go around for everyone. yet it is the most precious, invaluable, undefinable thing we have. you’re right, michael, all i can do is agree with you. NONSENSE! disagree, argue, tell me everything i just said is bullshit! this conversation is going nowhere. most conversations do. go nowhere that is. but it’s time well spent, is it not? you could be right…ah there i go again agreeing with everything you say!
Tag Archives: love
THAT’S IT. i am done complaining. well, probably not, but i will be complaining while also improving. i’m 33 years old and have dealt with a life time of being overweight, and it is time to face this life long issue. overeating and carrying the weight of it around wherever i go. i’m going to document my progress, not with before and after pictures but with entries, how i’m doing and feeling. this cycle needs to end. i also want to begin running. i had a brief phase with running when i was thinner and living in missouri. i can’t keep allowing my circumstance and environment dictate how i live my life. i want to be the creator and maker of my own existence, of my life that is, the way it is lived, what i eat, how i utilize my time, and master it. there are so many facets of my life that need improvement, spiritual, intellectual, my relationships that are basically non-existent. i’m not trying to turn into another health, self improvement blog, but i really am tired of the BS. this is about as raw as it gets, and i don’t imagine it will get any prettier. i prefer raw and real anyway. i also want to improve my art, how i draw, realism. so i will be posting my hideous drawings and scribbles even if it is just a line, something, anything needs to be done! i really am surprised these people hired me. they obviously saw potential, something, and that gives me hope. but i’m tired of feeling punked by my work, by coworkers, even though all of it is in my head. it’s time to master the art of working, using time well, mastering my thoughts! a crazy man with an injured eye babbled on to me for about 20 minutes about being in the vietnam war, writing novels, going into real estate etc. i don’t know what that has to do with anything, but damn it there are people out there under worse circumstances with better stories to tell but everyone has something to contribute. i like the idea of being put on this planet with a mission, that i have a purpose to serve humanity, or trees or animals, anything! i really don’t want to be a babbling crazy person either! if that is my destiny so be it but i at least want to look good and be in shape! i’m excited to begin this journey of weight loss and self improvement. time to get organized, and hopefully improve my writing as well, since i will be devoting a daily post to writing about my progress. I will begin, monday, july 1st. the weekend will be when preparatory work will get done and i have nothing to lose.
I TURNED 33 on monday. the only epiphany i’ve had is, i am getting older and i do not want to get worse. worse how? health. attitude. mindset. etc. i told myself, during this downtime at work i would write a novel and free myself from the obligation of having a job. but is that what i really want? the only thing i can think of to write about is my experience going crazy, or living in santa cruz. i thought of writing a comic book, using santa cruz as the backdrop, and loosely basing the novel around my experiences there but also add classical myth/fantasy/sci-fi elements..maybe.
BLESSED by apollo when her mind went hollow, her senses skewed by serendipity. the poison brought upon by a con man and an unforgiving cup of tea. walking around china town talking about chinese populations, when in fact he was testing her attention. she knew there was a greater symphony at work, the orchestra building up in crescendo, this orchestrated work of apollo. her body is a portal, but it is already occupied, that’s when it took the breaking so she could die. the artifices built around the truth, the superficialities implanted by T.V., the minds of idiots, and music made for money. what is the truth? who are we? are we really actors on a stage, playing our role. waiting and writhing until life takes its toll on our minds, our bodies, our spirits, our hearts waiting for death to depart. i digress, i am not an empress, i am merely the messenger, blessed by apollo and for a moment Hashem himself.
three boys stood in Macy’s. my mom bought me this vest and i would like to return it. the second boy intercepted, hey do you have a recycle bin? i’m sorry we only have trash, she looked him in the eye when she said this. oh, for real? the well kept clean cut teen responded and walked away with his empty plastic bottle in hand. wow, these kids are environmentally conscious here, how great is that. the cashier took the receipt and scanned the IPC as she had been trained to do, and pressed away at the proper keys to complete the exchange for currency. broken poets don’t work well with machines, they either succumb to their power and break altogether or break the broken poet. would you like cash or macy’s credit back? i’ll take cash, the blonde boy with blue eyes said back. the cash she returned, and off he went never to be seen again.
AS I’M READING man’s search for meaning which i stupidly recommended and now need to back up with a small blurb to support such a recommendation i begin to question my own purpose. most women who have children that i’ve encountered say it’s their children that they live for. i am childless so scratch that option. christians say jesus is their purpose, or mission. meaning and love, tension keeps one going according to frankl. being comfortable is a death wish. i am comfortable. i recall not that long ago being kicked out of my parent’s house for flipping out at my dad, and how everything felt strange, scary, beautiful all at once. maybe i’m too sensitive. glendora is a pretty, fattening suburb where you pay and drive around for everything. how did i end up here? where can i find balance? i miss santa cruz, my crazy ex-roommate (not really), maybe just the beginning days where he bought me flowers and proclaimed his “love” for me. i only like the onset of things, the initial initiation, the beginning. the middle is boring, and the end means its over, but it’s good because that means a new beginning is at work. i miss meditating in claremont. i need a hair cut. i was going to dye my hair red at the suggestion of my coworker but decided not to, that would be weird to follow his suggestion when i’m perfectly fine with natural colored hair. i had a purpose a vision, to finish school but that has been thrown out the window with this new job. maybe i should quit? maybe my life purpose is to have no purpose. and to just go with the flow. life is too crazy and complicated to understand, anyway. my problem is i get to caught up in the details or look to broadly and generalize everything or i completely crop out the scene. i keep looking back fondly on times in the past, but at the time i didn’t give a shit what was happening at that moment. i am always looking backwards. time slows down. our perception of time, is it in real time or are we always looking past, is there a time delay? this happened during my first time being high, time slowed down. or when i went crazy, the world was ending and i was part of a bigger mission. it’s odd viewing people’s perspective of you when you are going crazy. you can see who has compassion and who will despise you, or those simply unphased, or people who are straight up control freaks. i became the impetus of true character, a magnifying glass, a light. or maybe not.
I THROW that phrase around a lot. it’s all chemicals. ernesto, fernando, francisco, rodrigo, burrito. what the hell. why am i attracting these random latino men. i hate artsy types, or worse wannabe artsy types. i hate cholo/gangster types. hipsters. any man that wears marvel t-shirts. i’ve pretty much summed up all of la so i am basically screwed. i don’t want to date an older man because they’re old, and in 10, 20 years they’ll be even older. i don’t know how i’ll fall in love again. i don’t think it is in the cards for me, at this rate. i really need to find a hobby and a group of friends at least. i’m allergic to cats so i can’t even become a crazy old cat lady if i wanted to. i could be a cool dog lady. i don’t know. i woke up this morning to an angry sister and a parking ticket. fuck glendora and the lazy ass officer who has nothing better to do than issue parking tickets for the one time i didn’t park on the drive way. i’m not paying it. my poor brain. the worst thing i can do is feel sorry for myself but really, i’ve put my brain through such nonsense. i didn’t used to have anxiety. i used to enjoy driving, i’d always drive to laguna beach, i’ve driven myself to santa cruz, i’ve driven myself across the country to missouri. now i can’t even drive to the post office without feeling anxious at a red light. why have i become this way? what is wrong with me. i used to romanticize the recluse, the weirdo, and aspired to become an obscure archivist/librarian, unknown to the world. fuck that. i don’t want to waste away in the dark somewhere, i mean i will eventually, but not while i am ALIVE. i did a psychoanalysis of my own drawings of a house, a tree and a person. i won’t go into too much detail but what stood out to me the most was that my reality is based in fantasy. fuck. i just want to be normal and happy. why is that so difficult to attain? my husband was relatively normal, yet i was a drama queen and made life difficult for both of us by thinking going away to a UC would resolve my boredom. how differently i would live my life if i could go back. they really do need to make time travel a thing already.
I gave my employer two weeks notice and it backfired. they cut me off. perhaps it is karma from all the jobs i just left without notice. now i have all this time on my hands before i start my new job (if i even have a a new job to start?) and i’m lost in thought. my lazy ass knows i should go to the gym but i don’t want to. i hate gyms. i’ll try to go on a hike tomorrow morning. i did develop a crush on one of the guys i’d often see at the gym. he’s probably compensating. jk. anyway. too much free time. i randomly started listening to the drums, a band this boy who liked me very much recommended a long time ago. he liked me a lot and i just used him. i feel bad about that. and karma has hit with that, he won’t even talk to me anymore. he was a sweet guy but really not my type. good sense of humor though, which seems to be hard to come by these days. i’m hitting 33 soon and i’m still nostalgic. i’ve always been this way.
I have so much debt. and it isn’t comforting to know that there are millions others who are in the same if not worse situation. debt is debt. my divorce didn’t help. being bipolar didn’t help. but my goal now, with the new job, is to focus on financial stability and taking care of my debt. i don’t have kids. i live rent free. i might as well make use of my situation. or, say eff it, that is part of life and move the hell out of my parents house. i really don’t know what i am doing with my life or how to navigate it. i read these numerology reports that said i am a born leader and should be an entrepreneur. i really just want to live a simple life. i don’t want to lead anyone anywhere. i made a line drawing today that just came out weird. my art, my writing is weird. i don’t think i am intelligent or creative enough to do these things yet i will continue doing them. some artists are worse or not that great and still they have their own studio and success. i don’t know what i want that is the problem. i think anyone can get what ever they want. if they don’t get it it’s because they don’t really want it. my problem is i am too dependent on people and circumstance, i need affirmations, reassurance.
HAVING so much time on my hands is making me think of march in 2018. meeting with that man in la and subsequently going crazy shortly after. like really, what the fuck. am i that love deprived i fall in love easily with some douchebag and then become a 51-50 the next day. if we ended up together talk about a start of romance. he really was just a douchebag trying to get laid. i liked him, nevertheless. but why did i go crazy. it was the anti-depressants which apparently induce manic episodes. stupidest experience ever, really. and embarrassing. i did feel a heightened sense of clarity the last day at the hospital, and the feeling of being trapped, locked in began setting in. how our environments shape our thinking. i need to get over all of this. and move on with my life. but i can’t deny what happened. it was scary and tripy and something i hope never to experience again. i remember that there was a sagittarius and a picses. i remember being very wide awake, still in mania, until 4 am. hardly getting sleep. i still wonder if any one besides my mom visited me while i was in ER. someone came close to me, i don’t know who it was, it could have been one of the staff nurses messing with me, it could have been G-d, it could have been no one. it shall remain a vague memory, that night of insanity.
LAST night i dreamt i ate a delicate purple fruit that was fuzzy in texture and once eaten, my hands turned into pigments, first it was the color of the fruit, in which i thought i was having a violet beauregarde moment from willy wonka, turning into a blueberry, or in my case, a strange purple fruit. instead it stopped, i began controlling it to some extent, and my fingers turned into pigments, colors and i was able to paint on the wall using vivid colors that came out, but it soon overflowed, mixed up. then i was able to manifest a tray of pigments, of any colors i wanted, green, aqua, lavendar, pink, but these too, became over flowing and muddled. then i manifested ryan gosling (L.O.L.), he appeared through the door at the words of my mouth, but he was too short. so i then tried thinking of another version of him but he then turned into a zombie, then i thought well no, let’s try another version and he just got worse and worse and turned into a monster. i think the message here is overthinking, and to stay focused. that i don’t know what i want, that i over do things. i began drawing a tree and the ‘in progress’ version isn’t too bad, but then i keep going, never satisfied with line placements, thinking there could always be more and alas, it turned into a dark form that could have easily been drawn with three or four thoughtful strokes of a brush. the end product? the process? the medium? what counts, what matters? does any of this matter? i took a salt bath with essential oils to clear my aura of negative energies, the new moon was last night and tonight, and it is a moon of manifesting. now to pull from the dreams to reality. to paint, to manifest. here’s to wishing everyone a happy (and weird) new moon!
A grey morning greets me at the window, whilst stones charged by the moon await sharing their properties with those who are open to them. i was reading evaluations i received while attending ucsc, the word “good” was a frequently used word, and “versatility” a compliment. writing isn’t my strong suit. copying seems to be. i copy people around me, their mannerisms, like a mirror. i’ve read about a thing called mirror neurons, that we all have them, but i mostly imitate, and unintentionally. it just happens. i wonder if it’s due to a lack in my own personality, or is it insecurity? i don’t know what it is. i sketched a tree on friday. drawings are mostly self portraits. i have not mastered realism nor the ability to detach from a drawing i’ve drawn. i’m so self critical. it’s no wonder a majority of my followers are self help oriented bloggers, which i don’t mind and will occasionally read an article. i’m stuck in this loop of self hatred, it’s getting old, but i feel like i am breaking free from it. priorities. values. all things i need to really meditate on and establish if i’m going to get anywhere in life. i wish i was back at work, focused on problems to solve i get paid in solving. it’s tiring but somewhat fun. maybe i should just work and move out of my parents house. i really don’t know what to do. i am caught in a capitalist system with little resources and income. yet, i have no problem with abundance. well i do, but it shows up in different ways. i have an abundance of problems, of books i want to read. i am attracting all of this. why? to feel needed? wanted? useful? who cares. i’ve put myself in this position for a reason and i need to put myself out of it. i’m in a constant state of want, as all people are, we are desiring beings. i feel gross and sad. i remember poverty, real poverty, when i was younger, and the strange sensations it made me feel. a dark emptiness. in retrospect i should be thankful and happy with what i have. that i am not poor as i have experienced before. or miserable and married. now i’m just miserable and single. ha. each has its pros and cons. this blog is mainly me complaining about the same thing. free writing therapy sessions and if that interests you, sweet, if it bothers you, well, do what you feel necessary to make it not bother you.
i dreamt of a book, each page contained words that fell across the page and onto the floor, their weight was light and lifted then went back to inked form. i checked out books on linguistics and chinese proverbs. i struggle in communication so i figured books on linguistics would help. the book of chinese proverbs was a matter of serendipity. it was a beautiful day today in the san gabriel valley. i went to a store in glendora called phenomenal love and bought stones to help strengthen/align my chakras and clear my aura from negative energy. i don’t remember the last time i felt light, non-depressed. i think i have been this way my entire life. always low. i don’t know why. perhaps i’m paying karmic debt. i’ve felt happy, but once i hit middle school the depression sank in and has never left. i also checked out a book of short stories by anton chekhov. the muscle, the voice, all get better with use over time. no linguistic book is going to help me, but something like that was said in there. i’m puzzled by puzzles and my job feels like a puzzle yet there’s no sense of accomplishment because everything is in process. i work all day on a computer i’ve become robotic. when i worked at macy’s in capitola there were weird individuals to draw inspiration from. here there are nothing but similar people, wearing similar clothes with similar dead dreams, working for a machine. why do i find myself here, yet again? i’ve gone from working at prestigous schools to a warehouse job to a bookstore. everything is illusory. beaches aren’t all what they seem neither are trees that don’t move yet see everything. boring mundane people try to make their life interesting but life interests me when love rears its ugly-beautiful head. love is so funny, and always appears when least expected. but it doesn’t, it’s right there when you look for it. it’s everywhere. couples walking in parks, climbing up barks, barking like dogs, but dressed nicely and smoking pot.
I always dream interesting dreams but then forget them immediately upon waking and it is back to this boring reality/existence called life. it’s 8:50 am and there is so much potential in a day. i could shower, get dressed, take the train to the beach and enjoy the waves. or i could shower, get dressed, do laundry, meal prep for the week, make a painting, organize my living space, etc. i instead have chosen to write. i woke up thinking of the missed opportunity with an artsy architect. i actually miss craigslist. as much as there were weirdos and freaks to be found on there there were some decent, interesting people also. why am i waking up complaining? i have a job i complained about wanting and now that i have it it is something i don’t want and will complain about. it’s too much work and the supervisor is mean. she’s bitter and just plain mean. probably from working there so long and ready to retire. but despite all of that, i will not give up or quit. i look at my job like constant waves that i need to surf/navigate and i am still learning. making art is the only outlet for a mundane existence. or maybe actual surfing is. before i went crazy i was doing a lot of meditation while listening to music intended to open your third eye/chakras. seek and you will find, ask and you shall receive. the world opened to me made sense at the time, i wish there was some way i could make sense of it now and make a comic book out of it or novel. or maybe i will let it remain a memory and just move on with my life. i struggle with anxiety and here i am with a giant latte from starbucks, and wonder where the anxiety comes from. i don’t want this to become a self-deprecating post but that’s where my mind often goes. self-hatred. the idea of loving oneself eludes me. i’m a repressed artist. i think anyone is capable of being an artist. but actual artists need to do art in order to live, like breathing. i have to write or paint or draw, otherwise i am just down and depressed. maybe i should take an art class. after years of isolation i have plagued myself with anxiety. i can’t even drive on the damn freeway without feeling the onset of a panic attack. even taking my nephews to the movie theatre gave me anxiety. maybe it is the use of too much computer all my life. i’ve always been glued to this thing. even at 13, i used the computer to chat with friends or read blogs. maybe i need to break away from the computer and re-aquaint myself to the “real world.” that’s nearly 20 years of constant computer use. that can’t be good for a person. and i don’t exaggerate. maybe i will devote the rest of this year to work, which is on a computer, constantly, and to writing, drawing, painting for the remaining hours i have in the day during the week. that means i would break away from this blog and all social media, which i have already, to some degree.