Unfortunate, But In A Charming Way

It’s going to be a long one. 7 months, I’m guessing. Jen? Tell me how you do come February 2021. Fuuhhhhhck-k-k-kkk-k. i have GOT to start doing yoga, or meditation or both even. It’s like an emergency up in this bitch.
Alanis Morissette – That I Would Be Good.

We will always, all of us, be looking.

We will, all of us, always be looking.

Expanding internally doubles the lifereach. To expand outwardly is an extention, yes; it also garners more pleasure. But to expand internally is to…I don’t know. I know there should be little paintings for these things I say. Maybe I’m supposed to be illustrating this? I have enjoyed it very much to include the watercolored, inked-in storytelling feel on the paper-too-weak for the burden of the pigment journal I made this year. A side-note it has seemed, but I reached a part of myself I’ve not had had the chance to experience or see if not for the strange “bad luck” of anyone and everyone all year. That comet is insanely poised. Imagine me painting that comet coming down in a pristine indigo, star-lit sky of purity and violence, just like we have now, down here below. Everything here is placed just so perfectly for interpretation.

I watch all non-music videos on YouTube at 1.5x speed. I wonder if a lot of people who wished other people would talk faster know about this tactic. It reduces the holes in the gap of my interface by 2x less open. I can concentrate. It’s true and I don’t know who else needs to apply this in their life. People should be allowed to progress on their own terms at this point. We have the technology. Let it serve us. If I can learn 2x as fast and stay interested because the video is sped up by 1.5, then someone can learn 2x as fast if it is slowed down by 1x. Someone can learn 2x as fast if it is 2am, not 2pm when they read the materials. We have 24/7 lives now. Let those live life the way they want to. Some asleep, some awake. There’s room for us all. We have dark empty places that should be filled with light. Technology can serve us better now. We have to somehow demand that we be allowed to use it as individuals to our personal advantages. That is fair. The pandemic is a good opportunity for this to gain power and momentum.

We can’t all be around each other. Not at the same time. Just stay the fuck away from me, people. I need a vacation, and I fear none is coming for quite some time. I want to go to Zion and put my feet in that river, but everyone’s got nowhere to go, so all the places like that are packed, or closed, or impossible. I have begun to fret the boredom. I do need a something-something. Maybe just a road-trip through southern Utah for a full, long day? No. I have a bad feeling about it. A bad, bad feeling; no joke. Ok, respect the feels. Wait.

It’s a shame I haven’t been copying this blog into pages of a book. To have and to hold. Something so reasonable for me to accomplish, too. Maybe that is a project for some other year.

I went to the woods, to the beautiful woods and walked amongst the summer-browned flowers.
Beyond the thistle, ’tis where I did piss. I stopped to admire my flower-sign. Well-focused was it in the sun shining hot behind the feather-pine.
I did spy a full, red bouncy-ball in the small clearing and did know it was a trap. I did not touch it with hands. Not even to get the UPC sticker off. These are modern times. Why wouldn’t a child-trapping, adult mauling monster NOT know that It needed to make the scene seem legit?
There was a recent strange fire, a few downed tree trunks en-mired, I made the charcoal inspired face and a heart on a nice, white rock.
Lo, there was a Bank of America deposit bag! Burned and empty. My heart did have a fun moment full of wishes before I picked it up! (Oh, just did see that I’d have fallen hard for the monster’s Modern Adult trap. WHEW!!! I won’t soon forget my lesson learned)!
I hope you die.






Time [History]

(Blood Pressure, Respiration, Heart Rate, Temperature, Oxygen)

Tree Rings

I remember our young bodies. I remember being the little one. A little one. Our forearms smooth and shining as fish coming out of the sea. Every day was “today” and yesterday the wood (shining or rotting) of the present structure of that “today”. Yes, the smell of our sweat. The smell of our fruit-flavored candies and lip-glosses. The rootbeer fizz of our New York Seltzer. Vanilla cream on lips and inside of lips, syrups dripping. Motives so ridiculous that the future could only call them for what they were: innocent reckonings.

And now, decades behind and fully emersed in the world left for those more in the Know: being everywhere but around. Special, it was, is now something waking from its own nightmare to gasp in awe at the golden sunset that in our awe denotes our very glory. We weep rightly for ourselves. We ought to deliver the sorrows acknowledged and wake each other with flowers at the door, where children run to answer the knock and race to the bell.

What is unknown? What is now more to explore? And at the end, I suppose we find out. Clearing and cleaning out in preparation of fulfillment. The empty places call especially to these ones like me. We lay our song down on the road, hoping to become attached to anything moving. And sometimes? Sometimes we are picked up. Sometimes we are picked up again and again. Dolls, falling to the ground. To be missed and sought after, and again picked up, again embraced – to be missed is to be kissed. I smile. I am satisfied. I have been loved. I have apartments around town, and in other states. I have been gifted; I have jewelry in boxes; I have gold, and silver, and bronze. I have fallen in each race – not winning a single one. But, I’ve seen the crowds and known them for who we are by their faces as they watch us go; proceed; fail; win.

Antony & the Johnsons

Dusks like this one, strange. How my heart feels like it is breaking like I never understood anything and now I know that I really do live on a spaceshipEarth and how I watch the bats move like kids playing dodge-ball against a dusky apocalyptic sky thinking about what I will be like now that the Old Me is gone.

Oh my god this is genious. waow. just woaow. Cripple and the Starfish by Antony & the Johnsons. Where has this been all my life? I’ve never heard this, or of him, since this very evening.

I am very sad right now. I guess it is because I’m an sad and empathic and the world is sad right now. People are literally terrified. A lot of people have died. The babies of the Baby Boom are now dying. The terror is real. I’ll bet even serial killers have taken to hibernating for this long, long winter.

School is good. I never thought I’d be in school again. Actually it is too much to talk about just yet. It is a completely new volumne of Encyclopaeidiouascope of new knowledge. A whole new subject of a person, maybe. No, same person. Same. But wiser; deeper; sadder (much, much sadder); secret depths of joy; weaker, but still strong. As alone as ever, but much more grateful for friends and family. The water that comes out of the pipes is warm, but it is clean water. I’m still dramatic! Maybe more so than ever, or like, at 11 year old levels, the wonderful stories going on around my head. Wonderful, passionate child was I. Crouched in the woods, being chased by ghosts. ❀




Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.

Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

Love Jonathan Bree and the videos make me laugh and smile. ‘Heavenly Vision’.

July 18

blood covered teeth, strong thighs. freckles dark and full of sun. πŸ™‚

I just love this and the way it blossoms.
I think I didn’t know I’m a huge Flaming Lips Fan

The end.

One of the Most Beautiful

This had the tears going (lightly) before the 2 minute mark.

Also, I did not adore this piece because it is Hauser. It is hilarious to me that I really enjoy the sexual dynamism of this freaking man. at 25:07, you can even see the lesbian conductor is like, “fuck dude, i’m in fucking love with you” (and then suddenly I’m a little in love with her). lol

This song is incredible. The top most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. In my life. ‘Light’, by Michael Kiwanuka.

God, being human is so weird. Like, so weird. I’m conscious of being human. So aware of our history, yet stuck individually inside such very small parts of it – our own. Our own history, elevated on the bones of our ancestors (knowing them, loving them having nothing necessarily to do with it). We are alone and all we have is each other. The reason of being… that’s not something done to be known. You will never be known. I will never be known. We can only ever exist in the One when we are not in the All. You cannot live well between two houses. You can live very well inside One.

Mah Gahd, this is wonderous. Limitless calm, concern, depth, beauty, harmony, change-ups, wavery-waviations of a new thing I love in every way from the very beginning.

The most-loved child of the village is the only child.(Answer: we are all equally loved, and with limitless love for all). I think we are given a gift in our isolation. To know ourselves as independent, smart, wonderful, kind, funny – without much help from the outside – is the purest proof for the existence of self-love. To trust that love from the outside will be coming; is already there.

How we see things is directly related to our perception of it and then the thinking on it. I love slowness and simpleness and such not because it’s dumb down here but because when one focuses more inwardly at ANY object or subject, one immediately discovers something equally (or moreso) complex than what was. It’s a new seeing. Next week: backtracking perception.

Flower Looks Like a Thank-You Gift for Bees, the Best Gift a Bee Ever Got

This is a bougainvillea flower. It is the name of the street I grew up on in Honolulu, Hawaii. It is growing against the fence around the pool where I live now, on the continent, having lived a life I never knew was destined to me (but also somehow I knew through songs played on records of some things to come). Me, the Now Me, would never show Child Me what was to come. I would just give her a reassuring smile so that she would hopefully be convinced everything was going to be Good, even though not everything would be Good, so that little Me would stay. It would be my smile convinced her because it will be a genuine smile. A smile I knew I was entitled to, that I had liked what I had seen and approved and had seen the outcome of.

Will I still be writing in this blog in 20 years? When will my last entry be? Why? What happens?

New: Life Plan for upcoming immediate future (extending into the next foreseeable future)

I am going to take goth ownership over my life. I am going to rock. it. I am going to be the old lady all in black, wearing way too much eyeliner and looking ridiculous (ly awesome) in my jet black hair and lipstick. I’m all about that and i LIKE it, thank you vary much. I didn’t quite get insecure about being gothy in Midlife Public Arena, but I think I started to think I was antagonizing my own depression or lack of enthusiasm, but now I see pretty clearly that the one does NOT have to do so much with the other (yes, color is extremely medicinal/therapeutic, but more on that never). It’s more that I didn’t want to seem I was glorifying my internal storm like some fool. neither to myself or an other. That’s the truth about how I lost my goth. My black is fresh and clean and absorbing. It is a protection you fucking numbnut assuming it hides my body and “that’s why”. YES, yes, it hides it from freaks like YOU, wondering in their spare time where my body is and why can’t you see it better you don’t liiiiike it it makes me seem pale and sad and whinge whinge whinge. It is so beautiful AND functional for me to wear black! To not be blinded by YOUR reflection off of my sun-catching, breast-hugging, baby-yellow blouse is just bonus, muthafuckaaah!

Cold Minimal Synth Wave Compilation put together by Cypress Čempr3s

So, yeah, I’m thinking that this summer or when it is too cold to swim – not sure yet – I might die my hair black again and start wearing lipstick again and dig out all my favorite jewelry pieces still boxed up from the move. I’ve moved, and I live in the magical cottage treehouse, and I’m settled, and get to sit in a bohemian space. Read cards; dim lights; light candles; pray for peace and understanding; feel many years of happy times and the help that I bring to those stopping for restoration work – that’s me as well. That’s the real heart of a gothgirl, too. Her heart? It is FULL of blood.

Gosh, this was such a long time ago. πŸ™‚ This is a painting I did for someone else’s moly (A moly group exchanges an accordion sketchbook wherein each member of the group draws/paints a version of whatever the theme is). I think the theme of this one had to have been the moon. The painting to the left is so beautiful – the wheat in the moon. So, this painting is somewhere in the world tucked into someone’s things. πŸ™‚ I have a moly, too! I should post it! It has so many others’ work in it!!! πŸ˜€

My life is so dumb. So simple. Why am I so wounded and stunned by it always? It just shows how deep and dense and complicated a place that is where love can enlighten or reflect. It’s who we are. Believers, non-believers in anything, everything, all subjects, all objects, everywhere and nowhere. How good or bad am I, I wonder? I feel it must be pretty low to be human. lol, but it must, right? And who am I really. Who is anyone. Especially now.