This Alone

All I can do is change the way I feel about myself.

Is worth posting an entire blog post to:

Wow, lovely.
Music For Doing Drugs To

Black cats are just so cool. I just adore cats. Omg, but I do so love dogs, too. Today I saw such cute, cute dogs. A longish-haired Dalmatian puppy, with the sweetest, softest disposition ever. Omg, such incredibly sweet dogs. I think dogs have gotten better than when I remember them as a younger adult and kid. Can that be? Are dogs better and people worse? Can that be? Cats have always been amazing.

Been enjoying this. Everything’s good. 🙂

I’d like to be in a band where everybody is fucking everybody and everyone gets upset about it.

This afternoon (Sunday), early – like around 1pm, I sat outside in the warm air. Crystaline blue sky; bright green, stiff-with-life leaves.

When everything’s miserable, the light keeps shining – keeps rising and rolling of its own natural force. I didn’t stop because I was depressed, it was because I had experienced enough and needed to stop and rest and, most important to me: reflect. And sometimes that’s boring. And when it gets boring enough, you stop resting and you need more action, more “life”. From there, you start having experience by default; and so, the cycle continues – as do ALL the cycles associated to it and within it. Just keeps going on and on – as they say. Sweet hell.

I can’t wait to be happy and doing drugs. I love doing drugs, folks. It’s not so easy being amazing.


The seat of my soul is the natural world.

Is there enough inside of me to be whole? One can never be whole outside of themselves. You can only occupy you. You might as well believe it is true, because it already is. Life brings experience, relational experience. Philosophically, too, life brings things such as: It-vs.-Isn’t, not just this-vs-that.

I cannot grow old here. I’m a drunk, at her desk, and it is raining outside. The window is open, there are feathers of an oceanic breeze coming in from the Indigo Outside. Created by nature and by will of god, I am obliged to stay.

And so I must go. On and on. In circles and in spirals. Widening ever outward, into the realms of inner and outer space.

Mental health day!

Things looking lovely, candles lit; house cleaned; feel great from the hike; stayed away from the computer, mostly; ate lightly, sparingly.

Adam showed me the new Matrix trailer, and I have not been excited to see a movie like that in a very fucking long time. It is a wonderful feeling! It was amazing to feel it! I feel like this film will be very special to me, let’s see if I’m right. I am not going to watch the prequels before I see the new one. I don’t want to.


The Death Card

Card I pulled: You are going to go through a major change, transition, or transformation. The old version of you needs to ‘die’ to allow the new you to be created. This can be a scary time for you because you may be unsure of what will happen in the future. Even if you are scared, you should welcome the change because you are opening the door to new life events.

I feel a sense of impoverishment living in the desert. This city is too populous. I need to live closer to quieter, more natural environments. Places away from people that I can spend enough time in, and often alone. Preferably places with water and dark soils. I did not think I would feel this way so soon, and I know that we must wait at a minimum two years to do, if we did, when we do.

The desert has been my womb, within which I could sleep, could rest, could die within, to commune with the Something Special & Other that is very real. But now I feel I’m being pushed out and brought into something like a new life.

So what do I do now? I feel like starting over. I think I may start a whole, new blog. If and when I do, I’ll be sure to post that link here for anyone interested. I just want a fresh start; a blank space with no past and only creatively contemplating the future – future of art, beauty, interests. Pictures of places I go. Watercolors of those places. More colorful, more illustrative. Work in a watercolor journal again (it’s been awhile! maybe it’s a winter thing?)

Yes, that’s what I AM going to do. I’m going to start a new blog. I’d like a lighter, more colorful fresh start.


Waves rise and waves fall.

I fucking hate summer. I fucking hate being fucking hot as fuck and unable to go out for fucking anything without bracing for it.

This is such a GREAT song, holy shit! He is the most romantic singer ever made music. When I was a kid, I didn’t understand why this wasn’t played more on the radio. It’s so beautiful and he makes the beauty of love seem so painfully beautiful. Like, the shapes of feeling, created by the mind because of this music (and all music), it’s just so amazing. We are just energy vibrating. It’s true. Only we get to shape the song, unlike other beings and energies. We are special. We are artists.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

To forget and have peace, or, remember and suffer. The drama of my inner narrator is driving me insane. The sane answer is to forget. To let die and to thus die – to be born anew. I owe it to myself to rest in peace. But I can’t. I have no control over this. And I can’t leave. I am simply, for some reason, required to be here.

So, here I am, a criminal. Writing on the walls of my cell. Going to my job. Coming home to visit with my loved ones.

©Jen Crow
©Jen Crow

The time of the underworld is nigh!

Soon comes the Fall!

Soon come the long-sleeves and the pumpkin bread with butter!

Not tomorrow, and not the next, but soon.

Soon comes the Fall. (Heavy breathing).

Just Some Pictures of Sushi

A Note From Earlier This Year After A Trip. It’s better than I remember (woke from the dream and now discerning its meaning. As crazy at it may seem, anything and everything we can interpret from the Nightmare/Dreaming

When you find the gold, you know you’ve found the end. This reward ends this adventure and you will enjoy the spoils for quite some time afterward, but it is the end of the adventure. The adventure turns into thought upon the fortune. Doors walked through and closed behind. Transformed are we, into a monarchy of pride over our achievements; claims of rights and revolution always the way of overriding excess and imbalance.

Sometimes I do have control over our underworlds.

Today Was Magical. I mean, really it was. Captain saw the spirits – I could NOT believe his body language. He meowed at me like, “I am asking you a fucking question (with shock, wonder, fear and awe). What is going on here?” and unwilling to leave until demands of an answer met, he locked his eyes with mine. He looked incredibly concerned. He came up to my side, meowed again. Again, the urgency for my response. I said, “It’s ok Captain. They are invited guests. I want them to be here”. He looked at the beings (or lights, or geometic glows experienced only through cat-vision…perhaps we won’t know for a thousand years).


Your heart is like a magical animal in a cage. It must be fed, or it will die. If you neglect to feed it and it dies,

Like a prisoner coming back to the unit after a glorious visitation do I exit my door, out in to the world, each morn).

Clarity is so important that it makes people cry sometimes when they receive it. I would like to cry. I would like to cry hard.

I feel tired. I feel needy. Oh god, how long is this going to go on?

So don’t push it. Try – no, really try – to be positive in life. Try to see the beauty in others even when you’re sick from the sweet and syrupy doses. Sick from routine and regularity. Sick from predictability. The magnificent few being out-shined by the bright lights of monster trucks. The struggle to talk over the inane as someone passes by who is smart and sane.

I have a lot of really shitty things to say, and I want to say them. But I believe so strongly in my responsibility as a force, not just of ego but of Light, that I really have to stop myself here and choose goodness over badness; choose the light over the dark – it’s better, its stronger, it’s bigger, it is more-than.


We exist (in space). Our bodies are peripherals connected to our programming, connected to our hardware, connected to electricity, connected to a Power Station. The creator of the Power Station is The User. (This is one way of describing what it is we are, are a part of, and how we are related and connected to it – and maybe shows how we can better communicate with it.

All anything is is relation and connection. There aren’t any other things, are there? Obliteration isn’t a thing. It can only describe a past, even a past being described in the future, and the future doesn’t exist, so…or does it. I really don’t know anything of value. My life is a wasteland and I wish I were dead, but someone just said “depression is when you really really need to let go and rest”. That sounds so right and good. I need to get away from the sources of agony: the news, the routines, the paying-attention-to of idiots.

What a fucking year.

I really need this vacation, this change-up. I want to feel safe and wanted. I’m too old to care about so much shit and be so ruled by my feelings. Is it too late to change? I hope to see that I can be flooded and washed clean by new experiences (rooted tightly in the safe personalities of other animals like myself). Oh god, humanity, humanity. Holy shit is it bonkers rn. wtf mf’s? wtf.

Waves, Terrible Waves

I knew you when you were young.

And now you’re gone.

Except you are entirely here.

If I would do right by myself, I would do these two things: I would make my office/art space into a lounge. Sell my computer. Buy a very good tablet, for which to draw upon (I don’t even have a clue what is out there anymore. I would probably succumb to an apple something-or-other with the focus on its drawing capabilities and then ask Doug for help learning how to use it). And also a couch and make that room I’ve been fantasizing about. Here, this one! :

A place for me, in my own home it is separate and full of memory objects.

No Particular Order


I have this new journal (since I finished my last one). I love the paper and knew it was perfect; plus it was a gift from the Russian Co-worker (hahaaa she would murder me for saying it. She is from Bosnia – or what once was: she was there for the bombings and devastation; it is why she emigrated here) and I adore it. Like I said, smooth, thin lines of pale navy blue; thin paper, like in a bible. Generous quantity of pages. A whole future. Anyway, i was just writing in there, out of the grief of boredom (I could die of it some hours) and could not just put to the back of my mind one more time that the writing/paper/book/dark-ink was a problem. It wasn’t working, I felt cramped and felt confined within it. I honestly felt like crying at the truth, that it wasn’t working and I felt my body hunch while understanding the distance of time till the end of this book

…Then I thought about it and really asked myself: what can be done here? Write larger? Give up the now-lost and floating journal that consisted only of End-of-August/Beginning-of-September (are you laughing here? am I driving you nuts? I wish I knew.)? But, I really had an epiphany: Change the pen, the writing instrument. The ink to rich, too black, too bleedy and stroke too wide. Change the pen. Write using another instrument, and lighter pen, a thinner ink, a pale

I miss being obsessed with Bibio’s ‘Curls’. I grieve lost feelings. Reveling in the richness of past stimulations, community of self amongst other selves and other places are alchemical in themselves, no? Chemistry. Being forever changed. Not having the technique or technology to undo what is changed. Eternal unfolding is the key to peace.

I miss reinforced belief.

It’s a soft and strange Saturday early evening. Where is this going? What is this weird (very weird and spaced feeling…?) I feel like I’m waiting at a bus stop for something my guardian angels won’t give me the slightest clue about. No compulsion to pull a tarot card for psychic-or-otherwise inspiration for Truth-telling? It’s like I’m too lazy to know, but really its because I already know and I am waiting. I can’t even really do anything for anyone else right now. I am very confused by that…

I may just be in a Resting Period.

Honestly, that’s the answer, right there.

I just really fucking hate surrendering my consciousness to rest. My potential, surrendered to nothingness. But then, it also brings about beautiful expressions, such as this! Such as music like this song above. Reflecting is also what it is. Time to reflect and make choices about lifestyle and personality. Yes, there’s a lot going on here, really, Jen. What has more potential than the moment prior to change?

It hurts so much sometimes, to write between the lines. (sadness; grief from loss, sadness underlying all hatred and resentment is the reality. Acceptance of it all is the sword of peace).

A little early, yes, but the feelz have arrived early and we are synchronized with Fall! With fun! With change! Celebrating the end of hot labor and the incoming harvest! Woohoo!!


Gone forever is the past, yet here I am, reliving and reliving and reliving in it. Also, however, is an alternate version of myself, living in the future. Beneath me, a cat curling itself against my leg to let me know he is here, waiting to be petted. Me, wanting to do everything else except pet it. Why am I, anyway? It’s ridiculously funny. (In that trip, the one that was a clear kind of fucking psycho-dream-wrapped truth.

I know I’m being very wordy lately. And to whom should I apologize?

A song is a place to meet, at any time and at any place. A vibrational frequency which can exist inside an Other Dimension – a place in time; Where ghosts of the living can separate from their bodies and enter into awareness of the other – yes, in different Space and Time.

Yes, maybe even individuals a thousand years apart.

What is doom anyway? Let’s see:

Did you know you can drown in your personality? Did you know you could drown in the personality of others? I’ve been drowning all week. I’m tired. All is well, but oh god am I so happy the season is changing. The evenings will be dark and lit by amber lights; the daylight will bring prisms from my hanging crystals. I’ll make cookies. We will make stews. We will hike and eat out more. I will hope for regular dreams wherein we meet up and wish each other well.

Posthumous Likes

You know what I miss? I miss the 1890’s. I LOVED the 1890’s.

This song, of late. It has before this time in my life not done anything to my soul, but it most surely does now.

“And he was just like a great dark wing
Within the wings of a storm
I think I have met my match, he was singing
And undoing, and undoing the laces
Undoing the laces”

Sarah – Fleetwood Mac

Ancient Cataclysms

Is there anyone with any bit of authority in America or are we just tongue biters afraid of our immediate bosses?
—Ancient Cataclysms

You know, all this stuff about laziness and shit. Fuck those slave-drivers. Fuck them to tell us how much work is enough. I deserve to have enough to survive, you mother-fuckers. I deserve to have enough time to be interested in public service and for fighting for my rights. Enough time to be away from people which will allow me to reach my full potential for “weird”.

God gave you one tongue and two ears, so you would listen twice as much as you speak (a likeable saying, and rhymey, so that’s fun. But it’s a bunch of bullshit, like everything else under the sun).



I’ve trained myself to have sexy seizures.