This is what is good for me. This is what I need to do:
This is madness. But it speaks to you, and so you respond because it is you who does the speaking and so you act on no one’s orders but your own. You are responsible for your feelings. Whatever good you give to whomever – fine. We must suck it up – the butter-cup. We must drink deeply, for long and hard are the continuing journeys. Each one, a history inside me is building. Each act of ridiculous life. What a sham. What a scam. But I love it because it is my Everything, and I am the creator of it. I am the unicorn. I am the prize.
To be by myself. Alone. Needed, like the perfect walk on the perfect day. Such made-up fantasy lives we live. We’re all fucking nuts from our weirdo-mix of unsanitary primate, culturally car-jacked by to grow into being complete and total dumbasses. We’re barely past apes. We ARE apes.
I don’t mean to sound too negative. I’m not that down on it all the time. Sometimes I know the pleasures. Probably most of the time. I just get really addicted to – the romanticizing of my…the…god. Hard to explain rn.
The younger people have twice as much space for drama in their lives than we did. I think that’s a fact. And its fucking crazy-source.
One becomes a victim of one’s own personality along the way (maybe the whole way), but in ways we choose. how can it be a choice if it is unconscious? Good question. How could it be? No one knows the answer.
I need to let some anger bubble out of me more regularly. How to do that? Probably to…I dunno. Maybe just more of things that are good? Why do emotions have to parallel each other so, in order to keep us (ourselves) healthy?
Put on the timer and sat down to draw, by force of will. I loved it. It must be a daily thing. The timer, the forced sit-down. I turned something that already existed into something better and it filled my body with delight. My hands feel good. The light is brighter. It was also important that I put on calming music (the spa/new-age type that really calms and invites light).
What was so good about the picturesque farm life is the balance of cozy structure compared to the outside wilderness; The handmade sweetness and depth – compared to, but including – the wondrously industrial and valuable.
It’s not a lot, this post. I know. But I want to put it out here and let it go.
PLEASE, PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS SONG:
Sweet songs bring me back to soft selves. Where our gazes met and we admired the same things. Whatever is in front of us, well, we are lead there – we follow. But as we go, we pink pick roses and yellow wildflowers, to carry with us for a while – as a symbol of beauty reflected by life and by living.
Glorious, glorious Fall weather. My spirit is so close to the Earth and light is so very crystal.
It’s over. The summer is over. It was hot in its typical ruin-your-walks sort of way yet nothing bad happened. Can you even judge a life by a season within it? No, nor can you judge yourself for some part of you.
A succulent that left his terracotta pot. The kids housesitting found it, and put it in a wine bottle, seeing that I had a lot of them about the front rooms, they made this. Sweet Amina left me a note, telling me the tale. So sweet. A wonderful couple of kids. They loved my witchy house and that makes me so happy.
We have no idea if succulents can survive so much direct water. Maybe they totally can. We’re about to find out!
We feel so much pain, and so much of the time. Our bodies ache or itch or long-for. We are injured and sometimes crippled by consequence of living.
I dread the idea of reincarnation. From the first loose tooth of childhood; broken bones; influenzas; food poisonings…we suffer a lot. The suffering never really ends. There’s always something. Yet, there is glorious beauty and fellowship and feeling-states that make it delicious and sensational. Sharing good things. Being felt by, wanted by, and resonating with others. Etc.
My point: just like Satan said once in a movie, I’d like to live deliciously.
I am on the inside, banging on doors that are my own to open and answer.
But oh how I wish you were here. ❤
In other news, these personalities I have at the workplace are overwhelming me. I need to understand that I am not responsible for their outcomes. But I don’t want to be a bitch, either. I can choose to be a bitch or be at a place of progress in whateverwaypossible. Being in the place after a place of power is very difficult and scary for me. I get insecure about my abilities vs my arrogance. I want to be good because when I am good, I feel amazing because I feel whole.
I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. I’d rather die. I need more fun. More.
Where is love’s gaze at the end? At the end it is in the mirror. Love cannot exist without The Other.
IT is now my favorite season. I have new crystals from Salem, days of pilgrims and life-or-death harvests, when men relied on co-operation.
I exist to have as expansive a life as possible. Death will come, with or without you trying or seeking to avoid what one longs for.
There was a body, but there was no murder. Time is rolled up there, in the wet vastness of the Atlantic. I can feel it. I can feel all the way to England.
I side-stepped time. While away in Maine. I am being serious and do not mean this in as the way of a metaphor.
Since I write so much, my punctuation
A whole bunch of faces on the wall. That’s what freaks out a lot of people. Any arrangement of that, and you’re fucked for gentle ambiance.
I was gone, in one form or another, for 7 days.
My psyche was unfolded, effortlessly. It has a lot of history I can read because on a primal level, I am cured of my discomfort of physical living, and so I can interact more surface-level rather than belowishness. It doesn’t bog down my bones. It lifts me with its luxurious Atlantic winds. It is utterly romantic (can I say that to mean non-sexual, but it a way that makes one romantic for the subject: objectified. It gives me the energy to walk for miles through the woods, looking for wolves; followed by foxes and crows, but the crows only want to know where I go, they don’t expect they’ll get a chance at feeding from my uninhabited body any time soon.
Frightening me into life and away from sleeping, things are perpetually unfolding through the dark and into my experience.
It’s hard for me to write this all day; for I am obliterated on thc. I don’t know if the percentage of thc really matters for me. It is almost 60% thc (not to be confused with thicc).
I felt like the east was fully populated by the middle-aged. And I liked that. They were utterly respectable people. People who knew the fine are of “let us mutally agree to fuck off from each other, eh? And I liked that. (My hosts were incredible, and they say they made it happen, all this mystery-fear-deliciousness during this bizarrely thin-veiled time of nearest-dimensions.
I really loved the people, and it felt like the very best parts of Northern California or Oregon (but probably more Washington-like, though I have never been there).
Healthy looking old people. Which I could and hope to be. I have to realize two very true things: I have a good chance of being a happy and healthy old person BUT I HAVE TO DO THE THINGS if I want that to be my outcome. So, it’s not an option anymore, and that is scary. I have to take action – and I, my god knows, I am a fucking procrastinating bitch.
I drew some things on a mobile app, on my good paper, and
I read a little bit about Chet Baker, and his is an interesting story.
Am I a very bad person? Do I do my good deeds because I’m trying to balance out my ogrishness?
I went in to a bar, and I could not look anyone in the eye. I looked down, and hid behind the people I was with. Why? Because I am not comfortable when I am not alone.
More later. This could take me the rest of the year.
Holy shit, is the portal OPEN. I know it is being felt by some, but can you feel it?
Fall came today, not Fall-fall, but the spirit of Fall. The shift that is the change that precedes it. The magical feeling. The wind. The rustle of the wind through the silence of a sharp, blue sky. Autumnal vibrations.
These two sad dragons on my desk. The suffering of innocent beings; great beings!
I’m packing my suitcase today. Getting ready. I’m nervous. I always get really, really nervous when I travel. But I have to live. I simply must go on to be happy. And so far, I’m doing an amazing and wonderful job. I think I am going to be someone who gets out.
I commend anyone who was born to be human.
You tell your story – narrate it, develop character(s), grow the story (the world)- through everything outside of you. You are nothing without it all else. You exist for your pleasure in its pleasure. You exist because it is you. And since you exist as part of its experience, you are part of the big story, and thusly as important as a visit to FAO Schwartz during Christmas-Time, to a New York City kid in 1982.
I’m the only person I know who is scared of having fun.
Because having fun includes it being a bit scary. I am terrified, but totally always okay. I have more today than I did yesterday. All is well.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living life in order to not go insane. Clap your hands twice if you can relate!
A: A standing ovation! (If you think you have a better answer, go ahead and clap your hands twice to let me know you agree!)
We had the most wonderful day…!
We hiked from Echo Trail up to where we could see the burned-out remains of the Mt. Charleston Lodge. Yeah, it sure was burned to the ground. The whole thing collapsed. I heard a firefighter say, yesterday – about it, right after it happened – that because it was made with old timber (whole logs from full-grown pine trees, including a massive few), the structure doesn’t burn faster, but it burns wayyyy hotter. I did not know that!
You know what? I’m not sad about it at all. In fact, it somehow enabled me to remember all the wonderful times I had up at the place. So many cocoas and boozy-cocoas; lunches and dinners; outdoor seating where I was a little too chilly and annoyed with other customers – but somehow it is so human and emotional an experience that it brings me a powerful joy…I’m brought back to smells and sounds – of the Christmas shop they had off to the side for many, many years and where we bought some of our treasured/favorite ornaments (a trio of clear acrylic nutcracker, drummer-type of figures). Birthdays, a lot of birthdays for people. Deb’s birthday where we came together and it was beautiful, perfect. Even when it was bad, it was perfect, because it was so rich. Rich in experience and emotion. And alllll of our experiences are incredibly unique, utterly singular in the UNIVERSE. Singular and composed of just…just unreal amounts of detail and information. The 5 senses alone that are a part of any experience; the unfurling of detail after detail. Fucking visited and watched over by angels – not because they care about US, but because they care about IT – ALL OF IT!!
I know I sound like a fuckin’ nut. Fine. I am crazy, but so are all of you. Every one of us, psychotic apes piloted by angels and demons, fueled by Starbucks and New York Style Pizza. Sounding self-absorbed is to be expected when describing the truth of the beauty of our experience. It probably sounds unworthy of even being heard or seen by most people. But to me, this is fascinating. It’s going anywhere but nowhere. It is pure. It is utterly meaningful to my existence, much like Taco Bell is. Imagine how sad I’d be if Taco Bell disappeared from life tomorrow. Yes, I’ve had it a thousand times, but I still want it. I’ve used food references twice, I’m going to go eat something.
Bodies embued with meaning. Like so many books and letters and art and relics in the Smithsonian, our pasts are just bodies of symbolism, useful only in being used via symbolism and self-reflection and what-not. But, they do not wait for us to notice them, those things. Exactly like books on a shelf, they have to be sought after and there must be a desire to find appreciation and usefulness in the reader. We are each of us, each day, reading our own memories and using them to
I love people. ❤
Ok, goodnight for now.
So many good things today. I wrote about them in my journal. I wish I had pictures or illustrations. Maybe later this season I’ll have a drawing vibe going on. That would be nice. Good night.
I would not have been a great mother. I would have raised a person I probably would not know very well, because she would have been secretive with me, a little afraid of. A beautiful thing, surely she would have been, between Adam’s spirit and mine, we would have conjured someone truly beautiful. A wonderful father who was fun and always showed her love; a mother, who loved her just as much, with a cozy-dark, glittering fire, yet also shadowy place – many empty places that would be transformative and deep, but tainted with malice and wailing from the deep inside her reflection, was an incapacity to love another person in a consistently healthy way. Perhaps the potential for something that was entirely their own potential reality would have been the greatest thing I could have given a person? Like, perhaps I would have gifted an incredible imagination on just the right sort of organism and that she would have grown up to be grateful for my greatest wish to be hers to ask and to receive what ever it is that she may have wanted.
I’ve been listening to NIN Pretty Hate Machine and just fucking digging it. I may pick up Green Day soon. I never got super in to it, but also loved them. It’s so strange. I rely on other people to supply me with my art and music – but I think I spread gratitude and devotion as payment, so that’s okay.
I like spelling out ‘okay’. It looks and feels nice.
You know who I couldn’t stand? Wilson Phillips. Sorry.
Low Roar, the Icelandic band. Might be some kind of music for me. ❤
Right now, I’m listening to music from earlier this year – and maybe much longer? It’s good.
I really like all my work friends. They love me, too. I feel very protected and at peace (safe) when I am there. Even when it sucks. I’m super appreciative of that and them. Each sweet soul there. I’m so glad I never told them off. I think each has benefited from my silence at moments where once upon a time I would have made them regret me.
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. 🙂
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.
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.
OH PLEASE LORD, PLEASE FUCKING LORD MAKE THIS SUMMER FUCKING SUN SHIT END. GOD HELP MY WHITE FUCKING SKINE AND ME BLACK FUCKING HEAD CA’NO’ TAKE IT ANY FUCKING LONGER.
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.