That's how long my essay is right now. I should be writing more, but that last joint went to my head. I also got the dishes done, and planned for Ubu. Productive day. Saw Gwen.
Her shoes were amazing, only to be beaten by her designs. Seeing her put a smile on my face, and broke my heart a little because I forgot how stunning in both body and mind she is.
Also it reminded me that we're no longer together, and she'll be leaving for the holidays. And me that right now the most important thing for me is to be working on my writing, and working out, and work, and theater, and art, and writing. On me and myself basically. And there is heartbreak and hope in that.
So I was sitting here drinking a glass of wine, thinking there was some game I wanted to play, or some site I wanted to visit, and then I thought: "Oh yeah! I want to put on music and write.
Just words and ideas flowing out onto the paper, getting things out of my head, bit by bit. I'm in a transition where writing and working out are becoming the norm. I enjoy them because they give me a sense of purpose. I don't feel so idle and listless.
I'm getting older. It's okay though. I'm making it through things I never thought I would make it through, taking on challenges I never thought I would be taking on.
Blah blah blah. On and on.
Life in small town.
I see the high school as I turn down my street. The lights of the field...everything I need is a short walk away. It's those times I miss NYC. Then I start thinking about NYC and I'm like: No. No way in Hell. That place is amazingly painful, and beautiful in that way, and maybe I'll go back someday when I have steady work, and I can experience NYC in a different way, but not now. Now I'm happy in my coffee shop gig, working on art everyday.
Life is a horrible thing, and the more I watch the more I'm aware of that. Everyone is bitching about the Affordable Health Care Act website not working, and I'm just sitting here thinking "What the hell did you expect?"
I was talking with Brooke today and I said to her "I am the middle child of this generation." and she says to me "No wonder you're in theater."
Zing!
And now I'm finishing my glass of wine. Drinking to the vineyards of California and the abundance of mexican food you can get here.
Well up early to start all over again. Woot woot!
Also if you have 4:46 sec. (approx) Enjoy this. Brought to you by Bodger Millerd. You gotta finish it, though cause...well you'll see...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WByuazDfmJw
Friday, December 6, 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Kitty!
My friend Greens said to scream my pain from the rooftops, or some such, and that the reason I feel guarded is because I'm afraid people won't accept the real me.
To some extent I think she's right, but it's a matter of right.
What right do I have to allow myself to be hindered by any pain? I have had friends in recent history go through way more than I.
I mean I remember once sitting with my friend Ivy in an IHOP at 20. I said that I always felt that my pain was inconsequential to hers. She said "Well, each person has their own cross to bear, and I think it takes a lot to go what you have, and end up as nice as you. A lot of people would have become jerks."
I don't feel entitled to this pain, and yet I feel it. It's a pain that comes from seeing too much, for one thing. I knew two days before the break up it was happening, and accepted it. Some part of me feels horrible for just giving in, but another part of me knows that fighting would have only made it worse. It's sad, and reason for grief, but not nearly as much grief as others I know.
Then I start asking what right do I have to any grief? Where is the line? And what can you make with that? What else can you talk about with that pain to drive people forward where there is less opportunity for people to experience mental and physical trauma.
I wish there was some way else I could say it. Some way that's romantic, or dramatic, but it's one of those things that's neither.
I am sad about the breakup. It sucks. I know what people say, but I know I'm also odd, so regardless of young, old, or middle, you have to be with those who care deeply for you. I mean, it's not like I know we won't be friends, I'll make the necessary steps. I will communicate at appropriate times, and in an appropriate way, but it's hard when you know somebody cares deeply for you, and for whatever the reasons, it's better for them to let them be.
I keep writing though, and I keep working out, and doing better at work, and keeping active politically. I keep moving, even if it's not as fast as I want it to be. Everyday towards our goals, well my goals.
Anyway, that's enough. At least for just letting my thoughts spill out. There's something I want to tell you:
I HAVE CAT! It means I'll have cat for another 18 years, but some how the universe has entrusted plants, and a cat in my care. OMG!!!! I need to get her flee meds before the house gets infested.
She's an odd cat. Doesn't like many people, but she's cuutuuute, and so she gets away with a lot. Okay so going to bed, so I can get up early and work on my paper.
Well early-sih. Beer!
To some extent I think she's right, but it's a matter of right.
What right do I have to allow myself to be hindered by any pain? I have had friends in recent history go through way more than I.
I mean I remember once sitting with my friend Ivy in an IHOP at 20. I said that I always felt that my pain was inconsequential to hers. She said "Well, each person has their own cross to bear, and I think it takes a lot to go what you have, and end up as nice as you. A lot of people would have become jerks."
I don't feel entitled to this pain, and yet I feel it. It's a pain that comes from seeing too much, for one thing. I knew two days before the break up it was happening, and accepted it. Some part of me feels horrible for just giving in, but another part of me knows that fighting would have only made it worse. It's sad, and reason for grief, but not nearly as much grief as others I know.
Then I start asking what right do I have to any grief? Where is the line? And what can you make with that? What else can you talk about with that pain to drive people forward where there is less opportunity for people to experience mental and physical trauma.
I wish there was some way else I could say it. Some way that's romantic, or dramatic, but it's one of those things that's neither.
I am sad about the breakup. It sucks. I know what people say, but I know I'm also odd, so regardless of young, old, or middle, you have to be with those who care deeply for you. I mean, it's not like I know we won't be friends, I'll make the necessary steps. I will communicate at appropriate times, and in an appropriate way, but it's hard when you know somebody cares deeply for you, and for whatever the reasons, it's better for them to let them be.
I keep writing though, and I keep working out, and doing better at work, and keeping active politically. I keep moving, even if it's not as fast as I want it to be. Everyday towards our goals, well my goals.
Anyway, that's enough. At least for just letting my thoughts spill out. There's something I want to tell you:
I HAVE CAT! It means I'll have cat for another 18 years, but some how the universe has entrusted plants, and a cat in my care. OMG!!!! I need to get her flee meds before the house gets infested.
She's an odd cat. Doesn't like many people, but she's cuutuuute, and so she gets away with a lot. Okay so going to bed, so I can get up early and work on my paper.
Well early-sih. Beer!
Monday, December 2, 2013
Warm Up
I have been writing, I promise. A lot of it's in my head, and a lot of it is just too personal, or too...what's the word? Does somebody have a word I could use? How about..."deep"...too publish. Yeahhhh...deeppp...*rolls eyes.
It's winter and it's in the 60's. My friend Bodger says people talk about the weather when they don't have anything else to talk about.
Today I feel: Guarded. Hopeful. Driven. Fed. Loved. Grateful. Helpful. Shame. Hurt, and finally content.
In the words of Bart Simpson in the "I Didn't Do It" Boy" episode, "I am waiting for a bus."
I can now write anywhere, in a variety of modes, but something about the clacking of keys brings out the best in me. That and jazz music. Maybe I'll get a typewriter like Bodger. Feels kinda hipster, but if owning a typewriter is wrong, I don't want to be write. Wright. no wait right.
Maybe I'll use it to decorate my word and go all "A Beautiful Mind" and cover the whole place in Peer Gynt's Stillborn ideas.
That's what it is. Fear of creation? Is that's what been holding me back on finishing this paper? Naw I mainly think it's I forgot how much fun it is to write, and even when it's miserable, it gives give me a sense of purpose.
So let's see what happens here. I have to run errands and get rent ready, and do laundry and run, but I'm sure tonight will be a writing night. I'll head back up to the library, and work from there as long as I can. Which is Midnight.
But yeah. I have been writing, it's just getting up and working again, like at a place making a little cash, and working as a writer. I mean seriously working as a craft. I've been thinking about it a lot and the freedom that comes with definition. By giving yourself a form the limitations set you free. It's exciting.
Anyway, more blog . Maybe I'll take a look at the Santa Cruz museum. Or do some research about the renovations of the SF MoMA
P.S.
IT'S CHRISTMAS!!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qljs6phMy8o
It's winter and it's in the 60's. My friend Bodger says people talk about the weather when they don't have anything else to talk about.
Today I feel: Guarded. Hopeful. Driven. Fed. Loved. Grateful. Helpful. Shame. Hurt, and finally content.
In the words of Bart Simpson in the "I Didn't Do It" Boy" episode, "I am waiting for a bus."
I can now write anywhere, in a variety of modes, but something about the clacking of keys brings out the best in me. That and jazz music. Maybe I'll get a typewriter like Bodger. Feels kinda hipster, but if owning a typewriter is wrong, I don't want to be write. Wright. no wait right.
Maybe I'll use it to decorate my word and go all "A Beautiful Mind" and cover the whole place in Peer Gynt's Stillborn ideas.
That's what it is. Fear of creation? Is that's what been holding me back on finishing this paper? Naw I mainly think it's I forgot how much fun it is to write, and even when it's miserable, it gives give me a sense of purpose.
So let's see what happens here. I have to run errands and get rent ready, and do laundry and run, but I'm sure tonight will be a writing night. I'll head back up to the library, and work from there as long as I can. Which is Midnight.
But yeah. I have been writing, it's just getting up and working again, like at a place making a little cash, and working as a writer. I mean seriously working as a craft. I've been thinking about it a lot and the freedom that comes with definition. By giving yourself a form the limitations set you free. It's exciting.
Anyway, more blog . Maybe I'll take a look at the Santa Cruz museum. Or do some research about the renovations of the SF MoMA
P.S.
IT'S CHRISTMAS!!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qljs6phMy8o
Friday, November 29, 2013
Witching Hour Alchemy
I read over last nights post earlier. Wow, I see why Dionysus is closely related to the primal gods. I get a few drinks in me and I get super wrathy. Oh well, I hate to admit it but I need enemies. I need them because anger is motivating to me, and I know I have a lot of it. It also lets me define what I am not. In a lot of areas of life I want peace. With my professors, with my past, a sense of internal peace, or at least calmness and presence of mind ("Constant Vigilance.") Sometimes though, sometimes I need to have someone to be against, to activate me, to activate my anger. It keeps me focused, and it makes sure that I do my best to not fail because I will not quake in the face of those who dislike me, and/or wish to see me annihilated.
Plussss you know a breakup. Yes yes I knew it was doomed, but I can't say I don't miss her. I'm still finding her bobby pins everywhere. The bed smelled heavly of her the first night after the breakup because she was the last one to stay in it....It's all right. All I can do with that though is keep moving. It's motivated me to you know, keep writing...because...well life is either gonna be this horrible external pain, without any reason, or a horrible internal pain that has some sort of structure.
Oh, who I am kidding, it'll be both ("Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.") At least with words, art, actions, we can give it shape, give it form, and for some make a world that hurts a little less. According to my friend Bodger who
"just want's to describe the human experience, and in that find a way of never leaving my apartment," giving pain form is hard enough.
He's right, it is hard, and if he wants to see how hard it is to focus on that, more power to him. I, like Bell Hooks, find liberation in theory. In the world that might be, and that is. The world that is right next to ours called into being by our works ("And you shall know them by their works.)
So, moving around all that, I want to tell you that the way I began studying alchemy heavily was last year in September I was in Hawaii for a month. I stayed up most nights sleeping a good part of the day away, smoking massive amounts of weed, coping from the physical and emotional trauma of being mugged at gunpoint and pistol whipped across the head. Who knew 8:00am on a Sunday morning is a horrible time to buy drugs off the street? Okay now that I see that in print...yeah I mean I knew it was an awful idea shortly after doing it...but to see it printed there...jeeesh...
Annnyyywayyy...so the neighbors and I have inherited this cat, and I spend a lot of time with her. I was finally able to identify it as a her when I woke up Thanksgiving morning with her anus and vagina were in my face. Happy Thanksgiving!
Actually I am thankful for that. To wake up someplace warm, with a cat.
So what I'm doing my best to get at is that I'm finishing this paper in a blowout. I'm getting as much writing as I can done in the next few days. Sitting down, pushing myself with working out, and drugs, and cleaning, and more writing till it's done. Just done. Finish the way this whole thing started. At the end of a long few months, as a way of giving me hope for the future. Mine, yours, ours, for friends, enemies, and ex's alike.
Happy Chanukah.
Merry Thanks Giving.
Plussss you know a breakup. Yes yes I knew it was doomed, but I can't say I don't miss her. I'm still finding her bobby pins everywhere. The bed smelled heavly of her the first night after the breakup because she was the last one to stay in it....It's all right. All I can do with that though is keep moving. It's motivated me to you know, keep writing...because...well life is either gonna be this horrible external pain, without any reason, or a horrible internal pain that has some sort of structure.
Oh, who I am kidding, it'll be both ("Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.") At least with words, art, actions, we can give it shape, give it form, and for some make a world that hurts a little less. According to my friend Bodger who
"just want's to describe the human experience, and in that find a way of never leaving my apartment," giving pain form is hard enough.
He's right, it is hard, and if he wants to see how hard it is to focus on that, more power to him. I, like Bell Hooks, find liberation in theory. In the world that might be, and that is. The world that is right next to ours called into being by our works ("And you shall know them by their works.)
So, moving around all that, I want to tell you that the way I began studying alchemy heavily was last year in September I was in Hawaii for a month. I stayed up most nights sleeping a good part of the day away, smoking massive amounts of weed, coping from the physical and emotional trauma of being mugged at gunpoint and pistol whipped across the head. Who knew 8:00am on a Sunday morning is a horrible time to buy drugs off the street? Okay now that I see that in print...yeah I mean I knew it was an awful idea shortly after doing it...but to see it printed there...jeeesh...
Annnyyywayyy...so the neighbors and I have inherited this cat, and I spend a lot of time with her. I was finally able to identify it as a her when I woke up Thanksgiving morning with her anus and vagina were in my face. Happy Thanksgiving!
Actually I am thankful for that. To wake up someplace warm, with a cat.
So what I'm doing my best to get at is that I'm finishing this paper in a blowout. I'm getting as much writing as I can done in the next few days. Sitting down, pushing myself with working out, and drugs, and cleaning, and more writing till it's done. Just done. Finish the way this whole thing started. At the end of a long few months, as a way of giving me hope for the future. Mine, yours, ours, for friends, enemies, and ex's alike.
Happy Chanukah.
Merry Thanks Giving.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
I should be writing a paper. A deep discourse on the medieval unconsciousness in comparison with 19th century nationalism as it appears in theater. But no. Im here with you, dear reader (intertextual reference) drinking, and writing. Why? I am no spoiled brat. I know life is hard, and I've worked for every scrap of happiness I've ever experienced, like when I came back to California, and my friend's girlfriend put a bullet through her mouth. (I had a friend once say I interjected personal moments of grief into narrative without a point. I will show this is not case). The life I wished to move back to, all fell apart. Those closest to me barely made it. And somehow I found a life here in the city by the sea. I experienced this moment of happiness when I was working almost full time at my job, with a young woman who I swore myself to. I was happy, and for that, I am paying. But who cares! Do you? Do you want to see my happy, oh happy day? Isn't that what Facebook is for? So you can post all those happy moments when you "fart or eat a sandwich?" Bonus points if you know where that comes from. (Soft voice whispers "who are you to give out points?") So here we are again. The difference this time is that I've had to "Go 'round" as Ibsen's Boyg suggested. I can not fight what I am, only find other ways to be it. I am...a writer. Dear God it feels good to say that. Why? I've spent my whole life fighting convention, description, my own nature. But now, now I know what I am. For better or for worse, I am "your humble narrator." I offer you a viewpoint, a lens. Come with me, or ignore me. I'll be here. On the net. Waiting. Because what is seen can never be unseen, and what is heard can never be unheard, and what is read/thought can never be read/unthought. Dear reader, for better or for worse "I am with you." Welcome to our world. Accept us, or damn yourself.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
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