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|Tuesday, July 25th, 2017|
a red creature draped in rags digs a ladder deep into the sand in order to climb into the sky.
|Thursday, July 20th, 2017|
morning. i stretch out my mouth. and then the rest of my face. my ass was exposed when he left. he either kissed or rubbed it, i wasn't fully conscious. slight hangover from the wine and farting from the wheat empanadas.
popboy's holiday with hazel is almost over. maybe today. there may be tears. of course there will be.
he arrived late. he reclined and i began working on him. he gushed fantastically with compliments and i was incredulous. it was as if he was speaking spanish. i wasn't entirely certain of my words, it was as if they were being pulled from me like film from a roll. and i wasn't entirely certain of the timbre which i used to speak; it could have been someone else's voice or one i used in a past life. apparently people think i have a faculty for persuading ghosts to communicate to the living. i never welcomed it myself. a reluctant shaman. not sure those exist. but in an instant may show up fully formed or partially formed like our earthly perception of the moon's image continually shifting in time. time- a fluid continuum yet unexplored. a ghost can also represent a partially formed idea, a nebulous truth or a god who was once loved and cherished but now only occupies a vague memory in the subconscious of some obscure slice of humanity or dogganity.
|Tuesday, July 18th, 2017|
27 years ago i tried to grow a tomato sprout and instead of a fruit, there grew a man and we became best friends. with a needle and thread i would sew offerings for him. smallish energy pellets to take into his body which gave him the strength to travel and transform from one place to another or from one form to another. we passed through time and space and through many different dimensions and we met many creatures and had important curious interactions. if there was ever a moment when safety was an issue, he would lure us into a trance and this is just one example of how we would travel; we would begin moving, the elements surrounding us shifting, a basket twining around and through our bodies passing over hands through a tunnel of swerving stars and we would land fully materialized on a large glistening horse; almost triple the size of your average steed under a clear orange and green sky with several moons.
in the end he was withering away and i couldn't sew his energy boluses fast enough. he shrunk and withered back into a plant as i cried myself awake.
i foresaw him but he says he is strong af.
we are in bed and i want the room to be cooler. it's the first time the heat had penetrated, mostly my head, to an uncomfortable degree. he kisses my cunt to climax. my panting becomes smooth in and out and i roll over to rest but i had diet coke earlier and couldn't sleep for many hours. i looked for my friend and she was doing something else. my music and a pill drowned out the mental noise. i close my eyes and i feel you breathing in your bed or on the floor or however your body is draped at the moment.
an insect scurries by, then freezes at my gaze. but i tiptoe out. let's just pretend we didn't see each other. let's try to inject the space and the quiet with more space and quiet.
|Thursday, July 13th, 2017|
july heat wave. sitting sticky. charles mingus.
if you don't come out to dance tonight, i'll go alone. you always have heels on and makeup and your tits up on a platter and ain't nothing wrong with that but i gotta go places where i won't be escorted. and so i need my ninja wear. invisibility robe. steel toe platforms maybe. but i'm not feeling particularly aggressive. the atmosphere is mellow. i'll switch gears and wear a chastity belt instead. zombie dick ramming into gorilla glass. can you dig it?
i'm bleeding. got up late to mop up and couldn't fall back and i saw karene sent me a jungle selfie. good to know love. let this be a reminder. i wonder if she ever thinks about that one time.. it seemed so..scientific.
i'm not sure if that cantaloupe was ok..o well. busted out the chivas at 4 am to nudge myselves back to sleep.
build and build and build the buddha. and then kill him. and then build him again. lego blocks. ether.
tear it down.
or order it to be torn by the broken backs of broken men.
will angry mouths stay angry
when you feed them cake?
think clearly of the lifespan of your grandfather's koi.
and then look me in the face.
i am 70 years of age living alone on this mountain side.
i've given away my bread collection
in exchange for better dreams.
|Wednesday, July 12th, 2017|
if i thought really hard i might burst into myriad beings scattering in different directions. like the roach's nest. i've been killing at least 3 a day on average. some of them have wings. we use the non-toxic substance so it takes longer to get rid of all of them.
mo was explaining how she got arrested in new jersey. "i was fucking pissed and then i made the fuckers laugh. i still have to face a judge. hahahhaa! not."
should i run when i have the runs?
"do you have an extra pair of pants?"
that was the whole fantasy. now you can sleep.
he kissed me goodbye before i woke up. my heart was alert. he said to run swift like a barn swallow.
the freshwater lake has nothing to say.
i did a treatment in class for tendonitis and it was magic because i was working with some older partners, which is always chill. one physician and one psychologist and we talked about fascia and conductivity and the over-abundance yang energy. these are my people. they said we did good work and let's leave early and i flew out the door and into an avocado.
now lay and listen to simulated ocean waves. down, long, blood-quenched and bliss.
|Tuesday, July 11th, 2017|
one powerful belief that i keep- powerful, which is not to say this is one that can be described as "strong" or "deeply held".(i'm not sure i possess any of those types of beliefs)- is that it is important that some things not work out. you might have not gotten out the door by 7:30 am, but you probably managed to avoid something catastrophic. and by "you" i mean the whole of existence. somebody just dodged a deadly mosquito in Asia because of you, a singular soul deciding to shamelessly unzip your sandal so that you could spread your legs wider for the camera on a tuesday morning.
|Sunday, July 9th, 2017|
"shall we listen to marilyn manson again?"
"sure. were you listening to that the whole hour it took to park last night?"
parade of flowers on 37th avenue. can't get my acapulco style coconut. maybe later. just drive forward. to the beach.
got zapped. swam to the sand bar up ahead. he didn't want to go with because he was afraid he might spasm. i told him he should go back to Dr. Zhao.
there was a french bulldog named Roxanne running around the shore. i can watch dogs forever. when we get a house i'll have one. and some chickens...
we tried discussing in the car and are unsure of how exactly chickens procreate. we walked up and down the boardwalk looking at the bric a brac and still no band. djs though. i danced unabashedly to disco inferno. he placed his hand on my ass as we waited on line for our beers. and then again when i was lying face down on the blanket and i was so excited i couldn't move for about an hour. he stroked me again on the way back under my tube dress with my legs up in half lotus.
home again. i'll go out again and shop for fruit.
he's still out there trying to park. i keep saying i'm going to get a license and i keep not doing it because i really don't want to drive unless it's out of the city. but he never complains. he just pees in coffee cups and pours it outside.
tomorrow i can do whatever i want. finally starting to feel a twinge of normalcy. i no longer wake up panicking. how about a round of applause.
little green dot. i can hear you breathing. i see you there. like a shooting star.
it's midsummer and i must accept the desert. the quiet hiss and the overflowing pulse of the sun.
i think back to the day my lips got burnt. and somehow i devoured that entire hero sandwich. holding back angry words. i still don't know what they are. something like "ow." and "i didn't know i had nociceptors there." and "i wish you weren't so easily hypnotized." and i corralled us back to Tilden and she, like a german girlscout put up a tent that nobody got under. i wanted to throw things, so we hurled around billy's football. and she asked if my dad taught me and i remember thinking that was absurd but you see it in movies. i guess some people don't know how to throw until someone explains the mechanics. that's so alien! to me it's like urinating. i can be shown how to do it more effectively or with better aim, but it can be done well enough naturally. object x will fly in that general direction. and then i saw her try and said "o." she talked our heads off about her childhood. when either of us had the energy to comment, trying to use active listening techniques, she told us we were wrong.
there's the rumbling of the earth that returns when you think you'll never hear it again. it can spit fire when ready.
and it wasn't even about her. i just continue to want to know why it is that your words don't flow as easily around me as they seemed to in those ten minutes with her. if it were merely about flirtation i wouldn't care. if i was able to know for sure that it was, i would forgive the whole thing.
there's an aspect of jealousy that when you have a specific thing that you believe that you lack, which the object of your jealousy seems to have an abundance of, the idea that you can perhaps cultivate it, practice your curveball skills and have that faculty under your belt so that you may contend; desiring to make it so. yet also there's the fantasizing of it's opposite polarity; where you know you could improve and yet you refuse, telling yourself that the form you are in already is most authentic. to cultivate more would only add layers. and isn't that the point of communication- to peel back the layers? but without such layers wouldn't we all be silent? or we would all be telepathic.
if the object of my jealousy was a kind woman, say, the way you describe your lover, your tribe sister; i feel such a sense of awe and deep longing not just for my own heart's desire, but what i imagine is also yours. and i am internally and unsubstantially bruised thinking of you missing her.
i am aware this sounds very boastful, like, i might be making this up to sound incredibly empathic as well as to self-entertain. humans are such selfish beings. and to this i have to say you are right. emotions are the music of life and i enjoy feeling the full spectrum. i selfishly hunger for exquisite action and the way the scenery warps around the focal point. i enjoy the weight of the stone, particularly when it becomes a burden and then the holding on becomes fetishistic and beyond that-Pure beauty.. if you can peer beyond that pain, there's a sense of gratitude for its presence.
it is the end of the hour. i've been lying lackadaisically in the sun and it's time.
|Friday, June 23rd, 2017|
why must we say these things to each other now when we have the whole rest of our lives?
if you watch the globe, it all happens so gradually. smoky jets. there's a ghost of a planet forming in space.
and back on earth, a thunderbolt. a beautiful woman who took me in to make love climaxed heavily on my mouth and fingers, tugging on them softly. she fed me stroked me and held me. she cried a little. we talked, we yammered about opera and books and people we fucked. i came home at a reasonable hour in the rain, noticing the soreness under my skirt. i stripped and he entered me from behind. i began sobbing. he came and i held his head on my belly.
"my mind is all about processing and patterns."
"not all of it."
"most of it."
i left the room to make a tomato salad. me here and you there, hands on guitar. head in space.
i assure you, there is no cure for us.
there's a dense humidity accumulating which is scheduled to fall hard all day tomorrow and then sunday will be clear.
|Wednesday, June 14th, 2017|
finally the rain after 3 scorching days. the sun melted some emotional induration. still some fungal accumulation. no more coffee. only adaptogenic substances and interactions. my ambitions are on-hold, which means i probably should see Stephen.
Cinimon had me call for a demonstration of how to ask one's committee for proper advice by interlocking your hands and seeing which statement gives the least resistance. she said that her committee told her that i have voices too, only they whisper and sing. that some woman who is like a Warholian factory art person from the 60s will kick start my ascent to other lands and towards spiritual emancipation beginning with the summer solstice. and ever since i'm been eyeing my female friends thoughtfully. Cheri, how Warholian are you? you got the haircut.. Or Lopi, you ran an art collective and you're 60s-ish? Lopi wants to be the catalyst. asked if i would go to Oregon to pick mushrooms. I said there needs to be another mission because mushrooms are everywhere. We made out on the beach.
"Their language is not english, you have to speak the language you spoke before you knew words."
That's so easy. it's why i can speak to autistic people so well. i wonder how Joey is.
i heard his mother was making him move to Florida. there must be a delay.
i now have the task of memorizing a crazy amount of shit. but my body wants to move. there might be no way around it but to dive in and become an obsessive mess again. all the travel talk is a tease. the only spiritual pilgrimage i see myself making in the near future is into the can.
Raagini is pregnant. she aims to not be like "those" people. i agree, but who knows?
is everything a distraction? is this the revolution? i should call my reps. again. for the millionth thing now? i will be crushed, i have no fight in me.
the roaches will take over this planet. and we will go to europa.
i wanted to play a guitar that was conventionally tuned so i borrowed his. it's so bulky and it digs into my tit but it's got "good action."
meditation. mindbody excercise. it still feels like you are close by. my wounds close elegantly and my posture improves. anoint the man with oil. anoint the man with octopus ink. anoint with pleasure gel! carefully you insert your tool and loosen the muscle around my jaw.
|Wednesday, March 29th, 2017|
i have to visit you because that way i can make an escape if i need to at any point and i can't do that if you visit me. i can't kick you out 15 mins after you get here because that would just be terrible for everyone.
why are you up all night? it is because sunlight is just too much? i have days like that. usually when the weather suddenly turns and it's a sunny 60 degree day and my body just can't take it and crashes. everyone else, however, frolicking around with their bubble coats open while i'm sweating Elvis.
you might not appreciate the gentle life, but for me it wields good things; such as life stories, hand-me-downs and the trust and affections of others who appreciate gentleness.
a classmate gave me a pot brownie because i smelled them in his bag. billy said i must have been a doberman in my former life.
funny, i haven't been as sensitive to noise since i got back from PR. thinking about traveling on my own soon.
he smiles at me in the morning in a way that makes me feel adored. that is my one comfort.
the rest of the time i feel like dying because everyone is so into money and processing their thoughts aloud and i don't know how to transform boredom and confusion into something more convenient.
and i'm lucky. i'm lucky to be complaining about these things.
in other news, my mother is a vegan because she said that all food should be offered to Krishna, who won't accept anything involving suffering.
i talked to everyone today trying to dilute some sticky thoughts and then plowed through a rough draft of a business plan, got outside later than 3 but it was still sunny and the trees are budding. i was hoping to touch a few hearts but my whole body ached. i long to be a professional cat. everything still hurts. i've been told it will all be over soon after they force me to buy a cap and gown.
Bart was cutting his hair behind the desk today as usual when he is nervous. a client had just accused him of ruining a 50 year old friendship because one of his employees disclosed that the recipient of the gift certificate wanted to regift it to someone else. one would think that within a 50 year relationship there would be some better, more in-depth grievances. but perhaps not. maybe every transaction these two women had with one another was scripted and immaculate like the surface of a new jar of peanut butter before a chopstick is inserted.
|i wrote this on the plane
and it's a hard. and it's a hard. and it's a hard..
left. left. left right..
the left side of my face has aged significantly in the past year. my receptive side. i've been doing too much receiving. and when i try to speak, i stammer. the sound that exits is painful to hear. i cry every couple of days usually for less than a minute and afterwards, i can flow somewhat better conversationally before my throat again is bound in a corset of fear. been trying to make myself cry longer to de-solidify the matters so i can speak again.
i still want sex, which is good. i imagine scenarios where i relax into the power of another. at this point i don't think i would be able to carry out the orders of someone new. unless they would be willing to meet me without words or an in-person explanation. just take me along like a stray that needs a home and is somewhat eager to obey in order to get petted and fed something healthy. something not slimy i hope. almonds would be fine.
squats are a good exercise. i did them yesterday using just the floor and my own weight. caused a somewhat delightful soreness today. i also got drunk. it was my last night in Puerto Rico with Billy and i drank 3 beers and a half glass of red wine. we went back to the room and he made love to me with his hands and mouth. i woke up with the spins but chose to ignore it and slept till 7:30.
in the morning he went to say his friendly goodbye and i said my awkward one and we dragged our luggage up to the car and we were off. our friends will find my wilted spinach in the fridge, green beans and some yogurts. they had given us vanilla flavored yogurt every morning for the past 11 days and i didn't eat any of it because flavored yogurt is disgusting. Billy was concerned that they would be offended to find all the yogurts still there and decided to take a few with us so we could throw them out at the airport. I immediately thought that was a ridiculous and wasteful idea but i didn't protest. Perhaps it's best that nobody consumes chemical-enhanced dairy and therefore we are doing humanity a small favor by disposing of it.
i really love airports. maybe i'll take a job in one. i'd have to take my vitamin C. flying is ok too but sometimes there's nausea.
Billy is aware of his old sea captain appearance and seems to be getting into it. he insists on wearing his blue shirt with the shrimp and crabs printed on it even though it accents the belly. i don't think i can bring myself to hide yet another one of his shirts. perhaps he'll give it up if i buy him some nice new ones with anchors on it or something. he also is refusing to shave and says it's a way of protesting Trump. lately i'm never certain if he's joking. i'm thinking maybe the decision is undecided until after the reaction. it was nice to feel his heavy hand on my thigh during takeoff. the love i feel surpasses all superficiality. it is profound like deep waters feeding the roots of a holy depressed oak.
|Saturday, November 5th, 2016|
i know when i hear the truth and arguably its the most important thing to be able to hear it among the noise. there is so much.
i was given shoddy instructions on how to funnel sand into wine bottles with my bare hands. at the beginning of the year i was happy to receive some egg yolks thinking that would help. everyone is watching me attempt this with very grim expressions on their faces; it's funny and frightening. and although it isn't real, just a simulation; after hours and days of this, it becomes me. i am the grains falling along the slender necks of the bottles. not succeeding much but becoming more comfortable with energy scattered. perhaps the whole thing was set up for the purpose of scattering rather than to funnel. i wonder if they'll ever tell me, but instead i stand aiming for the small openings, waiting for approval.
matt kahn talks about abolishing the concept of "student" from one's energy field during the transition from student to master but i'm not there yet. i am not ready to bless others. what i can do is assist others to move, to find beauty and embrace their joy. perhaps a client or two would disagree.
a girl sent me her words, she asks what makes the pain better? i said, beauty. the ability to rejoice about the weeping willow dusting this roof. to be free to dance about it. i walked across the street in the direction of a collection of purple clouds. standing on the ground was a man who watched me approach thinking i had a question. i told him i had no question but how beautiful the clouds were. and he laughed. that's what i mean, that kind of thing.
he snores with his mouth open on the floor and i just let it happen. i need more room in the bed sometimes. when i wake up, his giant back is exposed to me, sometimes i push my face up to it or rub it quickly with my palms before rising to pee. i cherish the quiet. the creaks in the wood. the Sweetgum.
i don't want to think about tonight or this afternoon, i want to hug the moment like a lover getting on a plane.
|Friday, September 2nd, 2016|
the wind is crisp. the mercurial scent and slowing pulse. i dreamt that my aunt was handing out different types of bread to other family members. i woke up and said fuck because i got blood on the sheet again. and when i got back in i remember every terrible thing i've ever done and cried and cried. and he noticed reached out and i was glad he noticed. fuck. it's coming. no way to stop time. i took a pill to relax and i was dancing in the living room at 4 am. stretching out my joints, letting my hair flop. my hair is very long now like christy's watery mane but mine has a fuzzy quality that is sensitive to the air and that's what v didn't understand. i said "i'm not white." which was foolish because this terminology is archaic. beaten.
i'm listening to teebs. drinking tea now switching to coffee. smelling the air as if it were going to white me out. you know, they sell bottled air now? it began as a joke and now it's big in china. fresh air in a bottle.
this summer was about consumption. it was a time i understood addicts more so than ever before, but even that understanding was not enough. and i'm hoping this coming season will be about frugality and appreciation. this ring. with this ring.
i want to encourage more clarity of action. for it to be clear when i am going to be moving and then stillness. i haven't been truly still in so long.
|Thursday, September 1st, 2016|
|facebook posts 2016
I understand that many of you would like to hear about my mother. She lived in a closet under a bed in the attic for about 13 years. Inside the closet was a map of the world with an arrow made of cake which projected a simulation of any place it pointed to, for example, if she wanted to go a farm in Bavaria, all she would have to do is point to it, eat the cake, and there she would appear wearing Lederhosen. Quite a few of our family members disagreed with her chosen lifestyle, but it didn't bother me as long as it made her happy. Anyway, this simulation would only carry out for approximately 15 mins time before it looped back around to the beginning without the user knowing. So if for instance, there you are in your lederhosen conversing with a cow, discussing the difference between the scent of rain in September versus after the storms of early May; after 15 minutes you will be taken back to the beginning of the conversation when you are just introducing yourself as Simone Valmonte's mom. But this isn't frustrating at all to the user. She proceeded onward, completely unaware of this until about the 32nd time the simulation is played out in which case most humans begin to feel a sense of déjà vu.
I also know a boy who calls himself "the gentleman." Well actually I don't really know him. I know of him through a man who knows his dad. I tried getting him some show tickets today but they were sold out. I'll try again later. "The gentleman" I heard has superb motor skills for his age.
What they don't tell you is that you will be good at nothing for a while. That you will be pushing a rock so big that you will not be able to see what's ahead except you are going up a steady incline and there may be some potholes so you have to go slow. It is important to feel the terrain. You will forget who you thought you were but have flashbacks to those simpler times. You will be clumsy and if you pride yourself on being graceful it will make you cry and sweat at the same time. And you will greet people all wet with a fraction of your personality.
You guard your energy as if someone was going to steal it. But you can also take from others of you so wish. Maybe do an exchange on the next interaction. Try to concentrate on receiving if you already do fine with the giving part and vice versa. If you are looking to give away some energy, don't forget to spruce it up, give it a new coat of paint before handing it off.
|Saturday, August 6th, 2016|
i pushed the issue and now i have semen all over my torso. had a relapse and a justified hysteric and now sipping beer. it has been a long 3 years of trying not to end up in the psych ward over this half assed curriculum; now they're trying to take my credits away from me because they made an admin error. fuck that. my hands were shaking as i typed a letter of "i trust you will correct this problem." I decided to continue to keep my emotions tidy.
we're watching a very violent program.
we're tuning into the political craze.
and everyone who walks through the door seems unhinged in some way.
i need a shower. my feet are burning up.
|Wednesday, August 3rd, 2016|
this reality is a disjointed one. and we are pretending it isn't. why? it's so liberating to recognize it as such. and then you become just another force doing its thing in its own time. it is morning. i am incorporating more coffee into my life. i asked my friend if it makes sense that i might have a nebulous tumor in the wernikes region of my brain. she asked if i talked to my therapist about it and i meant to but we ended up talking about something else that probably didn't even need discussing. the kinds of things that most people consider vocalizing aren't really worth it to me, even in casual conversation. can't they hear the sky rumbling? it's so great. why aren't we paying attention? no. shut up! this is why i have so many people on hold who want to see me but i'm lonely. i want to only talk about the types of things we say when we're blasted and don't care. otherwise, let's just hear the wind through the trees.
but the experience of massaging, of making some pain go away and helping people to walk again hasn't lost its wonder. although i'm not exactly rooting for the human race. there's too damn many of us and i somewhat agree with Eddie Izzard..the only sane voice I've heard so far speak of politics this time around.. yes we should all work together. but do really have room for this many humans without compromising non-human-made organisms? i'm skeptical. maybe xenophobes with weaponry are like part of the fungus of humanity.
and i don't care if i'm using my bar voice to discuss these matters.
people are moving out of my life and into new jersey. or california. my chosen profession basically forbids me to move to california unless i suddenly get rich. but i would move upstate. there's nothing like the northeast in the autumn.
the air smells very nice. there were maybe 2 weeks that felt like actual summer. the earth is inventing new seasons.
|Monday, August 1st, 2016|
i forgot every prime number of words to the song of my life and now an effort to forget all the others in order to start anew. yet there is longing for the fragmented melody to regain its lost parts. a voice that sings, calls to a past that won't be suppressed by new information, unattached to emotion. just the 1, 2, 3s, grasping the vapor to funnel into the neck of a perfume bottle.
i watch your skin like paper unfurl a crane into a sequence of creases. spiraling outward like a map for one to follow. if i cry i will see the blotches. if i walk there won't be any stopping; there is just onward.
tread out into the sand where your hat flew into the wind and the kid who reminded you of your mother when you were not yet separate. and the screen onto which it was projected in purplish tones of bleak. the tuna fish they ate was sort of gray. i said it as if we were in a Tennessee Williams play. the way the weight was carried in every word they spoke. forward but with rocks in a pouch slung at each hip. a man smiled with not too much teeth and did a flip. crowd applaudes. we are in a classroom running an old reel.
someone save us. give me a basket of young white rabbits.
|Tuesday, June 14th, 2016|
you probably don't care at all and that's fine. But i just couldn't keep up the addiction any longer. addiction occupies so much energy that i don't have. that is why it is an excess condition as opposed to a deficiency. it may take months to recover. My brain still has yet to process the detachment. Maybe it won't even be painful and will actually go smoothly because there's never been any regularity in terms of how often we communicated. Most of the communication i think was in my mind and heart with my selves, although it did spawn some psychic gnosis. but good luck. i've never heard anyone do voices like that. The native american voice in particular is so brilliant and can charm anyone's pants. but i won't be panting any more to keep up with the wind or checking the forecast in your city. and there is relief.
|Thursday, June 9th, 2016|
This man tries desperately to compartmentalize chaos and puts up a good fight doing so. He also wants to abolish dualities of any sort. This man does not take any jobs which require wearing a suit. This man thinks he knows what an empowered woman looks like and travels the globe trying to find one in this exact configuration. One time I asked him to describe such a woman and he replied "one that dresses modestly." Which doesn't narrow it down but perhaps his definition of modest is very specific for instance, always carrying some sort of symbol of modesty such as a hair piece that conceals the top half of her face. Maybe she wears this piece religiously or changes it up by instead wearing a pair of baggy gloves if she happened to have long pretty fingers.