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I've been wanting to write for the past few days, but I'm all over the place.
I'm lost.
I'm procrastinating on finishing a book that I started earlier this year.
My "BoOk oF DrEaMs".
It's fitting that it's almost finished now that the year is drawing to a close.
It's time for a new book. I know that.
But this one is just really special to me. And I can feel the dreams that I conjured in my collages, already coming to life.
Now the question is, am I ready for my dreams?
I can feel the rumble...the storm...the Universe, clearing its throat.
My walls are cRaCKing in the center.
The cold is stiffening the locks on my door.
The key hardly fits anymore, and that's unsettling because I don't know what that is going to mean.
I'm also happy sometimes, loOking at this whole mess thing of a life.
Speaking of happiness, "Happiness: by Riceboy Sleeps is playing in the background. Amazing song.
I've been listening to a lot of music lately. Music heals.
They carry me on silver notes out of my pain.
My brother understands that, and is quick to send me silver space ships.
*Thanks Cody*
In other news, I'm about to close another chapter of my life as well.
One that has brought me complete anguish.
But I learned that it's best to completely love the thing that you hate.
Love it so much that the hate disappears.
Love it until its claustrophobic and wants nothing more to do with you.
That's right folks, my first order of operations is to multiply my algebraic loathing with an infinite, unidentified and undefined, fraction of a square root that cannot be simplified or subtracted in any rational/quadratic/radical/polynomial/coefficient or constant variable.
And then I'm going to suffocate it with the deletion of lead and erasers, and the addition of an elongated hot pink pen that has a poof ball on top; and fuchsia ink that screams on the page (outside the lines of course).
And then I'm going to draw curly Q's on my formulas, with hearts and exaggerated pictures filled with useless details.
"Rita inherited $100,000. She invested part of it in stock and lost 46%, and the rest was in a CD that earned 4%. If the net loss of investments was $13600, how much has she invested in each?"
Wait a minute. Go Rita! Congratulations! And where did this inheritance come from? I didn't hear about that. Did you? And what was she wearing when she found out? I don't think she went straight to the stock market do you? Let's Google her...
Yes, I'm going to love math until it dies.
And then I'm going to watch it die.
I won't breathe in. And I won't take my eyes away.
I just want it to look deep into my eyes as it fades away.
Getting smaller and smaller....
-as the books in University freshen their spines, and clean their pages; in celebration of my arrival.
And I won't remember a single formula.
And I won't.
Look.
Back.
*sprinkle sprinkle*
"Don't you know that I'm here?...Don't you know that you're not alone?...That I will not let you fall?..That I want you to leap and dive as far as you can, simply for your own joy, not mine. My joy comes in watching you jump and knowing that I am there to catch you. You're giving me nothing to do. This world is so vast, and yet so minuscule compared to all of the other places that we have to visit. What is it that you could possibly be so afraid of?" My stars are speaking to me this morning. They started a few hours ago. I was in the middle of a dream. A house..cReaKy stairs...a silver sky and voices. That's all that I remember. I'm up at a writer's hour. I poured myself a drink and reported to the keys. Everyone is still asleep, and the sky is fading. I love these quiet hours, though I know I shall go through the rest of my day paying for this time-out.
It's worth it =)
It's nice to battle the sounds of fear. The constant chattering in the backs of our minds, trying to figure out the best path for us to take. The ample warning signals that raise their orange flags at every turn. It's nice to turn around and say, "Okay mind, you have the floor. What is it that I should be so afraid of? Give it all to me. Everything. Just how fucking bad could this possibly be?"
And I'm here, and I'm listening. And guess what? It stopped.
I understand that our subconscious is here to protect us. It's a survival mechanism. But Young Werther is right. It doesn't mean that I have to stop my life. It's okay if we don't recognize our lives sometimes, or even ourselves for that matter.
In a lot of ways it's exciting. I can look at this time as one of the scariest, most streSsful moments in my life, or I can smile and think, "Something is happening..." Something is happening, and I'm going to enjoy the ride, even if I don't know what I'm doing half of the time.
My lover just woke up =) He's bleary-eyed, and he understands me, and my heart is fluttering once again. I'm smiling, and listening to the hum of the heater, and everything is exactly as it should be at the moment. He just made me a cup of lemongrass tea. He kissed me, and left me to my words. I looked at the quote on the tea bag,
"Artists who seek perfection in everything are those who cannot attain it in anything." - Eugene Delacroix
I love this moment in my life. It's imperfection. It's perfection. I'm grateful. And I'm going to drink this balmy libation and go back to sleep. Maybe I'll dream of lemon glass ballerinas, dancing in a lush meadow, celebrating my arrival. They'll teach me how to plie on a blades of grass, and I'll teach them how to climb willow trees without tearing the leaves.
*sprinkle sprinkle*
I've decided to stop my life for the moment.
I have so much work to do that I'm actually laughing.
Yes, this is laughable.
I just need to stop for the moment, and come back to my center.
My source....
Where I come from....
My sToRyDrOpS and the Nebulas.
This is how I know myself.
And that is the only way that I can continue to step into the Unknown.
The STreSS, the ChaOs and the uncertainty no longer becomes me.
They become a minuscule factor in the equation of my life.
Speaking of equations and factors, I am really intrigued with my math professor.
I have experienced so much anxiety in this class, to the point of having nightmares.
Okay here's the thing. Math aside.
I like my professor.
I respect his passion.
And as I sit in the seat that feels like it's made of hot coals I try to understand and see the world as he does.
And then it occurred to me that we are not so different.
I get the puzzle part of math, and that is kind of cool.
He likes quadratic equations and numerical coefficients, where as I enjoy crossword puzzles and word symphonies.
I prefer Neruda sweeping me off of my feet, or chanting to the wisdom of Rumi.
Okay, so yeah...I respect my math professor, but it still doesn't change the fact that I have to basically build a community, based on his world of terms on Cartesian forms and cubic polynomials , just so I can live in my world of words and CraYoNs.
Does that sound fair?
*sigh*
No, but it is...
And I'm living it...I'm feeling it...
And it burns.
maFfFF class burns folks.At least I know that I'm not alone.
You're here with me, and I'm grateful =)
I keep looking at this that journey, and I know that I'm going to miss it one day.
I'll miss the oceans of algebra and mountains of lectures on phenylethylamine transmitters.
But not tonight.
Tonight I'm going to watch "Finding Nemo" in my pajamas.
Why? Because I have "Finding Nemo".
And I have pajamas.
*Goodnight*
This is the song that I'm listening to right now...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLpCLxi32Xk
I love that song.
Hello everyone =)
The evening is flirting with tardiness and I'm done with studying for now.
I'd rather drink this glass of wine, write to you wonderful espresso beans and contemplate the world of owls.
I'm past making sense, or trying to control the recent journeys in my life.
And now that I'm laying back on the lemon colored gondola, barefoot; with my hands behind my head, life seems so much easier.
Prettier.
The night has transformed into a sexy woman, with eyes the color of opal constellations, draped in a navy blue cocktail dress.
She winks a blink of stardust at me and offers wine from her the flask in her garter.
And right now life is good.
I'm about to be joined by a dear friend of mine.
She understands rodents, breathes through fire and lives life without apology.
I love that.
I see that in recognizing how little control we have over this whole Big Bang thing, the better off we are. It can be terrifying or freeing. You choose.
I'm not saying that I'm going to stop paying my electric bill or occasionally writing my local Congressman when I get pissed off about receiving four wasteful phone books every damn year.
I'm just trying to grow a third eyelid, like the owls.
They say it's to clean the eyelid, but I think the owls are just trying to throw us off of their visions.
They know what's going on.
I think fixed eyes are the answer.
So tonight I won't speak as much.
I'll just perch myself, stare and blink three times at candle flames, the waning moon, or simply the ceiling.
I'll look until I see something different.
I'll look until I am different.
Not that I need to cHAnGe.
But we're all here to wear each other's skins and exPloRe....
Right?
*sprinkle sprinkle*
I'm still wandering through the Button Forest of Blurry with my headphones on and fluffy warm ear muffs that make me think of Chewbacca fur.
In my mind I always go north when I need to heal.
I tap into my Eskimo woman and don layer upon layer of fabrics and textures that weave me into an ignorant igloo of security.
I wear sweaters that make me feel safe and then I balance a big mug on my knees, while wrapping my hands around my ankles and staring into the flames of candles.
Sometimes I see my idea of the future. Sometimes I see the past, or an exaggeration of present pains.
But I'm happiest when the flames take me nowhere.
Even nowhere is a place.
I close the windows and fall into the chanting mantra of the heater, imagining which language is speaking to me.
I thaw my thoughts and watch my hair turn to blue shards of ice.
The forest is cRunChY.
I'm walking through the blankets of my journal pages.
The snow is smeared with faded ink, and I'm embarrassed to say that there are way too many spaces where the snow is pure and blank with faded lime green lines.
They look like streets upon the snow that are sideways. Some disappearing through hills, the others stopping at a bush or a tree.
There is no true direction, only solace and chaos.
I'm finding my way through music.
Music heals. I don't know where I would be without it.
I am not a musician, but I am so grateful for them.
A world without music is like an ocean without fish.
I've decided to follow the worn, molded signs of my playlists.
"Ennui Fondue, Shayde, rEtRoGrAdE, J., sToRyDroPs, Happy As Fuck!!!"
I think of my mood and then follow the notes as they carry me up the oak trees.
Yesterday I found a phoenix's nest.
I snuggled up to a rusted colored boiling egg and listened to the rhythm of a woman's pain.
Her tears and anger beating like a heart soon to set free (but not yet).
I have witnessed my own birth as a phoenix rose. It is something that possesses and dominates every action and thought of every living thing within a thousand miles. And the tremors vibrate within the earth for a thousand days afterwards.
When that egg breaks I will stop and remember my death as she is born, and then I will carry on.
Back to my path.
Back to my winter of acoustic exploration.
It's an enchanting thing, this walk... these notes... my words, melting in snow...
And the mountains up ahead, vacant and eager, with untouched oak trees and rusted phoenix eggs that are yet to be to be conceived.
*sprinkle sprinkle*
Well here I am, 28 days later.
If you need to squint to read this color than you're in the right frame of mind.
I'm squinting right now....
I'm squinting in spades, but mostly keeping my eyes shut.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to start breathing yet.
Maybe after a little more dusting.
I did the laundry, cleaned the windows, mopped the floors, saged my house...
The Tower has fallen.
The swords were thrown. Some hearts were gathered and melted in cups, and now here I am, with colorless metaphors and dusty cards to either put back together or burn forever.
I'm back.
I'm blue.
I'm grateful.
I'm new.
I'm humbled. And excited.
I've missed you all....
And I don't know what I'm going to do about certain things.
I'm probably being too cryptic, but it's for your benefit, I assure you.
One of my many ideas behind this whole thing is to connect with myself. And to connect with you.
And if I start inserting too many random details from my life (names, streets, coastal patterns, etc.) it might divorce you from the specific elements of your life.
And I am not selfish enough to do that.
In this verisimilitude I need you more than you need me =)
My new schedule starts tomorrow.
Once again I have managed to conjure up something both frenzied and maniacal.
Part of me is so proud for challenging myself, and constantly testing my limits.
I always try to see just how far I can push myself each time and then in the face of adversity I gasp and think, "FUCK! What did I get myself into!?!?!?!?!"
Once again I fear that I am in over my head.
That I'm afraid of my stillness and my silence.
My lack of aspiration to turn this life into an atom bomb of my being.
I've always wanted to detonate all of my glittering positrons and leave this Earth with a blinding persistent ringing, like a Tibetan prayer wheel that infects a tinnitus of kindness and sight for those who chose not to see their awesomeness.
Does that sound too self-righteous and supernal?
Maybe...but it's good to dream.
And it's good to wonder what it would be like if I set everything down.
My calender. My responsibilities. My expectations of myself. My fucking Iphone.
Everything.
I'm looking forward to the silence after this extensive haul.
I won't be so quick to jump into a new adventure.
Not this time.
Not this fucking time.
I think I'll wait and see if there has been something waiting for me.
Something small and meek that couldn't be heard beneath my thunderous thoughts.
A corner of light that catches my yawn....
A universe that lives in a dust ball beneath my bed....
A nest of swallowtails waiting to burst in my head....
Limitations are as real as you need them to be.
*sprinkle sprinkle*
Dear sToRyDroP readers,
My foxgloves....my starfish....my cumulonimbus clouds....
An apology.
I am so sorry that I haven't written.
I didn't mean to abandon you for so long, or myself for that matter.
I've been dealing with a family crisis, and right now I'm not even sure who's breath I'm breathing...
I don't like to write when I feel this lost and overwhelmed.
At least not in a public fashion.
The thoughts that are bellowing in my mind right now are usually badly translated in sloppy, frustrated, faded ink in my personal journals.
I press too hard on the page, and ALL CAP random words as I alternate between script and calligraphy.
I try to make the entry look prettier after abusing my writing tools.
Sometimes I'll look at the passages and wonder if I'll have kinder eyes and a softer heart when I re-read them.
I hope so.
As I was attempting to say, I don't like to write in sToRyDrOpS when I am feeling like such a foul goblin . I like to inspire hope and joy.
I like to keep things light.
The world is dark enough.
And while it is the season for dark goblins, this one ain't pretty 'yall.
But on second thought, life is also about breaking your own rules and climbing through looking glasses.
So I will share my feelings regardless of the ickiness and goo.
I feel...
-ashamed that I am not more grateful for this detour in my life. I don't usually get this time with my family and now I'm complaining about it because it's coming at an inconvenient time.
I feel...
-afraid that I'm not going to be able to balance my life and push forward because I have been derailed for almost a month. (that also makes me feel angry and resentful)
I feel...
like I miss my friends. I have some good bunnies out there that really rock my world.
I feel....
fReAkEd out because I know that after this hurdle is over in a few months I have an even bigger one to climb.
I feel grateful for the help that I have been given during this challenging time.
I feel....
-unreliable for neglecting my readers and now even more irritated with myself because writing feels so damn good.
And I feel like maybe I'll write more often...
Even when I'm typing with bloated, green, wart covered fingers.
Even with a hunch on my back and straggly, silver strands of hair falling on the keyboard.
I'll write until my spine straightens...
I'll write until my eyes stop bulging out...
I'll write until I'm pretty again.
And then I'll write some more.
*sprinkle sprinkle*
