Consumed by all I have become.

Reasons in which I drown.

Justifying that which I know as ill.

Parading my faults as a crown.

Revolted by my own deeds.

Deny that I can fall.

Floating upon a mask that is hollow

Lending my ails to all.

Crushed by my webs upon webs of lies.

Blindess through which I see.

Hiding from the face that is mine.

Living as the fool I be.

Always now I have a tight feeling in my chest and there is a cloud hanging over my head. My life is full of fires, I scramble about trying to put them all out, but I always run out of time or energy and the fire burns up everything. And when it is all gone what am I left but a pile of ashes and my regrets. I awaken in the night sweating, I am wasting my time sleeping, I could be working, I could be doing something. Always the feeling of anxiety knawing at my gut, worse than hunger pains. Always almost on the verge of tears. Counting my failings as the march by, one by one, steadily growing in rank. I check the clock twelve times in five minutes. When will I be done with this? When can I move on to the next trainwreck, try to salvage something. When I close my eyes I see faceless heads with hands reaching out to me. Give me, give me. I want your money. I want your clothes. I want your work. I want your face. Give me… I feel their hands pressing on me. They want so much, hundreds of them. Grabbing at me with grubby fingers. Stinking like rotten meat. Or if not the hands, the rising water. At my chin, at my eyes, over my head. Day or night, there is no rest, no respite. Always working, always struggling, always haggard. My chest is tight as ever. I feel old.

My dear friend whom I shall refer to as the Dragon [I have always nicknamed him as such] came into my life around the year 2000.  Dragon is probably the kind of person you’d stereotype into a certain niche. He looks tough and is 80% covered in tats, has some piercings and owns a bike.

He however exemplified the meaning of not judging a book by its cover as though his exterior was badass, Dragon is the kind of person filled with  ideas, of artistry, compassion and of intellect that surpasses most people’s.  Cheerful, objective, optimistic are just some of the many fine qualities he possesses.

Over the years since having first met him, I would temporarily loose contact for various reasons. He was busy, I was busy etc,. though this never really hindered our friendship and there was never a real effort to reconnect once we both would come across each other. Nothing changed, sure we’d hastily try to catch up on each others lives but there was no awkwardness  just an instant reconnection.

I  was shocked the last time we reconnected [after losing touch for nearly a year] to find that he had been in an accident. Ironically the accident was not recklessness on his part. He was on his bike at a stoplight when a station wagon rammed into him. Obviously it was pretty bad as most motorcycle related accidents are. I believe the reason behind this is mainly due to the fact that the human body is exposed in comparison to being in a car. His injuries had him in the hospital for quite some time as he had explained to me. Metal was made part of his body to replace the bones that were greatly fractured. By the time he and I were reconnecting he was only starting the process of picking up the pieces.

Recovery for him was not easy. It involved more surgery in the coming months as well as medication to ease the pain and he was somewhat borderline dependent on fermented grapes. I know this because he told me so and because I saw it myself.  I remember warning him about his unknowing dependency and he had assured me several times that he did not guzzle the stuff down every single day.

I know I should have nagged him more but you can really only do so much. The best news  I got out of that tragedy was that he was finally with someone whom he cared for deeply and who reciprocated the feeling as well. I was psyched for him and also for plans of him flying over before heading home to his folks.

Months rolled by and slowly on the news famous figures, icons were passing away no longer existing. I remember thinking how tragic it was to lose these people who I have not personally met and yet feel some strong affinity with. Perhaps the music they created belonged to my childhood thus forever immortalizing them as part of my being or that their sacrifices their glamor, artistry somehow influenced me. These are the moments that somewhat define a part of who you have become.

August 2009;

An anxious feeling had slowly crept into my gut. It stayed there, camping out as flames from the campfire slowly started to blaze harder. Making the anxiousness intensify. Out of nowhere I suddenly had an urge to speak to Dragon. I tried for his number but stupidity made me neglect to ask him the last time we spoke to get his new mobile number. I decided to stalk him on messengers instead when I didn’t spot him there I tried checking up on him on one of the social networking sites he frequents.

There were several wall posts from him and some responses from friends. Most of the messages were cryptic but made me beyond anxious upon reading them. I now had dread that felt like a big hollow lump in my gut that was somewhat starting to inflate. It got bigger and bigger as days passed and more cryptic yet terribly morose messages flooded his page. I waited thinking I was perhaps just simply being paranoid and did not want to overreact to anything. Admittedly I was definitely nursing that dreadful feeling I prayed, I don’t pray often but that time I  did. I prayed everything was okay. Though somehow in my prayers it slipped past my tongue before I even realized I said it much less have thought that it was a possibility. I prayed for his peacefulness.

I Googled to check on local news in his area. There was nothing. A week passed and I stalked him again on his page still no clue and the last person who messaged and expressed the same concern as I had, has gone unanswered.

Then there it was, one more bout of Googling and I found what I had been dreading. My dear dear Dragon is forever disconnected from me and from people who hold him dear. He has gone away and no amount of reconnecting will ever truly bring him back.

I did not cry because I simply couldn’t. The loss is unexplainable. My grief felt frozen and I sat staring at the announcement of his demise and I suppose I was still in denial as I refreshed the page several times only to have a photo of his smiling face show up every single time accompanied by words that blurred and refused to be comprehended by my brain.

That night I got sick, felt cold all over and yet my temp was burning up. My grief was so bottled in that it had to get out one way or another. Up to this day I have no full idea the entire cause of his demise. I don’t think it will ever be appropriate to contact his loved ones to ask for the cause. Doing so will only cause them pain and I cannot bare to cause them any more because losing him is already monumentally painful.

It is human to wonder what caused it but by now it is unimportant to me and the only thing I hold importance to is the gift of his friendship of having known him and of having been lucky enough to have known the person he truly is.     {8-13-09}

“We are all a part of everything
The future, present and the past
Fly on proud bird
You’re free at last.”

-Charlie Daniels

Audrey was stuck.
She had been floating happily across the lake for about a week, watching the fishes as they nibbled at her.
Now her foot was caught on some jackass’s dock. At least she thought it was her foot. That seemed to be the anchor point that was hinging her to the wooden post. Probably snagged on a ragged nail.
The fishes still came to visit her, but she didn’t have the wind pushing her around.
At least when she was drifting, there was the excitement that she might hit a boat.
Her best chance now was for a fish to nibble enough of her foot to set her adrift again.
Actually her best chance would be for some kid to find her and turn her over, and run away scared. That way she could drift face up for a change!
It would be lovely to see the stars again; although she would most likely miss watching her fish.
Audrey knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before the fish ate enough of her to sink her, but on the other hand, the bottom of the lake would probably be exciting.
There would be catfish and she could count beer cans as they sank around her.
In between, she could reflect on life and the other big things she never spared the time to think about before.
How long had she been stuck here?
At least a few days, but probably not a whole week. Maybe a whole week. It was getting harder for her to keep track of time. No appointments to keep or schedules to make.
Wait.
Now she was being pulled out of the water.
OH NO!
Please just let it be some curious teenagers. Please god just let it be some teenagers. Audrey realized she merely was thinking that way out of habit now. Or maybe not. Who knew what would happen to her tomorrow? Maybe she would drift up into the sky.
The shoes didn’t look like teenager shoes. They were shiny black shoes underneath black pants.
Police shoes.
Audrey was shoved into a large matching black bag. She watched the zipper close over head.
Then she was thrown somewhere roughly.
Why couldn’t they have just left her alone and in peace to contemplate?
A short while later, she was placed on her back. The bag was unzipped.
Audrey was in a morgue now. She was sure of it. Silver all around and beige on the ceiling.
Men with glasses looked at her for a bit, then pushed her inside a large metal cabinet.
She sat staring in the dark, so used to the lake that every once in a while, she almost thought she saw a fish rise up from the blackness.
She was rolled out from the big metal cabinet. A few police officers looked at her. One closed her eyes. She was pushed back inside the big metal cabinet.
She couldn’t see anything at all now. They’d ruined that for her.
Audrey could barely hear a few men outside every once in a while. Minutes passed. Hours, probably.
She was rolled out again from the big metal cabinet. The bag was zipped back up over her head and soon she was being moved again.
As she traveled, Audrey imagined she was drifting along a river; that every bump was a dip or a twist in the rapid water.
She pictured the sky overhead and birds flying from tree to tree, noticing her every so often.
She could almost feel the sun on her face.
The bag was unzipped over her head.
She felt it pull out a few of her hairs on its way down.
A man opened her eyes.
He looked at her closely, and then leaned back.
He held a tiny paintbrush and a solemn expression on his face.
The man moved her face all around, squeezing and turning.
He lifted her arm, bent it at the elbow, set it down.
He lifted her leg, bent it at the knee, set it down.
The man wasn’t rough, but he was utilitarian in his touches; routine.
He set his tiny brush down on a tiny side table and hooked something up into Audrey’s arm.
He switched off the lights and left her in the dark.
Was this a mortician?
Audrey could feel something happening inside her body; something strange and unsettling.
It felt almost like her blood was being forced to move again, or that she was being drained.
The light came back on a few minutes later. Hours? Days?
The man unhooked whatever was in her arm.
He bent her arm, then set it down.
The man removed her torn dress, and pushed her into a new peasanty, flowery one.
She hated the way it looked; at least what she saw of it.
Audrey would never voluntarily wear a dress like this.
The man picked up his tiny paintbrush and started brushing it across her face.
Soon, he was finished.
He closed her eyes.
She was moved into a coffin.
She waited.
The coffin never opened.
She and the coffin were moved again.
She heard someone mumbling a prayer.
Audrey heard the intermittent rain of dirt covering her coffin.
Now there would be nothing else.
Was there still something to look forward to?
Could something still happen?
Maybe this was a waiting period of some kind.
Maybe heaven had a long line.
She wished she had something to distract her. Nothing but her thoughts.
Audrey tried thinking of new things, anything other than the reason she was here.
She tried desperately not to remember that violent day at the lake.
Anything was better to occupy her mind than the cold, naked truth, but there was nothing here. Empty quiet still blackness.
She only kept herself from thinking about it for a few hours? Days? Years?
Then there was nothing left to do but remember.

The End

Ronald finished cleaning his instruments.
He toweled them off individually and ran them each flatly along his jeans to finish his ritual.
Then he carefully picked them all up in his hands like a bundle of metal sticks, and walked down the shag-carpeted steps back into his basement.
The single bulb still hummed with electricity.
He placed each of his tools back into their leather case and wrapped the strap tightly around it.
He placed the leather bundle back on its little shelf.
Ronald hadn’t missed any spots while he was cleaning.
It was a very small room.
Still, a ritual was a ritual.
Better safe than sorry. Words Ronald lived by.
He got out the blacklight and the ammonia spray bottle and searched every inch.
Hadn’t missed a spot.

He put the blacklight and spray bottle away on their shelf up above the leather case.
Then he killed the bulb and trudged back up the steps, closing the door behind him.
The news was on television now.
He flipped to another channel.
A movie was on; a movie he’d never seen all the way through, but had been meaning to watch.
Looked like he’d only missed a few minutes.
Ronald decided to watch it.

Bump-bump-bump!
Ronald jerked awake.
Someone was at the door.
Ronald got up out of his lounge chair and walked out of his living room.
He left the static-blaring television on, so he could see in the darkness.
Bump-bump-bump!
“I’m comin’! It’s late!”
He peered through the peephole to see how many police officers there were.
None.
No neighbours either.
Ronald figured they might be off to the sides of the door.
He quickly pulled his jackknife out of his back pocket, switched it open, and kept it clenched it in his hand behind his back.
With his free hand, he opened the door.
“Hello?! Who the hell’s banging on my damn door in the middle of the night?”
There was no one outside the door.
Ronald tentatively stepped out and peeked around the corners of his house, right and left.
He didn’t see anyone running in the distance or hiding nearby.
Ronald stood still for a moment and smelled the night air.
Nothing unfamiliar.
He turned and went back into his house.

Ronald lazily went towards the living room to turn off his TV and go to sleep.
Whump-whump-whump!
“Goddammit!”
He sprinted back to the door, knife at the ready, and flung it open.
The wind rustled the bushes gently.
A few leaves skittered on the sidewalk.
Ronald’s eyes narrowed.
He reached back into his house and turned off his porch light.
Then he shut the door and slinked off to his right, behind the large front bushes.
He waited patiently in the night with his knife open.
The wind blew again, drying his eyes.
Ronald didn’t blink.
He waited for at least 30 minutes, crouched and hidden behind his neatly-hedged bushes.
He waited another 30 minutes just to be sure the first 30 minutes was at least 30 minutes.
Nothing happened.
He listened so hard, he could hear the static on his television through the brick wall next to him.
He finally peered over the bushes and into the neighbourhood in front of him.
No lights on, except a few scattered porches.
Ronald narrowed his eyes again.
He decided to check completely around his house.
He crept slowly, knife drawn, behind the bushes that covered the corner of his house.
He made sure not to snap even the tiniest twig.
No one on the right side of his house so far.

He looked gently over his wooden fence, then pushed up on the metal latch slowly enough to keep it quiet.
He lifted the fence slightly as he opened it, so the hinges wouldn’t squeak.
Then he stopped for a moment and listened.
No sound.
He closed the fence gingerly and crouched down again.
He kept to the side of his house and moved forward.

The back door was ajar.
Ronald was absolutely sure he hadn’t left it open.
It was all part of his ritual.
He never missed a single step of his ritual.
He cursed silently and eased open the screen door an inch at a time.
It creaked gently, no matter how slowly he moved, but the way he was opening it would sound as natural as the wind.
Ronald entered the darkness of his home.

He smelled the air in his kitchen.
Nothing unfamiliar.
Ronald grimaced and began to chew on his lip.
It took ten full minutes for Ronald to close both back doors silently, one after the other.
He locked the deadbolt and listened for the intruder.
Silence.
Better safe than sorry.
Ronald went to the front door quietly.
It was still shut.
He locked the deadbolt and the chain silently.
All the little hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
He realized that the television had been turned off.

His eyes grew wider.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then off his upper lip.
He wiped both hands on his jeans.
Ronald needed something better than this knife.
He needed to go downstairs and get his tools.
He slowly walked to the basement door.
It was already open.
He slid through and closed it behind him.
Now he was immersed in darkness.
He held his sweaty knife in his right hand, and slowly splayed his left hand out in the darkness.
If he felt anyone, he planned to grab them close and stab them again and again.

The air was cool and musty.
He walked down a stair, and felt around in the darkness.
He walked down another stair and repeated.
With every step, he felt more sweat gather on his brow.
He lost track of how far down he had come.
Surely he didn’t have this many steps.
He stopped feeling for a moment and listened.
Silence.
Nothing but the sounds of his lungs emptying and his neurons singing.
Ronald knew someone was down here.
He could feel them.
This was HIS room; his special place.
Just by being here, this person was violating his sanctuary.
He walked down another step, feeling in the darkness.
And another step.

He put his foot down gently again, but the floor shoved it back; he had finally reached the bottom.
Ronald hunched down, in case the intruder was also feeling around in the darkness.
More than likely, he was waiting; listening for any movement at all.
Listening for Ronald breathing.
Ronald held his breath
He waited, crouched with his hand out, in the ink of the basement.
He couldn’t hear anyone breathing, but the feeling was stronger than ever now.
Ronald was almost positive of where the man was.
The slightest noise meant his death.

Ronald moved silently along the right wall of the tiny room, shielding his body to the wall in case he was suddenly struck.
He felt in the air with his left hand for anything solid.
He finally felt the back right edge of the room.
His tools were in the other back corner, just a few feet away.
The man was either in the middle of the room, by his special little chair, or along the opposite wall.
Instinct would tell him not to stay in the corners.

Ronald took a step closer to his tools.
He paused to listen.
Someone else was breathing very very carefully in the middle of the room.
Ronald grinned.
He’d be able to get his tools.
He moved with patience, but confidence toward his leather satchel.
He felt the other corner of the room.
He gently reached up and felt for the handle of his long-bladed steel knife.
He was able to slide it out of its leather case without even a creak.
The breathing in the middle of the room grew faster.
Ronald felt his own heart beating more quickly.
He squared himself with the middle of the tiny room he knew and loved, and crept a step towards his favourite child-sized chair.

He stepped again silently, both arms closer to his body, ready to strike.
He was right behind the tiny chair now, poised and ready to strike.
Ronald heard the quickened breathing of the person right in front of him, and he leaned closer.
Ronald slowly raised his arms up and out into the blackness on either side of him, like a bat stretching its wings.

Like a flash, he swung his arms forward and stabbed both hands into the darkness.
His arms passed quickly through thin air; cold air.
He broke out in goosebumps as he retracted his hands through the freezing pool of nothingness sitting in the children’s chair.
Ronald distinctly heard a whimper, not six inches in front of him.
The very pit of his stomach froze and the hairs on the back of his neck curled upward.
Ronald heard soft crying as a violent pain broke into his left shoulder.
Instinctually, he arched his back and reached behind him.
One of his own knives was stuck through his shoulder up to the handle.
He pulled it out and realized with horror that it was the jackknife he thought he was still holding.
He felt another pain pierce through his belly.
He doubled over and pulled out his long-bladed steel knife.
He slashed through the air with both knives, striking nothing.
The cold spread from his wounds throughout his body.
He fell to the floor, realizing that his hands were both empty.
As the cold completely enveloped him, he heard his leather kit being opened.
He drooled blood onto the stone floor.
“Please… please don’t…”
No words.
Only breathing.
Upstairs, the television turned back on, filling the house with the sound of static.

The End

Wendy and Lucy
★★★ / ★★★★

I have to give Michelle Williams kudos for starring in this really small, bare bones of a film. Her performance is so visceral and she fully embodies the ever-growing desperation that her character is going through. “Wendy and Lucy,” directed by Kelly Reichardt, tells the story of Wendy and her dog Lucy as the two try to go to Alaska so that Wendy can earn her money at a fish cannery. Things do not go quite as they had planned because Wendy’s car breaks down in Oregon, gets arrested for shoplifting dog food (she only had about $525 which was barely enough), and Lucy is nowhere to be seen when Wendy finally gets out of jail (Wendy left her dog tied to a rail in front of the store where she shoplifted). When Williams started looking for that dog, I felt like I was watching a mother trying to look for her child. It was really sad because things get from bad to worse in a matter of minutes and the hope of Wendy finding the dog grows dimmer and dimmer. Even though I really identified with Wendy’s situation, at some point I thought about just leaving the dog and going on ahead to Alaska. As cruel as that sounds, I think it’s justified because Wendy keeps spending money as she tries to keep looking for the dog. I get that Lucy is her only companion but, at least for me, the practical thing to do is to stop looking for the dog. Williams has come a long way since I’ve seen her first in “Dawson’s Creek” because she really uses her acting chops to carry this picture from beginning to end. I also have to give Reichardt credit for showing us a side of America where it’s not so glamorous. In fact, the places featured in this movie are downright depressing. Although the movie is about Wendy and Lucy’s friendship, sometimes I tried to pay attention to people on the background; some of them look like they’re sleepwalking through life. I find that particularly accurate because, though I didn’t grow up in a small town like the one in this movie, the area I grew up in was small enough to notice those kinds of people. Casual moviegoers may not like this film right off the bat or superficially consider it as “sad.” But film lovers should be able to look at it more closely and analytically and realize that it comes close to becoming something really special.

Em casa tinha o disco de Thriller, mas eu não sei bem quem que ouvia, se era meu pai ou minha mãe ou ninguém.

Do clipe, eu tinha pavor da risada do Vincent Price no final, e minha prima de todo o resto. Meu pai às vezes chegava em casa e dava essa risada lá de fora, na minha janela. Nunca achei a menor graça.

Minha irmã dizia que era a fim do Michael Jackson. Eu não consigo e nunca me inspirei em fazer o moonwalk.

“Give in to me” foi a trilha sonora de quando o menino que eu gostava, aos 12 anos, morreu.

“Daqui a muitos anos” era, em certa época, uma medida de tempo comparável a quando o Michael Jackson, a Madonna e a Xuxa estivessem velhos/morressem.

Ano passado, eu e Nosfe chegamos a baixar tutoriais para aprender os passos de Thriller.

Por fim, acho que ele morreu na hora certa. Já estava chegando no ostracismo, estava doente, estava quebrado. Os próximos shows viriam para assinar seu óbito na carreira.

About two years ago I hit rock bottom. A trickle of tears turned into a virtual downpour. A roaring torrent of salty water laying waste to the few good things in my life. With a barren wasteland before me I scavenged for enough food to survive each day. Time, unfortunately, did me no good. In this hellhole, where each day is a constant struggle, the lightest feather can cause an earth shattering ripple. That’s how it was for me, is for me. Day after day, a constant struggle to find reason, to justify my hope. Fiery demons living in glass bottles and aluminimum cans keeping me company. They say nice things, bad things, naughty things and haughty things. Thats what I like about the fire demons. They feed me lies. Scorched earth as rolling hills. Rotting corpses as pretty flowers. But the fire demons never stay for long. I have to lull them back with dull coins and wrinkled notes.

I can’t keep feeding the lies.

Well, Jack doesn’t work with me anymore.

He was my favorite Salesman.

Needless to say, work’s looking a bit more sucky, now. An office has never looked so morose. And to cap it all off, I’m working late again. Of course.

Summer’s coming, it’s just not getting here under the right circumstances.

If only there were a way to have peaceful dreams forever.

I’d never wake up with a bad mood.

Somtimes I wish they made a pill for bad dreams.

I tried to go back to sleep to forget that last dream, but I’m not tired.

And it’s an old memory. One that didn’t really bother me in the past.

But when I woke up, I felt..unwanted. Replaced. Neglected.

It was like a sharp blow to the heart, a hit below the belt..

So I Got up. Tried to take my mind off of it. Watched a few tv shows. Ate some food that I couldn’t really taste.

This bitter emotion. I remember this emotion. It’s been a while since I’ve felt it.
And why now, out of nowhere does my mind bring this up?
It reminded me of..

***

I was in drill formation. It was raining.
I was happy about the rain unlike everyone around me.Then I see a friend of mine wearing the jacket of a guy I was crushing on.I was confused at first. She clearly told me she didn’t like him a few days before.
A few moments later, I saw them smiling at eachother.
Then it hit me.
Jacket, smiling, giggling.
It seemed like that part in the movies when you see two people gazing at eachother from across the room.
And where was I?
Not in the spotlight between the two lovers.
I was left in the dark.

They “were together”.
I felt betrayed.
I felt hurt.
I felt…THAT same way as I felt this morning.

***

I’ve tried to make friends. Not in the most conventional way. But I have tried.

And I find myself, for some reason, afraid to tarnish my clean slate.

Want to know why I don’t want to damage my clean slate?
Because I’m in a low moment right now.
I’ve got nothing to talk about besides tv shows, celebrity gossip, and current events. Most of the time I feel pathetic and hopeless.. I don’t show it, but I feel it silently under the surface until I’m all alone.
I don’t want to damage my slate because a lot of people who “really get to know me” think I’m dependent.. weak. And I’m not, but for some reason people think that.

I had a hard time explaining this to my mom without telling her how miserable I was. Told her I just want a person to go do things with. Told her that’s what Facebook & Myspace were for.. my old friends.
Told her it’s the perfect relationship–I won’t get sick of them and they won’t smother me. (and if you know me, you know, I HATE being smothered–so much that I’ll become really distant and risk damaging the relationship) Told her I like my clean slate and I’d like to keep it that way. But I wouldn’t mind someone my age as a comrade in fun.

Nobody knows me here. I’m that lady without a name in the dark sunglasses walking the streets alone. Solo mission. The lone ranger. Nothing holding me down. Ultimate freedom to roam.

I’VE GOT FRIENDS. I don’t need any more right now.

I want someone to go out with to have a good time..
To forget why we were in a bad mood in the first place..
at least for a little while.

So my mom got me on http://mingle2.com/

Been browzing for an “activity partner”. I mean, it’s free. So WHY NOT look?

Bad thing about it is that sometimes I forget that I’m NOT looking for a boyfriend and I’ll admit, I’ve rejected a few peoples’ offers cause I’m vain.. or.. I don’t trust them by the smallest thing they say. Maybe I’m looking for an activity partner whom I might consider dating. Maybe I don’t know what I’m looking for—typical girl.

Sign on. Who looked at me? EW. delete. delete. Browsing. Don’t want a needy guy. Browsing. Intimate encounter? Yep, all this guy wants is sex. Browsing. This guy probably just wants a VISA. Browsing. Perfect. But I’m not the girl he’s probably looking for. Sends message. Gets nothing back. . Next day. Browsing. Are you seriously looking for a soulmate? I’m your age!! You’re too young to get married!! Browsing. New Mail Message? Open. Reads. You’re twice my age!! Browsing. Browsing. Judging People by whatever they put on their profile. Browsing. I dunno about Atheists. Browsing. What’s with all these Hindus finding me attractive? I’m NOT SUBMISSIVE. okay maybe a little. But he’s not my type. Browsing. Oooh. He suited up. Sends Message. Gets a reply back. Sends another message. Nothing. I probably said something wrong. Whoops. Browzing. Too short. Too short. TOO SHORT. Browzing. New Message. Open. He took a picture of his 6-pack? WHAT? You want a reward for being muscular? That just shows me that you’re the type of guy who’s vain or who’s looking to “get some”. Types. “Sorry I’m not your type.” Send. New Message? Hrm. No picture. Ask for picture. ICK. Seems friendly. Message. Back forth. Back forth. Friendly Banter. You give me your number already? You want someone to talk to you before you go to sleep? T.T that only tells me you want phone sex. No Dice. Delete. BLOCK. Browsing YET again.

My defenses are at an all time high. I never give out my number until I put my complete trust in someone. The only time my walls are down is when I find them attractive and they probably won’t ever consider me.
Silly me, I screw everything up lately.
Always wanting what I can’t have.
Being wishy washy.

Maybe my love life is doomed to fail.. especially since I don’t have my life in order and don’t have a job.
I like responsibilities. Being a slacker isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. A lot of people don’t have jobs because of the economy. I’ve applied to a few places–no takers. Sometimes “family happens” and I don’t apply.
Time goes by fast. Before I knew it, nine months crept up on me.

Mondays are tolerable,
Tuesdays I’m waiting for Wednesday,
Wednesdays I’m watching LOST,
Thursdays are unbearable,
Fridays take forever,
finally when it’s Saturday–no worries–and Sundays always seem shorter.
If it weren’t for weekend car rides with my mom, I’d probably would’ve given up on life about now.

I know it’s gonna get better.
I’m just in a rut that I’m still trying to dig myself out of.
It’s like pulling yourself out of that 6 foot deep grave of solitude.
Some days I wanna give up..like today.

So I write this down.. and hope that someday I can look back at this and laugh.

When I think about it—if I would’ve stayed in my old city, I’d be doing the same thing every day. Routine. Same places, same faces, that’s why I moved. I got sick of it all. I’ve made up my mind, though it would be easier to move back home and I’d be greeted by friendly faces.. Life would be too fair. Everything would come too easily. I would get bored. I moved so I wouldn’t get stuck in that city for the rest of my life and so I wouldn’t be disappointed by friends. I wanted to see more of the world. I wanted to be alone for a little while.. sometimes I forget that.
I never used to understand why some people could be alone all the time.
But I understand now.. maybe that was just a lesson I had to learn. And now I have respect for people who can eat alone at public places.. it takes guts.

I’ve done a lot here. I’m still getting to know my way around. I’m proud of the fact that I can’t get lost.

I accept the fact that things aren’t as great as how I thought they would be.

It’s still the beginning of my new life and I’ve never seen summer in this city before.
I’ve still got my clean slate. I can do whatever I want with it.. become someone different.

I don’t look like the same person I was back home.. I’ve got that mysterious thing down.

And I’m still a bit of an optimist looking towards the future setting sail on dreams of an amazing future.

It’ll get better. I refuse to let myself hate life. Life is for the living. And I’ve still got a lot of livin’ to do.

It’s the beginning of April and it is snowing. What. The. Fuck.

Anyways, I slept through yet another quiz in Japanese. What the hell is my problem. I wish my snuggle buddy had spent the night again because I would have, more than likely, woken up in time for class. Why don’t I set an alarm? I did. In fact, I distinctly remember pressing the Snooze button. However, the snooze button and switched place with the power buttons in the middle of the night – I am not making excuses!  After missing my class, I decided to console myself by buying clothes I didn’t need, including a Supa Fly jacket.

I imagine you’re wondering why today’s update is coming so early. Well, to be blunt, a friend is visiting from out of town and I probably won’t remember to update later tonight so I might as well do it now. To begin with, I missed class. Oh wait, said that already. Right. After I bought stuff I went to my Brit Lit class, watched the new episode of Kings, went to Playwrighting, went to rehearsal, went to auditions, and now I’m in the coffee shop. Future plans for the evening are starting my play that’s due Wednesday and hanging out with friends at Jazz Night in Cross Roads.

In my Brit Lit class, we talked about two “sexy sonnets” by Donne. We read “The Flea” and “Good-morrow”. “The Flea” was not that great, but “Good-morrow” was pretty good, though overly optimistic. It’s pretty obvious that he’s trying to talk the clothes off of the reader in both sonnets, but then that’s kind of why they were written originally. In Playwrighting, we read Matsukaze which was… well, it was Noh Theatre to say the least… and the most. The poetic imagery of the dialogue was amazing, without being annoyingly unnatural (read: Shakespeare). However, it was very very very Noh. Rehearsals ended up just not happening because Matt, one of the other characters, was sick and couldn’t make it, so Melody and I just sat around talking to some random people, most of which were my classmates in Playwrighting. The audition was not what I was expecting. It was an audition for more of the kind of thing that I’m currently rehearsing for, which is pretty much just being bodies on a stage for the students to get Directing practice with. Unfortunately, all the pieces were classical literature (read: Shakespeare, Sophocles, Marlow). I really don’t enjoy reading this kind of literature, but what can you do.

Probably the most interesting part of my day was talking to people when I would normally have been rehearsing. What makes this interesting, isn’t the events of this section of time by itself, but rather the preceding thoughts from earlier in the day. As I was walking to my Brit Lit class I was thinking about how things feel a little awkward between me and some of the people that work the coffee shop and I’m wondering if that’s because when I was rejected by one of the girls there if she put in… a bad word for me. Or something. Anyways, this lead to a few other thoughts like how the relationships I develop with people, girls in particular, seem to be failing lately and so I ask myself am I just not ready to have one and so their failure is a sign of that. In a way, a strange one mind you, it makes sense. At any rate, during the rehearsal time I made mention about having a girlfriend in Canada. Obvious theatre joke is obvious. I said this because the people around me were all, and I mean all, talking about where their significant other lives and since all of them were theatre people I decided to make an Avenue Q joke. The joke scored, except with Melody. If I recall, her theatre knowledge is limited to that which she learned in the intro class, which isn’t a bad thing, but the point being she didn’t get the joke so I then had to explain that it was a joke and that I was single and have been… for three years. She got excited and said she wanted to set me up with her roommate since she had been asking Melody for such an opportunity. I liked the idea so I consented to it. But, after fully explaining it, do you guys find it to be at all interesting? Sorry for the long paragraph but I didn’t know where to break it up.

I am overwhelmingly tired for someone who slept in late. I can’t stop yawning and my muscles ache/are tired. Also, this thing no longer feels like a digitization of my notebook. More like an audience. I’m very aware that people read this and so I’m finding it difficult to open up about certain things. Like how, at this very moment, I feel extremely vulnerable and cold. How I want someone to reach out to me, to rescue me from feeling the need to be rescued. It’s a disgusting feeling. I feel like I belong in the teenage angst livejournals. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t want you thinking I’m that kind of person. Why do we think that to be attuned to the emotional lackings of ourselves and others is a bad thing? Why do we, as people, have to hide our pain, our scars, from others? Did no one ever think it possible that we don’t want attention? That we just want to be able to say what is on our mind, regardless of the morbid, morose, cheery, flighty, or ignorant connotations? Yes, we do think that, but we won’t allow others to know that we think that, even though we collectively think it.

That’s it for today. Thanks for reading.

それじゃあまたね

Backstage of the Roxy with my Bondies. The conversation went from fascinating to silly to downright awkward. But we all had make up sex afterwards. Enjoy the lunacy of me and the Von Bondies!

Okay, I know I’ve been entirely too morose lately. Blame it on economics, SAD and an extended winter.

My next novel is already cranking. It’s a bona fide chick-lit piece, and I’m trying to use all of the concepts I learned during the recent writers’ conference I attended. It’s light, it’s funny (I hope), and it’s a diversion that I am counting on changing my mood.

So I will share with you today the first couple of paragraphs.

Chapter 1

If you think I wanted to come back to the imagined warm embrace of the family home, you don’t know me at all. To return as a grown adult, contrite and groveling, tail between my legs, and hat in hand looking for a soft place to land? Oh, no, no, no. That’s not the life for me. I left this burg fifteen years ago for the sole purpose of avoiding my mother’s utterance of those death knell words “I told you so.” Making my escape from the confines of small-town living in Royal Oak and turning my back on its soul-sucking heartache was my life’s crowning achievement. The operative word is ‘was.’ My unblemished record of success now sports the big, fat ugly zit of failure.

My mother, the infamous Diana Ventimiglia, took an uncanny skill for inflicting guilt and formed a lifelong career out of “I told you so.” The “I told you so” business is so lucrative, it’s afforded her a fat retirement account. I’m sure she even gives herself periodic bonuses for outstanding performance in “I told you so.” If she ever retires as Jewish mama wannabe, which will be now… let’s see, never? perhaps I’ll find peace in my heart. By that time, there’ll be a colony on Mars, the budget will be balanced with plenty of zeros in the black and thousands of years of Middle Eastern conflict will be but an unpleasant afterthought, too. Oh, yes. And don’t forget; donkeys will fly.

I think I will go and do something creative now.

Bien morose ce blogue depuis quelque temps ! Des articles à l’eau de rose, un humour différent, des articles nostalgiques sur l’amour et ses 1001 questions… un souffle de déprime se fait-il ressentir, comme un frisson léger sur la peau ?

Rien du tout ! Je ne pense pas avoir un jour sérieusement déprimé. Disons qu’à chaque fois où j’ai senti un masque noir se poser sur mon visage, j’ai superposé à celui-ci un masque de Venise, joyeux, mais qui reste mystérieux, qui permet de conserver extérieurement son aspect tout en réglant à l’intérieur ses problèmes.

Souvent, je dis qu’une déprime se soigne à coup de plaques de chocolat et de bains chauds. C’est juste une métaphore optimiste pour ne pas mettre de mots sur un sentiment négatif. Je suis très pudique pour ce qui est des sentiments, je n’aime pas mettre de mots dessus…d’autant plus lorsqu’il s’agit de sentiments pessimistes.

Avant par exemple, je ne comprenais pas les antidépresseurs, le Prozac. Je mettais un point d’honneur à ne jamais reconnaître que ça n’allait pas et à force de me buter dans l’idée que j’étais heureux, je ne comprenais ni l’utilité, ni l ’effet de cette chimie. Les gens qui me parlaient de dépression et de mal-être me semblaient abstraits et faibles. Je ne comprenais pas qu’on puisse être malheureux sans réagir, qu’on puisse faire la gueule, prendre dix ans d’un coup et qu’on puisse un beau jour cesser d’avoir envie de sourire pour la galerie.

Aujourd’hui ma voisine semble un peu triste, semble porter un masque noir depuis quelque temps. Et la connaissant, c’est une battante, je sais très bien qu’elle fait tout pour voir à travers ses verres de lunettes, la vie en rose. Parfois, il y a des douleurs mentales qui sont trop fortes, trop lourdes à supporter et qui, à la longue, peuvent vraiment finir par nous faire lâcher prise. On morfle sans parvenir à trouver la force de s’évader de ce noir.

Aujourd’hui, j’ai surtout compris qu’il n’y avait aucune honte à déprimer, aucune honte non plus à prendre des médicaments qui peuvent rendre la vie moins insupportable. On peut souffrir sans pouvoir faire abstraction de sa propre souffrance…

Enfin, moi, ça me touche et ça me fait mal au cœur de la voir comme ça. Je l’aime bien cette fille !! Et je me sens un peu impuissant à ne savoir que faire pour lui retirer son masque noir. Un bisou, déposé tout doucement sur une joue, ça peut aider à blanchir un peu le masque, non ?

Je vous conseille un p’tit tour ici pour d’autres très belles photos

I’ve reached another one of those low points in my life. I’ve been trying like hell to break this cycle for years now… somewhere around 8 years. hmmm… Doesn’t seem to get any easier, really. I’m lost, confused, I feel like I am incapable of making correct decisions or managing my life. Precipice. That’s a good word for these times. Teetering. It seems to me that when things get very hard and I think that the universe is going to throw me a bone at any moment, they get worse. More difficult. I’m trying so very hard to let go of my ego. I thought I’d demolished it pretty well, but I still cling to things like a drowning rat escaping a leaky ship. Glub, glub, glub.

I cling to comfort, I cling to what I believe I should be doing; which is funny because I feel incapable of making decisions and I don’t have any idea what should be doing is. I find myself directed solely by gut reaction and aversion to things I feel are “beneath” my talents. I feel some warped sense of justification in that I’ve been playing with bottom-feeder jobs for 9 years now, and… Haven’t I paid my dues?” Guess not. I feel incapable of taking myself seriously or taking anything else seriously because right now I just can’t see the bright top of this very small, but oh so deep hole that I’ve dug for myself.
Oh, what a hole. I want to be independent but it seems that the more I strive toward independence, the more I find myself dependent on others. I want to be part of a collective, I want to be part of a whole. I want to inspire people and help them smile. I want to be that source of sunshine that so many people have come to think of when they imagine me. Do they spend days crying too? Wallowing in self-pity when they know it’s the worst thing for them at that moment? Maybe I’m just trying to get it all out so I can move on. Because I certainly need to move on.
But my head is so fuzzy with seemingly conflicting bits of information, it’s a data storm up there and all I see are colors standing out and overlapping, blending into dusty greys and weirdest off-beat browns. There’s blue in there too, a veritable ocean of deep blues, that calm and confuse my reds. Funny also that I have two distinct colors in my head that swarm around but never mix to purple… Well, they are now. I suppose I should be thankful at least, for this oh so vivid imagination that conjures images with the slightest protuberance.
If only I could sit back all day long and look at the pretty colors in my head. The goal, I suspect, is to take all those colors and unleash them on the world in varying shades of compassion and love. I can do that, I think… With a little bit of that underrated motivation…

MOTIVATE ME SELF MOTIVATE!

GO!

I was watching the History channel over the holidays and they presented the seven deadly sins. It doesn’t just mean lazy or slovenly. It is a very complicated issue.

I certainly learned a lot about sloth. Did you know that Depression is sloth? Sadness, apathy, procrastination, morose, negativity, & melancholy. Why is this important? Well, let me use an example; On the news a few years back a woman was raped in a stairwell of a subway in New York City. People walked by and did nothing.

Another example is hearing the beating of a child or adult in the apartment next door and failing to call and report it because you don’t want to get involved.

What about the child who shows up to school with bruises? How about not voting in the Presidential election because you fee that your vote won’t count. Have you ever put something off until a small problem turned into a big one?

How about not cleaning out the clutter that is taking up space in your home and putting a cloud over your life? Have you ever let a pile of junk in the yard build and build until you felt that it was impossible to deal with–so you didn’t? Perhaps there is an elderly women down the hall who would love some company, and you have been meaning to stop by, but just haven’t made the time.

I suppose you have run across a person that you might call a curmudgeon. Negative thinking destroys happiness. And, it effects everyone around that person. Negativity destroys dreams.

Not taking care of your finances causes great stress and anger and is the number one cause of divorce. Not taking care of one’s health causes great suffering and financial hardship. Not putting oil in the car will eventually ruin the engine. Not losing weight might cause your body to be destroyed by disease. Not caring for your relationships will chip away at them until they are destroyed. Not taking care of your family will lead to all kinds of problems.

I hope I have planted a seed. There is a reason Feng Shui talks about clearing out the clutter and making sure the flow of energy is good in your home. The Chinese knew the benefits of not being slothful thousands of years ago. They knew about being pro-active and not procrastinating.

So, don’t wait for things to become so bad that you have no choices. Be pro-active and act now before you are acted upon.

Chris

Comme à son habitude, Dimitri quitta le travail un peu après 18 heures. Comme à son habitude, il longea les immeubles gris jusqu’à l’arrêt du tram 5. Comme d’habitude, il dut l’attendre moins de deux minutes.

Ce qui était totalement différent aujourd’hui, c’est que Dimitri ne ressentait pas son humeur morose et résignée. Bien au contraire, il était tout gonflé d’excitation mêlée de joie claire. Il était impatient de raconter l’événement à Jacques. Depuis le temps qu’il l’attendait! Ce n’était pas faute d’avoir essayer d’attirer son attention par une bienveillance qu’il pensait suffisamment marquée pour qu’elle se distingue d’une déférence banale de vendeur. Mais c’était compliqué avec elle, elle n’achetait jamais rien. Elle se contentait de déambuler entre les rayons de tournevis, de clous et autres équerres à niveau, prenant parfois dans la main un quelconque disque pour machine à poncer, demandant à l’occasion où se trouvaient les perceuses.

Et c’est qu’elle venait rarement dans ce magasin, trop rarement pour que Dimitri puisse imaginer exister en continu dans sa mémoire. A chaque fois, c’était bien lui qui l’accostait pour lui demander si elle avait besoin d’un conseil, mais à chaque fois, c’était un vendeur différent à ses yeux à elle. C’était pourtant bien la même personne pour Dimitri, la même grâce vivante, la même légèreté à parcourir l’espace, la même sublime courbe de son corps parfait et surtout la même petite robe bleue à fleurs qui lui allait si bien.

       Do you know a holiday saboteur?  You know who I’m talking about don’t you?  It is the person who agitates others during holidays.  It is the person who argues with everyone…about everything.  It is the person who has a permanently unhappy disposition in life.  It is the person who grumbles about things that really don’t matter in the larger scheme of things..  It may even be the person who checks you out, as you hum a little holiday cheer, while you purchase your gifts.   Bah Humbug!

         Why, for goodness sake…this holiday saboteur may even be a member of  your own family!  Egads…what are you going to do?   Uninvite them immediately…move out of state…get divorced so you don’t have to deal with them anymore?  Surely, you aren’t going to take it that far to avoid the holiday saboteur?

           Assure me that you aren’t going to let them do it this year; don’t let them steal your joy.  Not at the office, not at the local gas station, not in the llllllllllloooooonggg line in the post office, not on the highway…not on the subway, not at the Christmas/New Year’s eve party………most certainly tell me that you aren’t going to let them get to you when you visit them….and definately, don’t let them bring you down in your own home!  Why, that is your happy, safe place…or it should be.

          Instead, might i suggest a little something- something to change it up a bit?  Why not, throw them off balance with a holiday super charged, joyful, in your face celebration? 

          Maybe they will do one of two things…perhaps they will get so shocked by such a display of holiday cheer that they will come over to the dark side and actually CELEBRATE; or, they will get totally annoyed at the lack of indulgence of their perpetually bad behavior; they will get up and leave, when no-one feeds the flames of discontent by politely listening to their moody, morose …angry and controlling ways! 

          Either way…you are free to have a happy holiday get-together any way you choose to celebrate it!  Unless the holiday saboteur lives inside of you….egads…I hadn’t even thought of that…did you?