I am tired of saying everything except what I want to say.
I am tired of saying everything except what I want to say.
Parts 1 and 2 both, damn. And I didn’t even realize it was Thursday until after I started sharing this (sometimes synchronicity is stifling… other times I am grateful that someone is able to give words to what seems beyond my expression). Disclaimer: she talks a lot about her higher power with a male pronoun. I don’t think she’s necessarily trying to convert anybody. However I’m just making a note because I can be sensitive to religious and spiritual talk and it helps to have my own focus going in.
Thankful for her wise words and smiles this morning. Her references to The Matrix really baked my cake.
Notes and interpretations –
Sandwiches (for mah inner child yo). Bread is encouragement and love, meat is correction, and another piece of bread is encouragement and love.
Also, a loving environment for my inner child that allows individuality. Like, individuality is part of my vision of who I want her to grow up to be (aka who I want to be). So it’s not across-the-board permissiveness…the reason correction is in there is because I have the advantage of experience and its drips of wisdom. I am in the process of learning from many different powers that allowing myself to “just be” all the time, unchecked…well, it is a form of individuality but it’s not an individual I want to become.
“Love is confidence.”
The age-old “life is a series of mountains and valleys” saying with a fresh take. Some people see it as good times and bad times; she reframes it as times of mastership and times of study.
“Never be afraid of ‘not knowing’. Find out.” That’s how to climb to mastership.
Don’t be afraid of experiences that teach me.
Keep learning and riding the waves! If I insist on holding on to the idea that I know everything (or “enough”), then I’m holding myself back. Nobody knows everything, girl. Don’t get stuck. Some people might be on top of a mountain of mastership while I’m in a valley of study, and even though it’s dark and painful, it’s okay. I’m grateful for the words they shout down the hillside. It’s not like I’m climbing mountains in order to join those at the top. I’m climbing because I don’t like getting stuck.
I am grateful for the connection, and the community, and the bonds of friendship. I don’t intend to discount any of that. I know that when I feel so low and depleted like I have nothing of value to give, I want to give my inner child some sandwiches, take the mountainside at our own pace, and not worry about keeping up with other people. Love is my confidence.
24 September 2012
you hold several positions,
a movement apart,
essentially the same,
sucking in breath and
tickling your neck with a feather.
you don’t want to be hungry.
after chewing your lip, you
tear into the cheek, your
blood tastes like soup, you
are unspeakably hungry.
10 September 2012
relativity is king.
the sculptor’s clay is compost.
adam’s mud is manure and god’s breath is a diesel belch.
(try not to be disappointed.)
light bounces off of wax-paper foliage.
using a chewed rib as a trowel, i transplant flowers to a corner of the garden where
they cannot be touched or found.
dictionary crypts house the dry, flattened friends.
but it does not happen to me.
it happens to the adult human being who lives here now.
i created this corner from mud and manure.
i am the fork-tongued, fire-breathing, child-god of this corner.
First things first. Mother Nature For The Win.
Well, nightmares are a thing. I did good things to shake it off, and am collecting my efforts here! Looked up a way to shake off shitty feelings from a nightmare. “After all, there really is no time limit on good ideas, and you do get to do it over if you make a mistake, and going over things slowly gives you more time to ask good questions and find mistakes.” – Cathy O’Neil, mathbabe Also, I am grateful that this exists. One of my intentions with this blog was to share a poem. It was actually several pages of lyrical free writing and release that I reworked into a poem. As I typed it up, I felt that I was “sticking it to the man” by calling out my abusers, even though I was, um, artistically vague and did not name any injurers. I felt empowered by being creative and using my voice, but overwhelmed by voices, threatening energy, and dissociation. I reworked the poem again, cutting it’s length by half, trying to envelope myself in anonymity and a feeling of safety. Sometimes feeling safe feels like protecting the identity of the abuser. 😦 I published the poem and then deleted it the next day. The line that resonates with me right now is “I want to trust.” “There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.” – C.S. Lewis And here I am on Earth, a quickly changing place, encouraging me to take action and show myself love. Through loving myself I love the Earth. I am grateful for my own experience.
its supposed to say “heart vomiting brain spaghetti”. i’ve made a tomato-based sauce exactly once. it was delicious, because i make delicious food, but… i don’t know. what was the missing ingredient? i had the love in there, for sure. creativity with love is what i’m strivin for. its definitely a filter im not exactly used to. i mean…obviously…heart vomiting brain spaghetti….most of what i have created in my life has been letting off steam. nothin wrong with dat. but…i want steam released from love building momentum. i guess that’s what this blog is about. i spend a lot of time thinking about connection, and it’s not worth my time if love is not the core. And I determine that on my end. I’m really tired and I really like eating spaghetti sauce made with love. What a kind, lovely thing to learn to receive love from myself. Like…I am so grateful for that gift. And also really tired and might edit the “likes” out of this sometime. But it’s also nice to know that this what I sound like sometimes, and it’s okay, and kind of lovely.
“I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.”
— Franz Kafka in a letter to Milena Jesenska
There are a handful of incommunicable experiences in my life right now. I’m giving energy to expressing the good shit and grateful to myself and my loved ones for listening.
“Keep hold of your most cherished dreams.”
translate this. i remember that place.
(I begin anywhere.)
When I need to splash my ears with something pure, submerge my heaviness in a spicier creative flow/audio cologne, I dip from the steady soundstreams of Mr. Green’s Classic Beats Volumes 1, 2, and 3. Sometimes waking up from a dream of sunset on an underground city or the realization that the shards of tissue paper on last week’s collage patterned the bite shapes in today’s breakfast toast can be overwhelming. (Uh, reading that was overwhelming, right? And so Prozac was invented for the literate.) These volumes refresh my sense of choice and spring load my joy dominoes with feelings of gratitude.
Conversely, Classic Beats Vol. 4, also known as “Ill Piano”, has taken a while for me to receive. If you remember my romance with the black n white keys, you might find this strange. Take a listen and you might be like, “Grrrl what shitwax was keeping you from enjoying this ambrosial ear jelly?” And I might respond like, “Uh insane jealousy for this shiz-mastery.”
And a little more honestly, “Piano can connect me to memory.” And sometimes those strolls down memory lane, if taken unconsciously, can lead to groves of lost love rather than deer paths of appreciation. Jamming to these beats has stoked my creative fire and helped me realize that my love is never lost. I might not be able to change the past, but I can still give my best to the present moment.
With gratitude for everyone known, lost, and loved, I would like to share a newsworthy article of my morning. For some reason, it is leading me to reflect on the idea that
(1) contentment with one’s being, and
(2) the act of striving for great goodness
are not mutually exclusive.
This is like…a lesson I want to learn. I have deep respect for Mr. Oliver Sacks. I associate him with other brilliant souls whose words on intelligence, creativity, playfulness and love stick with me through the dark times and the light.
“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.”
– Oliver Sacks
Yo & welcome, bright lights, audio cogs and flesh machines, internal dinglehoppers, the velvet onlooker… to all who care to pay fearless attention
This is a place for me to share creations, sources of inspiration, and scraps of encouragement. Questions scald, eh? Children learn to stop asking questions the same way they learn to keep their hands away from hot stoves – the answers/consequences are painful. Because I am a masochist I kept asking questions long after it was cute or socially acceptable. This is a place for me to unravel some of the answers that fill my hands like tangled, steaming noodles.
First, a cautionary word from Mr. Vonnegut on big brains! (Or, as I would say, small brains wearing tight pants.)
“As Mary delivered what was to be her last lecture about the Galapagos Islands, she would be stopped mid-sentence for five seconds by a doubt which, if expressed in words, might have come out something like this: “Maybe I’m just a crazy lady who had wandered off the street and into this classroom and started explaining the mysteries of life to these people. And they believe me, although I am utterly mistaken about simply everything.”
She had to wonder, too, about all the supposedly great teachers of the past, who, although their brains were healthy, had turned out to be as wrong as Roy about what was really going on.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Galápagos
“In the era of big brains, life stories could end up any which way. Look at mine.”
Whatever the bookends on this era may be, I know that I determine my response. Creativity is a response to creation, and insanity is a loop. maybe
some of my creations are responses to madness.
The following album, “This is where we are now” by Face Candy is kind of a spastic listening adventure but adequately and eloquently describes the backdrop/soundtrack of this little life-play I am acting.
1 Witness Intimidation
3 Life Jacket
5 Feeling Spayed
6 The Art Of Faking Orgasm
7 Buzz Kill
8 Adult Toys
9 Scream Therapy
11 Gun Powder
13 Pillow Bite
I hope to conquer fear.