How does one keep up? I’ll push away my silver tears from future dreams and get on with The robotic hunt. My darkness bleeds for that master of mayhem Who exuded Songs of passion only to Leave me for a picket fence.
Tuesday’s gone with the wind 4:44 started
All these devised interfaces for me to write what I know for the immutable time capsule, the diaries of not a mad woman despite the claims by others who shall remain faceless at this point in time as this is just a platform trial and entryway error momentum: 101 cards, starting today.
I still think about what that icon meant when he said he hated progressives on both sides. I ponder such things. I need some sort of absolution.
going with counter-intuitive as lesson for today
card 101: See? I am not an asshole? Love letters 4 days away.
I used to be a happy girl, there are pictures of a smiling face and all the hope the world could offer. I used to believe that I could attain all those things and be happy. I used to think I could accomplish almost anything and then life frittered away into a series of just how at the mercy of other people we really are when it comes to our most basic survival.
And so that is how it ends? Who know? I don’t really even care. I have been beaten down on all fronts so many times that you have to ask yourself, does that omniscient force we’d like to rely on but who seems more amorphous than ever, really want me here? I don’t want me here. It’s easier not to feel anything because any time I do, it just amounts to disappointment.
Finding a job in something you are actually highly qualified to do and not being able to find a job to pay your bills to live — after months and months going on a year — is something I don’t even care about anymore. I am so sick of it, so sick of life, so sick of why do I need to be here? I have no family like the rest of you, I am adopted, know not my bloodline, was given up, forgotten, why must anyone now tell me they need or want me around? Without kids, it simply doesn’t matter.
This is honestly how I feel, right now, tears in my eyes I won’t let fall, because I was doing better as a numb shell of my former self. Now I can go back to sending out resumes that will never get call-backs.
…if this were true, you just have to go with it, I imagine myself surfing again on a perfect morning in the perfect temperature water amongst friends, no tiger sharks in the making or anything wrong with a perfect day, coz you get those once in a while even if Henry Miller turns out to be an anxiety-ridden, rule-maker not rule-breaker, and Jack Kerouac was delightfully all over the place but feels in the end like a Dead Beat Dad, since my generation, the X-girls, the generics, embraced it, not afraid of hiding out on the plains of nowhere. Until it means waking up Rumplestilkskin style, 25 years later after a bad, bad lapse in acceptance of what others refer to and agree upon as reality. And I’m not just talking psychedelic experiments, but the ways of art, or physical training that likes to puff up its spiritual bases (see tai chi, yoga, martial arts that are humanly impossible and make you feel like ben wa balls, the equal and opposite reaction).
Repeated exposure to threatening stimuli also causes sensitization of the nervous system. Sensitization results from a pattern of repetitive neural activation or experience.
Or the continuing math of the continuing story.
the deep dark motion
an expanse that happens to come and go unpredictable,
since the emotion attached to the action or inaction beckons
self-flagellation, mutation, abomination.
But today that is not the way I feel or think perhaps it is the sunshine perhaps it is the adherence to whatever shreds of practice can be maintained in constant (chosen, assigned, managed, apparent) chaos, a swirly world of why is no one listening to what I want?
Why am I not absolutely perfect, never misunderstood, completely influential, with flawless, arguments, solutions to every problem and that other thing, which remains to be seen, will eventually be determined as I am trying to sort that out each day as part of the healing I must face, or die. Literally I won’t be able to continue the way I was and that is both frightening and freeing–not so much for the baked-laced-drench-your-desires-saturated-over-consumption phase that occurs in many artist’s awakening and they use it as an excuse to get fucked up. Not that so much. This is one of those shifts they talked about but I was too far up the valley to feel it until now and I don’t want to jinx anything and go back to the shitstorm that usually seems to present course for me to chart my way through.
I want, more Lonesome Dove cattle drive than Bonnie and Clyde so I can focus on things that I want to put energy into — because sharkland beneath the sea of sharks swimming and eating and swimming and devouring everyone who is good, with those dead eyes.
on a stretch of road
littered with lost souls, we held our tongues.
so now, in this
day to day
we can’t tell
and all we want
as days go by
is less trouble
for needless senseless random exercises in futility-
no. no more of that please and thank you.
even if no one reads this, no one cares, no one knows a god-damn thing – there will be no random futility here. That’s been disassembled and analyzed and I’d be happy to explain my theorems to you, they are well thought out. What else ya gonna do but work out those kinds of academic problems when you’re living a block from skid row and it’s hard to tell where your next meal’s coming from sometimes.
but no matter
and then the hush that came before the roar…
It’s as if
the sea does part