Summer is over. I feel so sad. It was beautiful, all the green and sun melting everything down. I gave myself those three months to live as an idiotic welfare queen while adjusting to single life. Summer is all about hearts and love. I wish it could last forever.
But now comes the fall. A time for brains and being serious. Its color will be blue. I’m afraid I won’t cut it in this crisp new world. Only 9 months until the women’s shelter stops paying for my home. I need good ideas to enter my brain, but they don’t.
I haven’t crisped yet. I’m trying but the sun is still hot and yellow, melting brains down and hearts feel like fire. The sky is so blue, the EBT cupcakes so delicious. Everything green and frothy. I want to roll in the grass like a pig.
The world is a green paradise but beneath it a dark soil of fear, pain and panic. I bat it down with stress gummies & cough syrup. I say “It is what it is” when disturbing thoughts enter. This locks them in a magical box. I can’t face life head on yet. I’m not safe.
And until I get smart I won’t be safe. I need to think clearly and formulate a plan. But life is a bowl of puzzles and I can’t solve one of them. The second I use my brain I start to cry. I feel like my initial goal of becoming a millionaire this fall is not going to happen.
So I’m choosing a smaller goal. To become a good communicator and learn how to clearly express my needs and desires. To express my will. Which is hard because I’m not always sure if I have one.
When you’re a wife, you don’t need a will. Being willess is almost an asset since it gives you increased flexibility like a body with no bones. But then fate dumps you on the streets and you are expected to have a will. A will as strong as any man’s. People don’t realize wills can’t pop up overnight like a forest.
The only time I am sure of my will is when I am hungry or in extreme pain. Cause I have the will to survive. But even then speaking up on behalf of myself feels like sticking my hand in a blender. I am terrified of displeasing the people around me. This isn’t the same as wanting people to like me. I’m willing to be hated to give the people what they want. Cause sometimes they want a bad guy. They would generally prefer to keep the good guy role for themselves.
Wanting to please & wanting to live up to social expectations are two different worlds. People are rarely in the mood to admire someone. More commonly they need someone to feel superior to. This is where I excel.
I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Throwing myself under the bus to appease a hot spot in someone else’s psyche. If a friend needed to feel fast, I’d pretend to be slow. I’d lose contests on purpose so the other person could win. I’d perform horribly in plays so someone special in the audience could have the satisfaction of knowing I sucked. I don’t know why. Its just this feeling of terror that I can only be safe by giving people what they want.
I have my finger in the undercurrent of every dynamic. It makes me act strange because those undercurrents are intense. They are made up of things people don’t want to acknowledge. When you touch them they cause weird things to leap out of your mouth as though you are possessed. Like a touching a wire. But I need to release that underlying pressure to feel safe. If there is an undercurrent of anger I try to be the person it can be released upon. Then things feel safe again.
I don’t know how to stop doing this. So I’ll put that puzzle back in the bowl for now. And focus on the immediate task. To clearly express my needs and the desires to the extent that I am aware of them. Even when it seems certain to lead to pain and disaster. Perhaps as I express these bits of will, larger chunks of will will start drifting into my consciousness.
Every morning I’ll tell myself that as I speak up for myself, new doors open for me.
Sometimes it is hard to write songs or even blog posts because I lose myself so easily and then I’m not on the right wavelength to tap the muse I want to tap.
And I know why. Because I have certain traits that aren’t socially acceptable, but when I detach from these traits I lose myself and have nothing to say.
There is a pressure to be everything at once but you can’t be. You have to pick your poison and then align with those people who can accept you as you are.
I have certain traits that are socially unacceptable- such as talking about dicks too much- but these traits are actually to cover up a set of traits even more socially unacceptable.
I read in a book once that everyone has a fake personality designed to cover their true weaknesses and this is definitely true for me. The bold act meek & the meek act bold.
Supposedly though, if you drop your compensating mask & allow your true self to shine through you will get much luckier. That is what I read in the book. But in my case it is easier said than done since my true self is a clear blob. How can I express that?
Anyway, let’s talk about sausages. They are my safe place.
What is a sausage?
To me, a sausage is a paradise. The feeling of a moment stretching out in all directions. That bubble of eternity is one link on the sausage chain.
Or sometimes a sausage is a world set apart from other worlds. You are in the ocean and everything is blue, the ocean and the sky, like a blue pearl. That pearl is one link on the sausage chain.
I used to think women contained worlds and men lived inside them. But now I’m wondering if it is the reverse and all realities are created inside men’s dicks plus the dicks of giant men who live in the sky.
Men seem like magical beings to me, for better or worse.
They can change your sense of yourself until you are certain you are a worm.
Or they can lift you out of this world altogether into a link of the sausage chain you have never seen before.
Either way, don’t panic. There is a new link behind every bend and the chain goes on forever.
Hi…. You know I am realizing one of my huge problems in life is being too hyper and impatient. I can’t bear taking more than 5 minutes to record a song & during that time I also managed to destroy a frying pan I really loved by setting it on fire, losing one bowl of macaroni and cheese by dropping it on the floor, one box of straws by dropping it on floor and breaking my headphones all because I couldn’t resist trying to eat dinner and record at the same time. And I melted a grill lighter on a lit stovetop.
The world was cold there was no easy place. The world was flat nowhere to hide. The winds would blow in a disorienting way, Then they’d grow still from time to time.
The people run to you with smiles upon their faces Then they twirl and disappear into a hat. You were supposed to know which words were true And which ones you should not believe but how could you know that?
The grass was green a checkerboard that never ended. The men were tall and thin like stilts. They danced so fancy with their bodies twirled and bended Then they’d tip their hat and like a leaf they’d wilt.
They left green hearts upon the grass where you could see them But it wasn’t clear what any of them meant. Reach down to touch one and it disappears beneath your hand But maybe that was never their intent.
The sun would rise while you were still asleep To fill the air with yellow clowns. Their yellow faces through your sleepy eyes looked queer And so you’d close your eyes and lie back on the ground.
You’d wait til noon when you could see the men come running On their skinny legs beneath the happy sun. Maybe I’ll watch them dance and clap for them for one more day A seal inside their yellow tent of fun.
But when the night came there was no relief. It poured down like a jet black wave. You shook with cold and an emotion much like grief As though your feelings made a difference to a bear inside his cave.
The stars were shining but too far away to hear you And the greatest bear was nowhere to be found. You tried to think there must be something that you missed But all your thoughts would squirt then dribble to the ground.
So close your eyes and let the memories come back To spread like ink upon a page. It could be that life is just a dream that we can’t understand And you must lie unmoving while the stars dance in their cage.
I shouldn’t be sad. I’m having the “You have no place in this world to call home” transit and everything is happening as God intended but still….
There is no place in this world to call home.
The weird part is in the absence of any home how much my life has expanded.
I just got ‘home’ from performing on two different stages and walking around downtown by myself at night. Walking thru sketchy areas at night has become a slight addiction. Why do they say you’re not supposed to do that? So far I haven’t found out.
But I wonder if this growth is leading anywhere or if life will be a never ending series of random events and people. I should be patient since it’s only been a month and a half since I moved out and the first month was spent trying not to die of heartbreak.
It’s just that there is no one to tell anything to. Not that there really was before since James didn’t like me to talk. But even writing in journals to yourself feels different when you are part of a home and a family. I can’t really write in journals anymore because I’m too unsettled and at the same time have more happiness than ever before.
If happiness means a high and fluttery feeling.
But I also had happiness in my old life when I would cry in bed everyday. It was a different kind of happiness though, like the way you feel in a soft pink egg. Even in sadness there was a feeling of peace.
Our spirit is made of fire and air. It propels us outwards & forwards, towards people and the future. Our soul is made of water and earth, a soft gooey dough that absorbs all experiences. Happy or sad, all experiences become meaningful when they encounter the soul’s soft body.
In my old life my spirit was trapped. Now it’s free. Yet my soul is nowhere to be found. Friends are not family. You can’t cry around them and if you do it’s some big fucking deal where you have to apologize afterwards. You can’t share the minutia of life that is the soul’s food. You can’t gorge on donuts and sink into a coma. You have to be on and up. Fire & air.
And I’m grateful for the newness. But it’s hard to settle down. I dance all the time. Sometimes I run rather than walk. Without a soul, you have so much energy.
But this is my predestined time of wandering the earth like a spirit. I need to make the best of my “There is no place for you to call home” transit and have faith that life will eventually congeal.
In astrology, the sun is your spirit and the moon is your soul. My moon lives in the house of marriage so getting unmarried was disruptive soul-wise. However, there is a little trick with this placement where it can also mean having an emotional relationship with The Public, a gooey blob of unknown minds.
So in the absence of a James, I started sharing minutia from my life on facebook. Which caused people to attack me for being an attention seeking whore. But I blocked them for being stupid. Because it isn’t attention the moon craves. It’s ooey gooey connection.
It’s not so much circumstances that are bugging me out as the questions… is love real, is home real, is anything real? What is there in life that weighs more than paper? I thought I would have a family in eternity. I even thought my house would be with me in heaven. When I was painting its walls, I felt I was building something permanent.
When I was moving out on my own what I wanted most of all was for my new life to be airy.
When I was married life was not airy at all. My husband did not like to interact with me. But I wasn’t supposed to interact with anyone else either. He said if I left the house I would get murdered so I stayed at home. Receiving a message from someone or just a random email was the highlight of my week. There were pros and cons to this sort of life.
But now, my life is nothing but messages from strangers. Two hundred a day. What is it called when winds rip people apart until they die with bits of them flying everywhere? That is what’s happening to me.
There are ebay messages, herbal messages, music messages, lawyer messages, messages about wizzles and fizzles, messages from men, messages from women.
Two hundred messages a day and I’m making two hundred dollars a month. This seems off somehow.
My friend made a match.com account as me which I think is hilarious. She pretends to be me and then forwards people she likes to the real me. I like the part where she interacts with them better. I’m too mentally overwhelmed to respond to anyone. Even the people I meet I can hardly remember their names and faces. Hi it’s Chris! Oh yeah, Chris, of course. You build houses. No, I’m the Chris that flies planes. Busy girl.
But I’m not a busy girl. I’m a girl whose brain is being electrocuted with random inputs from all directions. Meanwhile there is nothing solid in my life. I want to visit my dogs again. But if I get arrested there will be no one to bail me out.
Ten thousand winds but nothing solid. No feeling either. The other day I walked by a man who was on the floor with a hurt foot. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.” I said “Oh are you really?” he asked in a relieved voice. “No, I’m joking.” I said with a laugh. Two minutes later reality hits and I realize I sounded like a total psychopath. This will be another black mark added to my reputation of cruelty and violence. But I’m not a psychopath. Everything is just so airy it starts to seem unreal. So many words. So many people. No way to assemble my bookcase because my wrist still doesn’t work from the last time James squirted me over with dishsoap and pushed me into a wall.