After a scrape on the knee you apply ointment and a band-aid on it, and wonder "Will this faciliate my healing?" Well, no, not really. The body is predestined towards healing itself. It will produce puss and it will form a scar so the new tissue can grow unencumbered, anew. The body is always moving forward in attempt to heal itself, regrowth, regenerating, renewal, etc. Always working toward healing itself in so many ways.
For instance, with a broken heart...the body knows to heal itself. So the body walks itself into an establishment specializing in various adult-oriented liquids. The body then, uses the eyes to scan, and lips to remember a savour...the hand to pull out a wallet. These actions set in motion the consumption of grapey-originated tannin red beverages to imbibe, and thus, heal itself.
The body knows. It is wise.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
News - a Spoken Word Rant
when is the Right time to tune in to hear / watch / read about something horrible, sometime, somewhere in the world. Maybe somewhere far, maybe right next door, maybe down the street.
Why would anyone want to wake up with the birds singing, and a nice coffee's aroma freshly brewing, to crack open fresh-squeezed (or reconstituted) stories which have become the equivalent of Grade C fatty meat shoved into a grinder to urn out Texas-sized chunks of pain for our consumption. We know full well that even bite-sized meshes can clog one's mind and spirit...but fresh or not, we readily consume them. Yum. Yum!
And with a short breath exhalation, we crack open the parchment to..SCREAMING ASSAULTS OF:
boys being decapitated on the bus, or little girls gone missing, or men pummelled to death after interfering in a fight, or women gone absent without notice- invisibles that no one has noted until the media declares these incidences (posited as "rarities" when they are far from incidental. These incidents sadly, plural, always plural). "Oh, what a shame" and..."Isn't it too late to do anything?", or "I hope this never happens again!". But it will, until and unless something radically changes and we, the collective 'we' and the lawmakers take the absence of women of colour or of prostitutes with as much urgency and notibility as that of an affluent, middle-class caucasian men and women. Then there are the litigious Leaders, charismatic Conquistadors, regimental Rulers and Kings, Nobles, Prime Ministers, Governors, Premiers, CEO's and an array of Titles for those who can Titularly yield the ax of Power. Knowledgable, educated adults puppeteering soldiers like little checkers on a board, pawns in games of strategy - along with the citizens corralled by fear* (a lovely motivator* if ever there was one). Dinosaurs dictating old-school sermons, with now-questionable ethics unleashed on a New World that is for the most part, run by antiquated systems and ideologies. Here the preacher becomes a politician, the politican becomes a preacher, orator, actor, talking head, war head. Countries entering an inconceivable 24th year of a civil war (what a paradox. where there be nothing "civil" near "war"- these as two mutually exclusive terms as there could ever be. "I say old chap, would you mind terribly if we shoot that camp here, or should we do the one over there?" "Oh, it's no bother. It was your turn anyway." "Will do. Oh, and remember come Christmas we have to stop shooting at one another." "Right, right, old man. Thank you for that reminder. Tea?"). Endless streams of one-upmanship with murders, bombings, terrorism, psychological, physical, tangible, unreal, weapons using anything from spit to weapons of mass destruction upping that ante. Whatever It was years ago, whatever It might have started at, has gone wayward indeed, and the waters murky as blood turns black on both sides. Now these civil wars, and Friendly Fires underscore who holds the biggest grudge (well, they ALL do now) with no one backing down, compromising, nor applying diplomacy. Why bother through such logistics and administration, when it is always much splashier on the page to see a new Martyr born, a Villian brought down, a Hero (likely born of death unto another, but these *pesky details* rarely get much airtime, don't they?). Sensationalized terms, labels, names and dramatic, dichotomizing rhetoric ("If you're not with us, you're against us") spun to sell to the lowest common denominator, and to the many who read this and nothing but (drinking straight from the paper bag like it was mother's milk), consuming from monopolized media sources is akin to eating the same porridge and calling it steak and pie! That is all you have known, will know, and have been born into. It's not your fault, brother! Born if not bred into a pathology of violence, a sick society which feeds on other ills, using fear and violence as leverage to support deadly games aimed to marginalize, manipulate, misogynize, and mark groups against one another until they are non-humans, aliens, Things. Easier to diassociate from and kill...specimens alien from you, posited as The Other, Them. And on that note, anOther group of people shot by an unstable disgruntled employee from some employee-exploiting, opportunistic corporation specializing in churning out a consistent stream of faceless names who wear numbers on a little badge, to deftly add the next chump in line to take over disgruntled, gone-postal guy in-a-jiffy! Why else is outsourcing so profitable for companies? Because when one exploited, needy worker dies or leaves a post, there are newer models waiting in line to take her place. On this sad note too, the scroll depicts how another animal has died in captivity (as though we should be surprised to learn that animals actually do not thrive under UN-natural conditions). Oh, really? Numerous incidences of animals who, no longer having the wild come to them, go seeking it only to find alarmed suburbanites with snotty-nosed kids in their backyard now going white from fear with an . Having legally settled on said wild animals' territory (and once indigenous' people's land), in effect taking over the ex-livingrooms of said animals - yuppites can feel safer from govermentally-sanctioned culling of inconveniences like animals. Yo dont like the scratches a cougar can leave on your kid, I get it! But killing an animal for, well being an animal is a bit like kicking a cat because it has scratched you after you have been treating it like a plaything. And things of play set far aside, a reader with ill-begotten luck can easily find that another asshole has been born, and destroyed or royally screwed the life of another, by bullet, by knifing, by not caring, by appropriating, by abusing, bullying, trespassing on the right's of others, walking on the backs of others, by obscuring facts to fool others, by white (collar)-washing inconvenient truths so those who do learn and who choose to speak look like fools, and those who do not speak can believe the lie from fear. Lies working in tandem with Fear, you ask? Propaganda, anyone? How about this doozy: this grand ruse, "If you only work hard enough..you will - -- - - - -- (inset sentiment akin to 'change your life')." The ole Bootstrap Theory. Sure, it may work for some, but more as an anomaly of brilliant luck and timing. For the most part, statistically, this rhetoric will sing like a rusty pipe dream. Sounds good in theory, but problematic in application. If you happen to have been born in the lower 3rd rung (4th rung?) along the socioeconomic ladder, then you have already been born into instant disadvantage with respect to access to resources, to education, to food, to comfort, to work, to relationship to others, your parents (hard to do when they both work). But like all brilliant ruses, it is designed to distract the minds and hearts of hopeful, earnest people, workers and non-workers alike. Reading news about Others and Their problems will distract the minds and eyes of the Average Citizen as they read about misery elsewhere, and question less the way they themselves are being repressed, controlled and ripped off in quietly, sneaky, benevolent ways (made not-so-quiet by the recent Occupy movement). You want to be informed, you want to know what goes on in the world, but must this be with a heartburn of the mind and an erosion of the soul? Must knowledge be at this high a price? Soon sanity beckons. You hear the call..and so
you CLOSE THE PAPER! QUICKLY! QUICKLY! before you fall down hell's rabbit hole again. (Breath out.)
Why would you want to read Ugly in the morning?
As a way to start your day? What kind of way is that to preserve or move any positive energy into the world? We are fed tripe like it's sugary cereal that "gives kids energy" (yeah, it does. so does crack). We are stuffed to the gills with hype and the hyperactive-inducing tools to get us out there buying our immense coffees, speed-texting because the GD world might end any minute anyway, ranting angrily in traffic or keeping glum expressions on smelly buses on the way to jobs that we have to tolerate to pay, you know, for those things...bills, they call them. Why, oh why would you want to eat feed on this in the morning? If you're lucky, you have a bowel movement in the morning to dispose of toxins, so why would you want to immediately add on a new layer of toxicity for your mind? Is this healthy? Are we addicted to drama? Drama with coffee...to go?
Ok, so how about reading it in the afternoon?
After a long day's work and you want to rest your weary little head and pop up your weary little feet (or head or neck or back or whatever ails you) come the end of a stressful day. Why, oh why would you want to add to the stress now, and never get a chance to bring the level of ugly down at some point in your day? When do you get a respite? When does your mind get to breathe? When do you let your soul expand its breath unselfconsciously, and without guilt (aye, there is the rub! It gets tricky here)?
Well, what about at night then??
But why, oh why in (insert god')s name would you want to watch and hear of something absolutely hideous as a way to "ease off the stresses of the day" (and of life!) in time to relax and drift off feeling safe in the knowledge that you may have another sleep coming your way to recuperate your cells and your body. Why in god's name would you want to drink sour milk to put you to sleep? If its to trip off of stress responses in the messed up sleep cycle, go for it! To each his insomniatic own, but I prefer to give myself a fighting chance at finding peace, even for a moment to fool myself into thinking that...at some point, in some part of the world, perhaps far away, perhaps close, perhaps around the corner, down the block, in my bed...there lies a little bit of hope and of peace to remind me that there is good in the world.
I like to believe this when I wake up, when I come home after stress, when I ready for bed. I need to.
Why would anyone want to wake up with the birds singing, and a nice coffee's aroma freshly brewing, to crack open fresh-squeezed (or reconstituted) stories which have become the equivalent of Grade C fatty meat shoved into a grinder to urn out Texas-sized chunks of pain for our consumption. We know full well that even bite-sized meshes can clog one's mind and spirit...but fresh or not, we readily consume them. Yum. Yum!
And with a short breath exhalation, we crack open the parchment to..SCREAMING ASSAULTS OF:
boys being decapitated on the bus, or little girls gone missing, or men pummelled to death after interfering in a fight, or women gone absent without notice- invisibles that no one has noted until the media declares these incidences (posited as "rarities" when they are far from incidental. These incidents sadly, plural, always plural). "Oh, what a shame" and..."Isn't it too late to do anything?", or "I hope this never happens again!". But it will, until and unless something radically changes and we, the collective 'we' and the lawmakers take the absence of women of colour or of prostitutes with as much urgency and notibility as that of an affluent, middle-class caucasian men and women. Then there are the litigious Leaders, charismatic Conquistadors, regimental Rulers and Kings, Nobles, Prime Ministers, Governors, Premiers, CEO's and an array of Titles for those who can Titularly yield the ax of Power. Knowledgable, educated adults puppeteering soldiers like little checkers on a board, pawns in games of strategy - along with the citizens corralled by fear* (a lovely motivator* if ever there was one). Dinosaurs dictating old-school sermons, with now-questionable ethics unleashed on a New World that is for the most part, run by antiquated systems and ideologies. Here the preacher becomes a politician, the politican becomes a preacher, orator, actor, talking head, war head. Countries entering an inconceivable 24th year of a civil war (what a paradox. where there be nothing "civil" near "war"- these as two mutually exclusive terms as there could ever be. "I say old chap, would you mind terribly if we shoot that camp here, or should we do the one over there?" "Oh, it's no bother. It was your turn anyway." "Will do. Oh, and remember come Christmas we have to stop shooting at one another." "Right, right, old man. Thank you for that reminder. Tea?"). Endless streams of one-upmanship with murders, bombings, terrorism, psychological, physical, tangible, unreal, weapons using anything from spit to weapons of mass destruction upping that ante. Whatever It was years ago, whatever It might have started at, has gone wayward indeed, and the waters murky as blood turns black on both sides. Now these civil wars, and Friendly Fires underscore who holds the biggest grudge (well, they ALL do now) with no one backing down, compromising, nor applying diplomacy. Why bother through such logistics and administration, when it is always much splashier on the page to see a new Martyr born, a Villian brought down, a Hero (likely born of death unto another, but these *pesky details* rarely get much airtime, don't they?). Sensationalized terms, labels, names and dramatic, dichotomizing rhetoric ("If you're not with us, you're against us") spun to sell to the lowest common denominator, and to the many who read this and nothing but (drinking straight from the paper bag like it was mother's milk), consuming from monopolized media sources is akin to eating the same porridge and calling it steak and pie! That is all you have known, will know, and have been born into. It's not your fault, brother! Born if not bred into a pathology of violence, a sick society which feeds on other ills, using fear and violence as leverage to support deadly games aimed to marginalize, manipulate, misogynize, and mark groups against one another until they are non-humans, aliens, Things. Easier to diassociate from and kill...specimens alien from you, posited as The Other, Them. And on that note, anOther group of people shot by an unstable disgruntled employee from some employee-exploiting, opportunistic corporation specializing in churning out a consistent stream of faceless names who wear numbers on a little badge, to deftly add the next chump in line to take over disgruntled, gone-postal guy in-a-jiffy! Why else is outsourcing so profitable for companies? Because when one exploited, needy worker dies or leaves a post, there are newer models waiting in line to take her place. On this sad note too, the scroll depicts how another animal has died in captivity (as though we should be surprised to learn that animals actually do not thrive under UN-natural conditions). Oh, really? Numerous incidences of animals who, no longer having the wild come to them, go seeking it only to find alarmed suburbanites with snotty-nosed kids in their backyard now going white from fear with an . Having legally settled on said wild animals' territory (and once indigenous' people's land), in effect taking over the ex-livingrooms of said animals - yuppites can feel safer from govermentally-sanctioned culling of inconveniences like animals. Yo dont like the scratches a cougar can leave on your kid, I get it! But killing an animal for, well being an animal is a bit like kicking a cat because it has scratched you after you have been treating it like a plaything. And things of play set far aside, a reader with ill-begotten luck can easily find that another asshole has been born, and destroyed or royally screwed the life of another, by bullet, by knifing, by not caring, by appropriating, by abusing, bullying, trespassing on the right's of others, walking on the backs of others, by obscuring facts to fool others, by white (collar)-washing inconvenient truths so those who do learn and who choose to speak look like fools, and those who do not speak can believe the lie from fear. Lies working in tandem with Fear, you ask? Propaganda, anyone? How about this doozy: this grand ruse, "If you only work hard enough..you will - -- - - - -- (inset sentiment akin to 'change your life')." The ole Bootstrap Theory. Sure, it may work for some, but more as an anomaly of brilliant luck and timing. For the most part, statistically, this rhetoric will sing like a rusty pipe dream. Sounds good in theory, but problematic in application. If you happen to have been born in the lower 3rd rung (4th rung?) along the socioeconomic ladder, then you have already been born into instant disadvantage with respect to access to resources, to education, to food, to comfort, to work, to relationship to others, your parents (hard to do when they both work). But like all brilliant ruses, it is designed to distract the minds and hearts of hopeful, earnest people, workers and non-workers alike. Reading news about Others and Their problems will distract the minds and eyes of the Average Citizen as they read about misery elsewhere, and question less the way they themselves are being repressed, controlled and ripped off in quietly, sneaky, benevolent ways (made not-so-quiet by the recent Occupy movement). You want to be informed, you want to know what goes on in the world, but must this be with a heartburn of the mind and an erosion of the soul? Must knowledge be at this high a price? Soon sanity beckons. You hear the call..and so
you CLOSE THE PAPER! QUICKLY! QUICKLY! before you fall down hell's rabbit hole again. (Breath out.)
Why would you want to read Ugly in the morning?
Ok, so how about reading it in the afternoon?
After a long day's work and you want to rest your weary little head and pop up your weary little feet (or head or neck or back or whatever ails you) come the end of a stressful day. Why, oh why would you want to add to the stress now, and never get a chance to bring the level of ugly down at some point in your day? When do you get a respite? When does your mind get to breathe? When do you let your soul expand its breath unselfconsciously, and without guilt (aye, there is the rub! It gets tricky here)?
Well, what about at night then??
But why, oh why in (insert god')s name would you want to watch and hear of something absolutely hideous as a way to "ease off the stresses of the day" (and of life!) in time to relax and drift off feeling safe in the knowledge that you may have another sleep coming your way to recuperate your cells and your body. Why in god's name would you want to drink sour milk to put you to sleep? If its to trip off of stress responses in the messed up sleep cycle, go for it! To each his insomniatic own, but I prefer to give myself a fighting chance at finding peace, even for a moment to fool myself into thinking that...at some point, in some part of the world, perhaps far away, perhaps close, perhaps around the corner, down the block, in my bed...there lies a little bit of hope and of peace to remind me that there is good in the world.
I like to believe this when I wake up, when I come home after stress, when I ready for bed. I need to.
Naked
to read my bloggery is to see me standing naked
in the rain...
with a pistol in my hand
and a lopsided grin
from beneath
my little crooked hat
Naked as an acid rain
naked as I've ever been
in the rain...
with a pistol in my hand
and a lopsided grin
from beneath
my little crooked hat
Naked as an acid rain
naked as I've ever been
Saturday, October 15, 2011
"How Blogworthy?" (aka How Personal is this going to be?)
that is the question. You know things get bad when upon thinking of say, things like *work* your left eye suddenly twitches, like Inspector Clouseau's superintendent (so hell bent on the demise of Clouseaou to end his own misery and suffering).
I had to consider which blog to use today, today, and in general. The one fit for public consumption (only a selected, special *few* of said public, but still..) or the Ugly Cry one, where I usually dump a barrage of bad feeling and 'the pains of the world' onto (the purging one). sigh.
I want to write a Vicious Blogging and be clever and rapier-witted as before. BUT everytime I ponder on writing- anything- I get blocked, and can't remember what it was that was so darned clever that I simply HAD to sit and write about before it left the building. Well, shit. Most ideas that *almost* inspire me to finally squawk on, leave the building. In fact, all this fresh tripe is the stuff of ad-libbing. Yep, I'm fresh out of clever.
Ok: Initial thoughts or stirrings that bothered me enough to ponder (gulp) writing. Here they are in order of popping into meh head:
1) Well, I feel a little ripped off. In the love dept, I have excelled. In the reciprocation dept, there has been substantial "room for improvement" and emotionally things have been "challenging"(translated to politically incorrect speak): being a loving person has sucked ass when I have picked people who neither see me nor appreciate me enough to love me as I deserve (that's right- I said it!) DESERVE to be loved. It sucks balls. It's a fucking bummer. It's not helping me NOT feel old, unattractive, and out of shape. I have these thoughts all fine by myself, thankyouverymuch. These stumbles have only contributed to (or reiterated said negative thoughts). And I don't need that shit.
sigh. I know that I am tired and stressed out. and when I am these two things together (what a doozy!), I get bummed. Today is such an instance. It will pass, but today it has felt like a weight on my chest and I have been shrugging off the exhaustion and anxiety like last season's lime green poncho (get it offa me!). Yes, things feel worse than they are in actuality. PERHAPS. Still I am allowed my glorious gripe. I hope that by having it, I will be able to lose it.
2) I wanted a job where I could find beauty, where I would (hopefully) have some autonomy, where I actually looked forward to coming to work. Well, by Job I've got it! and ...and ...fuckin..AND I am stressed out of my fecking tree! Not to say I'm ot grateful for the job, a decent job, a job that I like (yay*), a job that has pretty view (which is does), a lot of positives here - BUT. It feels overwhelming sometimes, where I AM the whole band, I AM U2! I play all the instruments and do the post-production AND then write a critique about it! holy feck! so, yeah.. It's got me in a bit of a tizzy. :P and I need to handle stress WAAAY better, before it does me in. Goddess, give me strength and wisdom and focus and patience and fortitude to deal with the demands and still be gracious and charming, handle the stress well, and keep my lovely little job (and for a long time, I hope).
It feels a bit like a weird game I play. "How much shit can I take before I stress myself right out and let everything affect me and make me sick again? let's see..."
well, I dont want to play that game. It is dangerous and NON-productive nor helpful. It is self-perpetuating, and can be a losing one. I have to change it into dodgeball or something else real quickly! Want to master it, not make it into Master and Servant (and me on the suffering bottom).
3) ah, Mom. Love her, she means well but she (and living here with her) remind me of the Life I aim to carve...which I have yet to have. Living with mom, we are so incompatible, it could be a sitcom. A passive-aggressive dramedy about an irritable, resentful adult daughter and her foibles with a cantankerous, ill-mannered child who either nags or gets into a hissy fit over any eyebrow raised at the wrong angle. Maybe I should call it, "And Then There's Angie", or "Goddess Help Us", with a catchy little tune like that of "and then there's Maude!"
4) Then there's this: What Do I Want. I mean really. Not What Do I Want that I tell people, but what, at the heart of me , do I really want. It seems to change slightly year by year now. I do not know now, nor do I have a 5 year plan. I don't know if that is fear-based, or just plain lazy. sigh. It feels like I'm afraid to Plan ahead, to have hope, to make plans. It feels easier to ride the wave, go with the flow, since life (for me, at least) has certainly not played out according to the script I had 'read' or been informed on. My life has been decidedly unpredictable. Is that good? I don't know.
ie. Not sure I want the acting thing that badly. If I did, I would have pics and be seeking out an agent, etc. Maybe I don't believe I can do it, or that it can be fruitful for me at this point. I do know that I want security. In a time of chronic financial insecurity, I really crave stability and security. Blame my post-war upbringing, blame my immediate family (and their perpetual lack of it...), blame the modern jobstate. I have never KNOWN true security nor felt safe with any consistency, so I need to have this become a constant in my life. I need to BE that example I am missing.
It's important that, after 15+ yrs of struggling, and being sick then being the "well-dressed poor", that I find security in some measure. Perhaps after I have found it, befriended it, and sat with it for a while, I will be able to feel I can 'risk' again (ie. the acting thing). All I've done is risk in my life, but I need to find the other side: discipline and persistence to achieve success.
Right now, I am so drained with stress, that the Intention to have a creatively fulfilling life and the ACTUALITY of it seem at opposite sides of the spectrum. They seem incongruent. I need to find my own way to reconcile my (alleged instability, unsafe, unpredictable) 'art' with my career choices (by contrast, seemingly stable, safe, livable beyond "survival" state), until I feel I can manage both.
Also, I am wise enough to know that Happiness is fleeting. It is temporary, like everything else in life, and is found in moments. Sometimes they last for years, sometimes months, sometimes days. I can't wait intil that 'Ideal' day (or job, man, event, thing, or situation) sits prettily at my feet to claim this elusive Happiness. So I look for it every day, in something - a kind word, a sweet sight, a moving song, a good memory, a decent hug, a good cuppa coffee.
I had to consider which blog to use today, today, and in general. The one fit for public consumption (only a selected, special *few* of said public, but still..) or the Ugly Cry one, where I usually dump a barrage of bad feeling and 'the pains of the world' onto (the purging one). sigh.
I want to write a Vicious Blogging and be clever and rapier-witted as before. BUT everytime I ponder on writing- anything- I get blocked, and can't remember what it was that was so darned clever that I simply HAD to sit and write about before it left the building. Well, shit. Most ideas that *almost* inspire me to finally squawk on, leave the building. In fact, all this fresh tripe is the stuff of ad-libbing. Yep, I'm fresh out of clever.
Ok: Initial thoughts or stirrings that bothered me enough to ponder (gulp) writing. Here they are in order of popping into meh head:
1) Well, I feel a little ripped off. In the love dept, I have excelled. In the reciprocation dept, there has been substantial "room for improvement" and emotionally things have been "challenging"(translated to politically incorrect speak): being a loving person has sucked ass when I have picked people who neither see me nor appreciate me enough to love me as I deserve (that's right- I said it!) DESERVE to be loved. It sucks balls. It's a fucking bummer. It's not helping me NOT feel old, unattractive, and out of shape. I have these thoughts all fine by myself, thankyouverymuch. These stumbles have only contributed to (or reiterated said negative thoughts). And I don't need that shit.
sigh. I know that I am tired and stressed out. and when I am these two things together (what a doozy!), I get bummed. Today is such an instance. It will pass, but today it has felt like a weight on my chest and I have been shrugging off the exhaustion and anxiety like last season's lime green poncho (get it offa me!). Yes, things feel worse than they are in actuality. PERHAPS. Still I am allowed my glorious gripe. I hope that by having it, I will be able to lose it.
2) I wanted a job where I could find beauty, where I would (hopefully) have some autonomy, where I actually looked forward to coming to work. Well, by Job I've got it! and ...and ...fuckin..AND I am stressed out of my fecking tree! Not to say I'm ot grateful for the job, a decent job, a job that I like (yay*), a job that has pretty view (which is does), a lot of positives here - BUT. It feels overwhelming sometimes, where I AM the whole band, I AM U2! I play all the instruments and do the post-production AND then write a critique about it! holy feck! so, yeah.. It's got me in a bit of a tizzy. :P and I need to handle stress WAAAY better, before it does me in. Goddess, give me strength and wisdom and focus and patience and fortitude to deal with the demands and still be gracious and charming, handle the stress well, and keep my lovely little job (and for a long time, I hope).
It feels a bit like a weird game I play. "How much shit can I take before I stress myself right out and let everything affect me and make me sick again? let's see..."
well, I dont want to play that game. It is dangerous and NON-productive nor helpful. It is self-perpetuating, and can be a losing one. I have to change it into dodgeball or something else real quickly! Want to master it, not make it into Master and Servant (and me on the suffering bottom).
3) ah, Mom. Love her, she means well but she (and living here with her) remind me of the Life I aim to carve...which I have yet to have. Living with mom, we are so incompatible, it could be a sitcom. A passive-aggressive dramedy about an irritable, resentful adult daughter and her foibles with a cantankerous, ill-mannered child who either nags or gets into a hissy fit over any eyebrow raised at the wrong angle. Maybe I should call it, "And Then There's Angie", or "Goddess Help Us", with a catchy little tune like that of "and then there's Maude!"
4) Then there's this: What Do I Want. I mean really. Not What Do I Want that I tell people, but what, at the heart of me , do I really want. It seems to change slightly year by year now. I do not know now, nor do I have a 5 year plan. I don't know if that is fear-based, or just plain lazy. sigh. It feels like I'm afraid to Plan ahead, to have hope, to make plans. It feels easier to ride the wave, go with the flow, since life (for me, at least) has certainly not played out according to the script I had 'read' or been informed on. My life has been decidedly unpredictable. Is that good? I don't know.
ie. Not sure I want the acting thing that badly. If I did, I would have pics and be seeking out an agent, etc. Maybe I don't believe I can do it, or that it can be fruitful for me at this point. I do know that I want security. In a time of chronic financial insecurity, I really crave stability and security. Blame my post-war upbringing, blame my immediate family (and their perpetual lack of it...), blame the modern jobstate. I have never KNOWN true security nor felt safe with any consistency, so I need to have this become a constant in my life. I need to BE that example I am missing.
It's important that, after 15+ yrs of struggling, and being sick then being the "well-dressed poor", that I find security in some measure. Perhaps after I have found it, befriended it, and sat with it for a while, I will be able to feel I can 'risk' again (ie. the acting thing). All I've done is risk in my life, but I need to find the other side: discipline and persistence to achieve success.
Right now, I am so drained with stress, that the Intention to have a creatively fulfilling life and the ACTUALITY of it seem at opposite sides of the spectrum. They seem incongruent. I need to find my own way to reconcile my (alleged instability, unsafe, unpredictable) 'art' with my career choices (by contrast, seemingly stable, safe, livable beyond "survival" state), until I feel I can manage both.
Also, I am wise enough to know that Happiness is fleeting. It is temporary, like everything else in life, and is found in moments. Sometimes they last for years, sometimes months, sometimes days. I can't wait intil that 'Ideal' day (or job, man, event, thing, or situation) sits prettily at my feet to claim this elusive Happiness. So I look for it every day, in something - a kind word, a sweet sight, a moving song, a good memory, a decent hug, a good cuppa coffee.
On that note, if I don't find romantic 'love' this year, so be it. I know that I will HAVE loved others three-fold, and made the world a better place. Instead of spite or other nasty things, the best un-revenge will be to stay Shiny, to emit light and love, to be gracious in spite of the ugly, or the pain. I'm not advocating being a martyr, just to ride the wave and master the consequences of change, so you can own your power again. Wrestling my demons is private, smiling like the conquistador who ate the demon is public.
I'm flawed as hell but I'm a good person with a planet of offerings. I have to remember to not give it all away, without leaving the big Love for ME.
and with this thought, I bid adieu.
I'm flawed as hell but I'm a good person with a planet of offerings. I have to remember to not give it all away, without leaving the big Love for ME.
and with this thought, I bid adieu.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Things That Are Annoying
in no particular order:
8) when people who are grumpy and indifferent or plain nasty to you and your very essence suddenly become Mother Teresa and rally to your couchside the minute you feign having a cold or other malaise. What gives? How come they turn suddenly kind and so concerned for your welfare all of a sudden?? weird and inconsistent behaviour. Worse yet, is anticipating that the minute you feel 'yourself again', god help you! The twiddle-dees are going to be right back at it, gnashing their sharp little teeth around your face and snarling "why isn't that [whatever] ready yet??". Ahh, just like Old Times.
4) when an Audiobook Application on iPhone uses a damn robotic voice akin to Cher's irritating vocals in that overrated and shitty song "Believe in Love after Luff.." (or Life after Love?? or Love after Life?? or whatever the fuck it was). Less Big Brother-y and creepy than the automated bus robot voice, complete with weird monotone with incorrect inflections that 'reads' out what your next stop will be. It is irksome. It is disconcerting. It makes me want to close the book on my Audio (non) book! Completely unintelligible and annoying as shite! "What? What is it saying?? What? Whaaat!" OY fuckity Oy.
51) telemarketers who - assuming my Spanish surname is inevitably, and invariably connected to a god-fearing Catholic Spanish-Canadian citizen - call up during bad reality tv, interrupting certain bliss to ask questions that are blatantly churchy in aim. "Listen, Maria Rodrigues, Golanzes, Dolores, del Pies. I was sidled with 4 names too, but don't assume I'm a traditional fresh-off-the-boat Bible-clutcher! I'm also part French & Irish and you don't see their reps giving me unsolicited calls to inquire about my politico-spiritual leanings, do ya? Well, here's my Irish part (said with accent, for effect), Feck off!"
Don't they know Brett Micheals' "Rock of Love" is on?!" Come ON! Is nothing Sacred?
8) when people who are grumpy and indifferent or plain nasty to you and your very essence suddenly become Mother Teresa and rally to your couchside the minute you feign having a cold or other malaise. What gives? How come they turn suddenly kind and so concerned for your welfare all of a sudden?? weird and inconsistent behaviour. Worse yet, is anticipating that the minute you feel 'yourself again', god help you! The twiddle-dees are going to be right back at it, gnashing their sharp little teeth around your face and snarling "why isn't that [whatever] ready yet??". Ahh, just like Old Times.
4) when an Audiobook Application on iPhone uses a damn robotic voice akin to Cher's irritating vocals in that overrated and shitty song "Believe in Love after Luff.." (or Life after Love?? or Love after Life?? or whatever the fuck it was). Less Big Brother-y and creepy than the automated bus robot voice, complete with weird monotone with incorrect inflections that 'reads' out what your next stop will be. It is irksome. It is disconcerting. It makes me want to close the book on my Audio (non) book! Completely unintelligible and annoying as shite! "What? What is it saying?? What? Whaaat!" OY fuckity Oy.
51) telemarketers who - assuming my Spanish surname is inevitably, and invariably connected to a god-fearing Catholic Spanish-Canadian citizen - call up during bad reality tv, interrupting certain bliss to ask questions that are blatantly churchy in aim. "Listen, Maria Rodrigues, Golanzes, Dolores, del Pies. I was sidled with 4 names too, but don't assume I'm a traditional fresh-off-the-boat Bible-clutcher! I'm also part French & Irish and you don't see their reps giving me unsolicited calls to inquire about my politico-spiritual leanings, do ya? Well, here's my Irish part (said with accent, for effect), Feck off!"
Don't they know Brett Micheals' "Rock of Love" is on?!" Come ON! Is nothing Sacred?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I am.
“Sometimes Truth doesn’t come in a pretty package. it usually comes in a brown paper bag, with an oil stain on the back.” C. Sandoval
Today I found out more hurts, as if it was capable of finding out further truths to pick at and destroy this scab I have been trying to build.
I want to move on so as not to remain hurt, but not nec move on without love from X. Did I ever have it?, I wonder. I felt he might have loved me. Perhaps he grew disquiet at the panic of seeing what unconditional love looked like and what a sweet, caring, evolved woman in his arms looked like. Perhaps he did not know what to do with me. Too much for him? Perhaps I am.
I know that I never want to feel like I am “not _______ enough” of anything ever again. and every day, almost without fail, I have told myself and retold and sold to me, and mine, that I am “_____ enough” of anything.
Out of this pain, processing and relevation, came
an affirmation for myself:
"Let me be TOO MUCH of a good thing for the foolhardy who do not know how to value, and celebrate and love and cherish a good thing, a treasure as me. Let me be TOO MUCH, for I know in my heart as wide as the ocean, as fertile and fecund as Mother Earth/Sky and in my spirit, which can dance like the wind or cast fires against sadnesses and hurts which such Ire so to banish them from treading the fragility of fleeting Happiness! I know in all these realms that make me ME, that I am always and will be ENOUGH."
Of those who have wittingly (or otherwise) hurt me, I say without reproach..'They' may not have been ready for such splendour, class, beauty and love to come at once, in one package, and so potently. Too perhaps They may be those who see most clearly in hindsight, given time and perspective after (regretfully) discarding your author. Perhaps then they may note, “Ah, I guess indeed, she DID shine!” Sadder still is that in waiting to see retrospectively and only then recognizing light and love and beauty, they will have missed the actual ME. The Me who sat with them remaining present in all manner as best I could, happily giving them my gifts of time and of love. I have given many such gifts, and felt very pained when these precious gifts were no longer bestowed upon me. I know that I must walk and seek out those who also Shine and who come (waiting on baited breath no less !) to bestow a true, and unbridled Love, for a shiny thing as me. Let Like attract Like, and merrily!
and a Thanks:
Thank you Goddess, for giving me the gifts of insight, of sensitivity, of perseverance, of patience, of stubborness, of humour, of curiosity about the world, people and of myself, of gentleness (for therein lies my Power), of playfulness, of wonder, of light. Without these gifts I would remain a sad little sack seated on the dank floor of a kitchen eternally hurt and confounded by the spokes and wheels which come jabbing back with passing time.
I thank you for such gifts bestowed upon me. Let me shine my light brightly and for myself first and foremost! Let others who are compelled by it, follow and learn to Shine for themselves; let those whom I do not touch nor compel, pass me by, gently, without a stir, but perhaps with a small reflection to carry them onward. Let my heart, spirit, mind, body et al remain safe and strong and pure as I peacefully, without apology nor regret...let them be. (Oh Heart, do you have it in you? Such laborous tasks must you do yet, to muster true empathy!)
and of course, a little humour:
Wisdom strains from such painful processes. And I am wise enough yet, so please keep me!
Today I found out more hurts, as if it was capable of finding out further truths to pick at and destroy this scab I have been trying to build.
I want to move on so as not to remain hurt, but not nec move on without love from X. Did I ever have it?, I wonder. I felt he might have loved me. Perhaps he grew disquiet at the panic of seeing what unconditional love looked like and what a sweet, caring, evolved woman in his arms looked like. Perhaps he did not know what to do with me. Too much for him? Perhaps I am.
I know that I never want to feel like I am “not _______ enough” of anything ever again. and every day, almost without fail, I have told myself and retold and sold to me, and mine, that I am “_____ enough” of anything.
Out of this pain, processing and relevation, came
an affirmation for myself:
"Let me be TOO MUCH of a good thing for the foolhardy who do not know how to value, and celebrate and love and cherish a good thing, a treasure as me. Let me be TOO MUCH, for I know in my heart as wide as the ocean, as fertile and fecund as Mother Earth/Sky and in my spirit, which can dance like the wind or cast fires against sadnesses and hurts which such Ire so to banish them from treading the fragility of fleeting Happiness! I know in all these realms that make me ME, that I am always and will be ENOUGH."
Of those who have wittingly (or otherwise) hurt me, I say without reproach..'They' may not have been ready for such splendour, class, beauty and love to come at once, in one package, and so potently. Too perhaps They may be those who see most clearly in hindsight, given time and perspective after (regretfully) discarding your author. Perhaps then they may note, “Ah, I guess indeed, she DID shine!” Sadder still is that in waiting to see retrospectively and only then recognizing light and love and beauty, they will have missed the actual ME. The Me who sat with them remaining present in all manner as best I could, happily giving them my gifts of time and of love. I have given many such gifts, and felt very pained when these precious gifts were no longer bestowed upon me. I know that I must walk and seek out those who also Shine and who come (waiting on baited breath no less !) to bestow a true, and unbridled Love, for a shiny thing as me. Let Like attract Like, and merrily!
and a Thanks:
Thank you Goddess, for giving me the gifts of insight, of sensitivity, of perseverance, of patience, of stubborness, of humour, of curiosity about the world, people and of myself, of gentleness (for therein lies my Power), of playfulness, of wonder, of light. Without these gifts I would remain a sad little sack seated on the dank floor of a kitchen eternally hurt and confounded by the spokes and wheels which come jabbing back with passing time.
I thank you for such gifts bestowed upon me. Let me shine my light brightly and for myself first and foremost! Let others who are compelled by it, follow and learn to Shine for themselves; let those whom I do not touch nor compel, pass me by, gently, without a stir, but perhaps with a small reflection to carry them onward. Let my heart, spirit, mind, body et al remain safe and strong and pure as I peacefully, without apology nor regret...let them be. (Oh Heart, do you have it in you? Such laborous tasks must you do yet, to muster true empathy!)
and of course, a little humour:
Wisdom strains from such painful processes. And I am wise enough yet, so please keep me!
Thursday, November 04, 2010
how come wisdom is acquired through such a painful process?
blessed are the fools who live life hardy and carefree...also conscience-free, heartless. blessed are they who think not of the toll of parking on your heart only to back their car in, and take it several turns and enough opportunity to scratch up all others around you, only to change their mind, and proceeding to relocate and pull out. fuck you very much. now who will pay for the dent you made? surely my Life insurance is the only one who is fit to cover such a tax. there are no deductables in Life, you pay for the whole damn thing all by yourself, no matter who's fault it was. your little car, once so shiny and polished will never look the same. she may drive a bit weary too, growling gutterally with a low moan as she turns a corner when she sees another that looks like you.
takers, voyeurs, conquistadors, fence-sitters, peddlers of falsehoods, 'tourists' in this trip called my Life...away with ye!
The Collector
Collecting little pebbles in Life which bring in a little light, and the ones which come bearing darknesses; their weight leadeding as they line the pockets. There are more pebbles on one side than the other...as the carrier gets weary. When she is less so, this weight becomes feathers, no longer burdening, no longer burning, boring holes in her back, nor commanding an unsteady gait. Her pockets are full just the same, yet trudging onward, she is undeterred by hills. The Collector holds a secret arsenal...her eyes remain ahead watching for the flash of suns, small shiny guides, small pebbles of light, like beacons for the heart.
non-communication as a coping tactic never works. it is the coward's choice. go back to the drawing board. muster up some courage, a smidge of respect for yourself and for the other, and come back another day.
takers, voyeurs, conquistadors, fence-sitters, peddlers of falsehoods, 'tourists' in this trip called my Life...away with ye!
The Collector
Collecting little pebbles in Life which bring in a little light, and the ones which come bearing darknesses; their weight leadeding as they line the pockets. There are more pebbles on one side than the other...as the carrier gets weary. When she is less so, this weight becomes feathers, no longer burdening, no longer burning, boring holes in her back, nor commanding an unsteady gait. Her pockets are full just the same, yet trudging onward, she is undeterred by hills. The Collector holds a secret arsenal...her eyes remain ahead watching for the flash of suns, small shiny guides, small pebbles of light, like beacons for the heart.
non-communication as a coping tactic never works. it is the coward's choice. go back to the drawing board. muster up some courage, a smidge of respect for yourself and for the other, and come back another day.
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