Packed up for the Synth Spa, thanks to a keyboard case, grocery bags, packing tape, and an entire roll of purple duct tape. Complete with working wheels and top handle. Godspeed little buddy.
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April 15, 2012, 9:41 pm in updates
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“You know you sorta parked like a dickbag there all far from the curb and stuff.” ‘No, I’m within a foot. I’m just not riding the curb like I do your ass.’ April 6, 2012, 11:45 am in public
My constant struggle to find and retain worth in myself is something I rarely truly embrace about what it’s like to be me. How childlike I am, how emotional I am, how deep and violent my internal conflicts are — Always expressed with a tinge or more of resistance, shame, disapproval, when I talk or think about them. There are so many aspects of myself I can’t actually run away from or ignore, as much as my instincts tell me I can. Which is where my talents have come in. Soul-crushed and speechless over being rejected in a relationship? Music. Reconciled a portion of deep shameful hurt toward myself? Aerial. Spitting angry, spurned, and literally sick with grief? Obsidian. Don’t know what the fuck is going on yet? Paint. They’re all abstract children of few words, they hint at what’s happening in me but don’t fully illuminate it. Through them, I hide from you in plain sight. Through them, I get to hide from myself. Through them, you see me as a truth teller while I see glimmers of truth on the surface of a giant, incredibly intricate lie. I think I’ve begun scratching the surface of what I’ve been concealing. I don’t like it very much. It’s incredibly uncomfortable. But my relationship with myself is changing, deep plates are shifting whether I like it or not, and even if I could stop it, I’ve learned enough to know I don’t want to. How the hell I’ll come through it, I honestly don’t know. What the goal is or what my life might look like in a year, I don’t know. What the fuck I’m doing or what’s happening to me or how I’m managing to function right now, I don’t know. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s all his fault. “Maybe stories are just data with a soul.” -Brené Brown I shared this long enough ago that I really needed to see it again, therefore it’s being shared again too. Her follow-up from this year that I just discovered is awesome, too, and reminds me of many, many things I’ve talked about here on neevita. “You show me a woman who can sit with a man in real vulnerability and fear, and I’ll show you a woman who’s done incredible work” -Brené Brown Hold me. I’m so exhausted. April 4, 2012, 10:39 am in quotes
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While petting and comforting me last night: “You will find yourself again, soon.” – Edgars Klepers March 23, 2012, 7:11 pm in public
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A lasting remark made in response to my recent compulsions to get rid of my synths, and burn all my paintings (which doesn’t happen very often): “You need a cleansing. Not a brush fire.” – Edgars Klepers <3 February 24, 2012, 4:43 am in public
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I just woke from some strange, anxious dreams and was unable to get back to sleep right away, as is the usual for me lately. In checking my phone and various networks, activity indicating your safe return home from your late-night work was unusually absent. I wouldn’t always be, but tonight, I’m a little worried. Worried enough that I’ll be on edge until you respond to the text I sent you, but not worried enough to call and bother you while you’re likely sleeping after crashing like ton of bricks from a long night. I’ve curled up small and settled in with my phone LCD up next to my face, so I’ll likely see the light through my eyelids when something triggers an alert. At the very least I’ll see right away if you’ve shown signs of life when I wake if I do fall back to sleep. I am reminded of those images of dogs curled up next to the front door waiting, or laying on their deceased owners bodies. I don’t mind. <3 February 23, 2012, 10:23 pm in quotes
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“The most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.” February 21, 2012, 10:21 pm in quotes
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“It is not only your love that is organic, your hate is too.” – Thich Nhat Hanh February 5, 2012, 11:08 pm in updates
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Snuggled in bed next to a pretty dozing boy, adding some stuff to neevita after a long, cracked out, but enjoyable day. As the benedryl starts creeping in, I wind down closer to the glorious 10 hours of sleep I’m about to get, with the bathroom fan balancing out the upstairs TV sounds, and a Pandora ambient station whisping through my ears. I liked this weekend, and I am looking forward to my dreams, my future, and tomorrow. January 21, 2012, 8:39 am in quotes
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The people who want to stay in your life will always find a way. January 20, 2012, 9:31 am in quotes
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“Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds.” — Henry Rollins January 20, 2012, 5:26 am in updates
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I try to insert myself into situations that don’t interest me out of the fear of being rejected, and then blame the person I want to be closer to for how uncomfortable it is when it doesn’t work. January 16, 2012, 1:55 pm in updates
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Testing another facebook crossposting plugin for public posts – note, comments should be ported to corresponding wordpress entry as well. January 2, 2012, 9:10 pm in public
I have always been uncomfortable with the idea that love is only light, acceptance, joy, and all those other sugar/spice/unicornbarf type things girls are supposedly made of. I was reminded of this wide-spread, endlessly perpetuated annoyance recently when my forgiveness was asked for, and I realized that somewhere along the way I’d picked up the idea that people think forgiveness means “mulligan” or “do over” or “that never happened”. I think, among other things, love is the snips and snails and puppydog tails too, just like I think pain, challenge and suffering are necessary and brilliant parts of the totality in the human experience of life, and that forgiveness is a chance, not a free pass. But finding the balance in love has historically been the hard part, for me. As so eloquently and briefly said in the BBC’s 2007 series “Jekyll”, love is psychotic. People kill for it, die for it, give up their dreams for it, lose themselves in it, spend their entire lives looking for it — the negative connotations of those acts don’t divorce them from their origin. Love is a demon bitch. A hot one. And the hottest loves I’ve had? All psychotic. All fucking batshit certifiable, and drove me fucking insane. There is a particular, snake-like, eerie hotness to those types of people, and I can smell one from miles away. I know they’re terrible partners, that they turn on people, that they lie and mercilessly emotionally manipulate the people around them, and I don’t get what I want out of those relationships. All of my significant romantic relationships ping-pong between dark vampiric nutbag and squishy cuddly nice guy who thinks he’s nuts but isn’t. So what the fuck, then? Why do I keep trying the crazies on for size when I know better and could pick one out of a lineup blindfolded? What am I still getting out of it? I’ve been perplexed, compelled, frustrated, high, experimental, giddy, and everything in between trying to figure out what to make of my attraction to toxic people, and most recently how the fuck I can enjoy it without screwing up my life. I’ve been getting closer and closer to having that, too. Lots of tools in my toolbelt for herding and luring hot psychos. And then what I thought I was getting, which isn’t what I thought I was supposed to be getting, hit me, as I was watching the second to last episode of Jekyll. A moment of pure epiphany. There is one core element to that seductive, dangerous hotness that made it worth it to me, deep down. The perception of Protection. He’s nuts, he’s violent, he’s passionate, and I’m his girl. I’m as safe as anyone has ever been. It’s the perfect fantasy to go along with the gaslighting, manipulation and the slow smoldering death of my fragile, scared little soul, which is the cost of being in a relationship with a fucking lunatic. And the fucking shred of hope (also a demon bitch, btw) that his affections for me would win out in the end kept me engaged. While it was never ideal, when I was with a psycho, part of me thought at the very least I was safe from EVERYONE else. I was also, well: Wrong, and that’s fucking silly as hell, and I’m glad I didn’t end up beaten to death in a fucking ditch or something. Clearly, at one time, finding an extreme way to ensure my protection was important to me. I did it by growing up on a computer and when it was time to interact with people I continued seeking my parental dynamics, all the while bitching and moaning about what a psychotic, dramatic embarrassment my mother was. And she was. She was a fucking abusive, selfish, screaming sack of pure raging, yet functional and strangely adaptive, nuts. And apparently among the things she instilled in me, is a deep, powerful, primal urge to fuck people like her, particularly the ones who’ve harnessed it and put an elegant polish on themselves, like an old world vocabulary or a nice 6-pack. In fact, one ex in particular strikes me as what the product of my mother may have resembled were she raised and living as a male in this society. So I’ve been out there fucking my mother, basically. I guess this explains why I almost exclusively come to the imagery of owning a cock. Life is just fucking awesome, isn’t it. January 2, 2012, 8:12 pm in public
I, probably like you, have an inner voice. I sense it more than I hear it, and I know it’s my inner voice because I don’t ever “hear” it telling me anything, I just “know” what it’s saying. Usually, it keeps me full up on self deprecating chatter, razor sharp and often hilarious judgements, and that everlasting reminder that as hard as I work at everything I do I’ll never be enough. I’d always figured that when I got around to hearing actual voices, they would be the Smeagol sorts of voices that encouraged me to press someone’s head into a belt sander, fuck a dead animal, or chop off my own foot because it itched. As it turns out, it seems that I have taken to hearing the voices of people around me complimenting me. It’s happened twice in the last week, and I pretended not to hear it. I’ll be in the kitchen and think I just overheard part of a personal conversation in the living room that I wasn’t supposed to be privy to. I started wondering if these things were actually happening, just had a little bit of a sense about it you know? Like in dreams, my name is never used. And it’s a one-liner type thing, something that can be interpreted as being about how awesome I am but isn’t blatant, such as “I love doing this with her”. And at one time, in 2001 or so, I would dream so vividly about it being the day I was transitioning into sleep from that I would think conversations I’d dreamed that night were real the day after. It took a little while (and a boatload of fucking balls, honestly) to ask someone who could tell me if these things were actually being said aloud. They weren’t, but asking did open up a lovely conversation about the possibility of thought transference and the concept that I might be picking up on them. I think that’s possible and I’ve had experiences that caused me to wonder if I have a keen sense in the past, but that would ultimately really surprise me. What wouldn’t surprise me, is if I feel on some level that I need to externalize self-focused positive thoughts, being as uncomfortable with thinking well of myself as I am. Worse yet is my discomfort in assuming anyone else thinks well of me, and that’s the trick I seem to be playing on myself, which in my deviant little world makes perfect sense. There’s also the age old (for me) threesome factor, as both of these situations involved two people conversing together in agreement of how much they appreciate me. Maybe this is how self esteem shows up for me? Or maybe it’s happening because validation and acceptance from the important people in my life is so important to me and so hard to articulate or ask for, letalone truly accept. Or maybe all this self love over feeding myself good food and resting and focusing on my health shorted my brain out, like that one time in 1999 when I was high on E and I heard groups of people whispering praises to me as I wandered around the club. I suspect this is something akin to the time period in 2008 when I would wake from a vivid dream, sit up, see both my dream and my actual surroundings, and lose the dream image only when I tried to touch it and shattered my depth perception. My brain is pretty.. well.. awesome, and keeps me entertained, and finds amazing ways to cope with stress and trauma, which I had in spades in 2008 and now. In all honesty, I would be a lot more comfortable with being able to read minds than I am at the thought of projecting fake compliments onto myself. Telling another human being I thought I might be doing that was not easy. And if my life has taught me fucking anything about this internal examination shit, it’s that the least comfortable option is probably it, sadly. I guess I’ll continue to ignore the lottery for now. December 31, 2011, 6:38 pm in public
Out of habit, I wanna hate 2011. But it was pretty awesome. Just created a quick, lovely, delicate, subtle, and yet tasting almost like beef broth by saving the runoff from my kale, in which I:
Pairing it with fresh wild salmon drizzled in walnut oil and braggs, and a single slice of lemon.
I have another idea utilizing a lot of these ingredients, and banana. Also, I make my own mayonnaise now. Food is a form of self love.
Fast-forward 5 years, after going to culinary school Picture the Herb Farm, with no sales pitch, seating about 25 people a night who eat whatever I cook that evening, with soft live violin, perhaps harp or cello on “guest musician” night (Mondays), and the occasional cameo appearance of my voice on special occasions, my friends birthdays, and holidays. 5 courses, $130 a plate or so, with high end allergen-free options. Solid, no? Never occurred to me that I’d be a great restaurant creator. But I think I kinda would! Happy New Year. ♥ |
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