quoth the raven

things i shouldn't want? like a superior at work who's as squeaky clean-seeming as ned flanders, with a very boyish face. out of my league - really, out of my life. someone i simply have the pleasure of working with. nothing more.

nevermore! like the e.a. poe raven.

pursuit

in lamentation for a hobby, i have begun a french class at my local community centre. no doubt my professional life (and one of those i do undoubtedly have) will benefit from this pursuit - this activity could foster the social contact i need to muster on the job to grease the .... rails to that brass ring my type are apparently forever seeking. come off as charming during those chatty social bookends of office-wide events/phenomena.

upon entering the large meeting room for the strategic planning session - see and greeting with: 'bonjour! comment ce va?'

charmed director replies: 'bonjour! je suis bien, merci. et tu?' - acknowledging our special association through the office's french lunch hour

you see, things don't really change after high school - after kindergarten, really. whoever has the best shit at this very moment wins. i mean wins at life in a philosophical way - assuming there's some sort of rank or grading system, and every social encounter is just a battle disguised as an exchange. as (david mamet? tom stoppard?) describes, talking is only a means of getting something. so when i make the investment of time and effort to make connections with others who can help me, i'm really paying my career forward.

or is this just called being a suck-up?

a knotty little girl

at the last session of my buddhist theory and mediation course, my teacher talked about rebirth and living hundreds, thousands, millions of incarnations. he had a really specific details about the death and rebirth process. to his understanding, we can be incarnated as humans, animals, ghosts... i forget the other one or two.

anyways, say someone is experiencing human incarnations - the literal actions are be born, live until you die, spend about a year as a ghost, and then be born into a new incarnation. he went on about how we are incarnated relatively close to where our last incarnation ended.

he also explained retained memories of previous lives when we are very young - and depending on the reception of those qualities when they first appear, they may be vanquished early on, never to be thought of again in that lifetime. for example, a young child may ask their parent about a memory, and the parent tells the child that that memory is not real because it never happened (in this child's brief lifetime). it's not that the parent is necessarily judging the child for misunderstanding reality or blatantly lying - the parent is most likely just trying to be factually correct with the child.

when i was a small child, i remember mentioning or asking my mom about certain memories, and she would say whatever i was thinking of was just a dream because, to her knowledge, whatever i was talking about didn't happen or didn't even make sense. i wonder if my mom remembers that, and if so, what i was remembering or talking about.

i can think of one inexplicable quirk i had in particular as a child that we all remember - when i was very young i would tie any two loose ends of anything stringlike together, over and over until there was no more material left to tie. i would take my long hair ribbons and tie a few ends together to make a long chain, then tie one end about my stuffed animal's neck to signify a collar, and the other end to the leg of a large piece of furniture to signify a leash.

i recall having a helium balloon on a string, and even though my bedroom had especially low ceilings, i was very intent on keeping it tied to my bedpost.

my mom has mentioned a few times that when i was a baby in a car seat - i would take off my shoes and socks, and if i had hood strings available, i would tie those strings together over and over until there was no string left.

i'm not sure why my behavior stopped - but it wouldn't be much of a stretch that my parenting taught me to stop doing that. the funny thing is, i don't think i was doing any special or intricate knots (well maybe i was, who knows) but it didn't matter, i remember tying knots making me feel pleased as punch.

what about tying knots could have been significant in any of my previous lives - maybe even a more recent incarnation? you always think of special knot tying as associated with sailing or ships or the boy scouts of america. did i sail the mississippi river in my previous life, to end up being born on the banks of that river in this life?

i felt somewhat adverse to the notion that reincarnation is so literal as to happen a year after the death of your most recent life, within 50 miles of the death place give or take a few - but maybe i can become comfortable with that idea if i take a second look at the signs in my life.

if i want fireworks, then i shall *have* fireworks

the first time i have seen what i could believe as my wedding. on the rooftop of a bayside apartment building. the ceremony would culminate with the 10-1 countdown to the fireworks show.

i can see it in the summer of 2012. maybe i'm growing up. finally.

shamanism

Do Glass Pipes, Incense Prove Teens Are Practicing Shamanism?

italics | babe

it's completely ridiculous that it took me the need of an internet dating website to notice a guy who works at the same place as me... and even moved desks to my floor, like, a month ago.

is this what she meant when she said my 'next involvement would be through someone at work'? i thought as a networking thing... but maybe as someone from work. i'm already architecting my fictitious relationship with him in my mind, which is a good thing because anything i ever imagine up as something i want, it is thus guaranteed by the universe never to happen.

word across the cubicle lane is that he's a pig. i might have to start calling him babe as he seems like a charmer.

the new face of marijuana

if i don't feel inspired

maybe i should look at my patterns and habits. if i set the mood, i'm making an open invitation to magic.

confidence

funny how i'm thinking about his email. how he said that worrying about what others think of you is a greater source of pain than joy. it's not worth worrying about in the long run. all good advice.

i stood outside smoking, thinking about how my actions were inappropriate at work -- how showing too much emotional stress is a drawback professionally. i believe that you need to show confidence at work so that your superiors feel that same confidence in you. i feared that showing a weakness in that manner would cast doubt into my superiors' minds about my capabilities.

i stopped and realized that i'm worrying about what my superiors think of me, which is exactly what i need to stop doing: worrying what others think of me.

stop worrying about what others think -- strangers on the street to boss in the corner office.

legalize it

would i topple without my fix?

a week without weed due to travel and familial visitations was like some kind of test in balance.

i was leaning hard at the end there.

most violent fantasies

all sorts of scenarios of seeing v again. slow-mo action shots of him hurting. directly, utmost physicality.

not only fantasies of the warped corporal possibilities, but of the music playing over the scene. something light, happy -- although not an ironic innocence. something that conveys relief, a finite 'this feels better now.'

a way to show what joy and resolution is possible in violence.

don't go for second best, baby

put your love to the test

details of personal romantic affairs tend to be cliché. we don't care who said what when -- it's only the sentiment we're after.

express yourself

hotel california: a study in alcoholism

he's no longer in my bed. he's no longer in my sight line. he's no longer of my interest.

but did he really need to ruin hotel california in the process?

on a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair

warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air

isn't this absolute heaven.

up ahead in the distance, i saw a shimmering light

substances alter perceptions.

my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim

i had to stop for the night

binge bliss; blackout.

there she stood in the doorway

i hear the mission bell

temptation's calling.

and i was thinking to myself,

this could be heaven or this could be hell

crossing the line; loss of innocence.

then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way

there were voices down the corridor

i thought i heard them say...

welcome to the hotel california

such a lovely place

such a lovely face

the blush of new love.

plenty of room at the hotel california

any time of year

you can find it here

the life of an alcoholic is a 24-7 party.

how they dance in the courtyard

sweet summer sweat

some dance to remember

some dance to forget

addicts run circular patterns; each one has their own reason for using.

so i called up the captain

'please bring me my wine'

he said 'we haven't had that spirit here since

nineteen sixty nine'

living in the past; maybe a past trauma has arrested development.

they living it up at the hotel california

what a nice surprise

bring your alibis

party reference, and a note of the lying that is typical of substance use.

mirrors on the ceiling

the pink champagne on ice

and she said, 'we are all just prisoners here, of our own device'

addicts sometimes run off the deep end of opulence, of their own free will; alas, there's no longer anyone else to blame.

and in the master's chambers

they gathered for the feast

massive binge.

they stab it with their steely knives

but they just can't kill the beast

the throes of addiction; the failure of attempted sobriety.

last thing i remember, i was

running for the door

i had to find the passage back

to the place i was before

fear and pain return the addict to the mercy of the substance; feels paranoia and seeks immediate relief.

'relax,' said the night man

we are programmed to receive

you can checkout any time you like

but you can never leave

you can think you're in control, tell yourself you're in control; you'll see what's in control in due time.

how can anyone who gets wasted and plays hotel california on their acoustic guitar deny that they're an alcoholic?

maybe he's always been my pet

i'm a mutt, inversely to my kitty. he's white underneath with a dark cloak -- like a lamb in wolves's clothing. i'm some kind of lower-class folk parading around in a deity's facade. but as masks often allow, the eyes give it all away.

i've set my desktop to a photo of my kitty, now recently deceased. i sit still and look at his face, and through all his fluff i can see the definitive feline skull -- a direct descendant of egpyt's domesticated companion. he could have been my cat in ancient egypt.

maybe he was. maybe he's always been my furry little guy.

this made me think of the woman who reads for me -- she once mentioned that one of my helper spirits is an egyptian named ali. all of a sudden, one of my childhood stuffed animals, a white cat with a pink nose, is showing in my mind as significant. significant.

maybe this is my sign that no matter how many trials and tribulations are experienced along the way, trusted and loved ones can always be found. my beloved kittyfur has been there in the past. he's beside me always.

weed for a reason

i got to the point where no matter how much weed i smoked, i plateaued at a mid-level high at best. i kept preparing myself for the cold-turkey dip. it's gonna happen, and i'm not giving in -- i'm not texting my guy. when i run out, then i'll be out, and that's what's going to happen.

maximum estimation of sobriety, roughly a week. not so inclined to believe it, although giving it a think makes it appear as so. and what a terrible week.

smoking weed ceases my ego voice and lets me hear from higher sources. it's been a week of emotional response to petty trivialities. a week of what was traditionally my personal hell.

when i'm stoned, i think that smoking weed is logical and not that big of a deal. when i'm not stoned, i guilt myself over the monetary aspect of getting stoned regularly. but feeling peace at the end of each day is a blessing -- the universe probably brought me to weed for a reason.

the kissing thing

the fact that he coaxed me into giving him a handjob before he ever attempted to kiss me says quite a bit about his character.

new altitudes

thinking about traveling to see himalayan kingdoms

flashes of my recent dreams that looked like the scenery in kung fu panda -- certainly high mountain altitudes. it looked wonderful.

could this be the inspiration i need to mend some unharmonious vibes i felt at a place some time ago? or more in preparation for an adventure of ascending altitude?

he's reckless

there's a guy in my bed, of my interest, and yet i'm standing out in the stairwell smoking weed in the middle of the night -- returning first to put my thoughts into text before rejoining him in rest.

he's reckless, and but i'm pretty damn not scared.

let your disappointment be your inspiration

that thought came to me in the bath this afternoon. all my hurt feelings come down to the deep regret of disappointment. one of those recurring themes in my life -- obliterated by disappointment.

but i've been there before, and i've felt the deflating blow when my wildest dreams weren't even remotely realized. it feels really not good. and now i think i'm at a point where i know i have a decision to make -- i'm not automatically a victim that must suffer a sentence of grief. i know that feeling that grief is as much a decision as allowing myself to recognize the disappointment, and move on.

when i was in the bath, over and over in my mind, use my disappointment as inspiration, disappointment as inspiration. my subconscious, that i can tap into somewhat when stoned, wanted to subvert the situation by turning disappointment into inspiration.

at the least, if i had any previous doubts, i should let this disappointment provide me with a fresh perspective.

not having any of that

i've never once dreamt of flying. if anything, my dreams tend to be anxious -- rushing, catching up, even swimming uphill. it's like my subconscious is always set against the countdown clock.

most recently i dreamt of rushing to hide my stash and any other remnants of my weed addiction from my dad. the dream seemed like an endless sequence:

i'm in my old bedroom smoking weed when i can hear my dad descending the unforgiving staircase, slow but loud. i swipe all paraphernalia into a desk drawer with one arm, while reaching for the window with the other. he knocks or says my name outside my door as i'm trying to fan out the unforgiving scent of weed.

i'm walking down the street of my current neighborhood when i see my dad approaching from the distance. i need to hid my baggy stash quick -- in the postbox? between a sandwich sign? at the base of a planter?

i'm a kid at school and my dad's dropping off the packed lunch i forgot to take with me when i left the house that morning -- and i need to find some place to put my still-lit joint that won't break out in a fire.

the recurring theme of 'dad catching me smoking dope' is not incredibly difficult to interpret; i probably feel some subconscious guilt about my weed habit, and my dreams are using the scariest character in my life just to freak me out. it may be freudian psychology, but it's certainly not rocket science.

if that weren't sleeptime torture enough, there was a surprise blockade at every turn -- voldemort. two seconds away from my dad catching me red-handed and v steps in trying to act like our encounter is by chance. v's really picking the worst time to try re-initiating a connection; the good news is that in my dream i'm not having any of that.

i'm pretty sure i can say i wouldn't be having any of that in waking life, too. pretty sure.

familiar / foreign

the key to remembering which one is the pantheon and which one is the parthenon is that pantheon, broken down, means pan - all, theon-religions -- the pantheon is the home of all religions.

* * *

walking the forum is walking the ruts of ancient traffic - a core of history, a vortex of energy, a keystone of my structured world. it's not the cradle of humanity, but of civility. ancient rome planted the seeds of my current expectations. but being in the forum doesn't simply sink you with its gravitas of extensive timeline of historic societal activity. you lounge on forum rubble like everyone else, like it seems to have been done always. thinking about being in the forum creates a context for home, making home incredibly distant. home has nothing to show for any resident ancient civilization. does that make home historically irrelevant? maybe it just means my home's ancient population, civilized and resident or not, practiced living in harmony with its surroundings, not manipulating the terra for the sake of ego. ego, because what else makes man want to strive for grandiose feats?

* * *

sometimes grandiose things are created in small spaces. just because it isn't a large building with a marble facade doesn't mean it won't change the world. in the theme of european architecture, take for example the german wartburg castle. cute little place that has a modest room where martin luther translated the bible from latin to german. a translation that took the power of a religion's most sacred text from the religion's practitioners and handed it directly to the congregation. took the power from the leaders and gave it to the people. power to the people. ol' martin luther, what a revolutionary badass. an extraordinary turing point in western society, lacking glamor entirely. it's something we can all aspire to.

* * *

traveling makes the traveler decide what feels familiar and what feels foreign. the more one can feel familiar with their surroundings wherever, the better.

* * *

difference between china and india -- china is automated, predestined, restricted, whereas india is organic, all natural, spontaneous. india feels like love already.

green / conformist

being green isn't interesting, it's responsible. and being responsible isn't interesting, it's the opposite of interesting.

who ever wrote an epic tale of a conformist?

maybe i travel for the sensory benefits

travel: the best remedy for boredom. it's the way i can play dress-up with my life, try on new facades -- life tourism. when most people get bored, they find ways to occupy their time; they may develop hobbies that progress with time or skill, they may simply coast along thoughtlessly, they may use their time productively. but some of us need an entire change of scenery. maybe we're incredibly superficial -- we want the same stuff, but we just want it to look different so we can impress our peers with blurbs of queer comparisons once we go back home. (home loosely defined here as not foreign).

faceplanting

i'm envisioning myself getting in contact with p because i'm publishing a book and one of the main characters was inspired by my time with him.

i used to think a life partner had to be my everything -- best friend, constant emotional support, lover. but living with p showed me how two people who have very little in common can live together peaceably, even having a degree of fun once in a while. maybe every day wouldn't be a carnival party of excitement with p, but it really wouldn't obliterate our relationship in the end the way co-habitation can ruin even some of the best relationships.

it makes me see that just because i have a lot in common with a guy on an intellectual or spiritual level doesn't mean our intense connection would prove a compatible practical commitment. v and i met at a particular philosophical place, briefly. nothing else was compatible, but i was bored with my own circumstances and willing to take on his facade as a new perspective experience. it was a trip -- and i was the one who ended up faceplanting.