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.

feeling industrious

the last few years of my life have been rough -- a generous portion of all things shitty for quite a while. somehow a conglomerate of emotional, physical, academic and professional pains were all absolved in a short period of time, leaving me embarrassingly blissful. everything used to be complicated, and now everything is simple.

with so much clarity in my life, there's no ambiguity to provoke me. nothing gets me riled up to the point of needing an outlet and release from a certain stress. sometimes i have more opinions that i can keep track of. i form opinions mostly in direct relation to experience. when i'm in a situation of continually new sensations, experiences and thus opinions, the voice i write from goes on and on and on. it's like when i'm in a phase of reading novels, i start to think in a narrative, i narrate my own my own actions, thoughts, and even narrations. (how meta.) when i'm dealing with any variation of adversity, inspiration abounds.

in this new phase of clarity, the lack of conflict, resistance, and novelty lets the flurry of inspiration settle to the very bottom of the tank. the inspiration can sit at the bottom for a while -- it's so out of sight that it drifts out of mind. which is why it's essential i keep practicing listening for that subtle voice, finding opinions in contemplation instead of reaction.

so what if there's nothing before me to examine anymore? if i can stop fretting over the tangible, material and social sticking points, maybe i can look inside myself and take stock of what i'm really working with.

i've weathered a pretty lengthy, nasty storm and i can allow myself a time of rest and regeneration. i'm starting a new chapter and i'm feeling industrious.

some constructive self-criticism

i think i'm observant but that's not always true -- i didn't notice that my roommate puts my mail on the coffee table. she has a plan or intention i was unaware of. i tend to be rather convinced of (some of) my own assumptions.

i need to keep in mind that just because i think i know something doesn't actually i really do. not an incredibly profound or original philosophy, but a pretty important one.

one down...?

at this point in my life, there are three main questions i've been working to answer:

1. where do i want to live my life?

2. how do i want to spend my time, both professional and leisure?

3. who do i want to spend my time with?

with my recent move, i think i've found where i want to be. i think i've found my dream location, maybe even my perfect living situation. if this is contentment, then that's good enough for me.

number one, 'where do i want to live my life?' answer: right where i already am. check.

number two, 'how do i want to spend my time...' answer: i am generally enjoying how i spend my time currently, although there's plenty of room for additions and various spicing-up. pending.

number three, 'who do i want to spend my time with?' answer: slowly but surely i'll shed those unnecessary to make room for those of value. pending.

i'm sitting here thinking about how i'm addressing what seems to be such basic elements to life's foundation as though they were complex insights. maybe some people are good at details, those finite things. i could sit and pick at the subtlest characteristics, but be shattered by the overwhelming enormity of broad concepts. that wide openness filled with infinite options just kills me sometimes.

even though...

...this is the only character i play, i play it pretty well. i came across shakespeare's quote 'all the world's a stage,' which got me thinking about who i'm playing now.

* * *

some people need so much to be satisfied -- careers, spouses and families, community, hobbies. that must be so complicated. right now blueberries are my universal satisfaction. i think a life too full of others would be too distracting in getting to know yourself. and that's one of the reasons we're here -- examining our personal circumstances. i think people who don't like looking at their own lives haven't got far in spiritual development.

some of us are just here to live our lives. sometimes we feel like we don't know what our calling is, in a professional sense; but we don't necessarily need to do our best intellectual work actually on a job. some of us have some complicated circumstances that take a different kind of effort. i'm not that worried if i excel in my newly chosen and certified profession, because i already have a hint that my greatest learning opportunities are going to be personal and social experiences. my job is to simply live.

maybe my job just became easier because i removed an existential burden.

acid cat lesbian

i just don't know about participating in the dating pool -- the more i think about it, the more it looks like a cess pool. the pH is much too high, burningly acidic.

maybe thats' my social defect -- that i feel a stronger connection to animals than i do to kids, babies, children, sometimes even adults. i'm the weirdo animal lover -- not in the way of treating pets like human children, but in the way of respecting an animal for what it is. i don't love my kitty for being a friend or a companion -- i love him because he's my pet cat. sometimes he purrs and cuddles, sometimes he ignores me, sometimes he does cute or amusing things. it's because he's a cat, not a furry version of something else.

i just had a birthday and it looks like i've hit the cat phase. it's when young singles have their shit together (aka: out of school/after traveling/have a job) and the dating/mating scene is not so hot... how about getting a kitten who requires lots of attention?

has my life turns into a cathy comic? [carrie bradshaw responds: 'never say "cathy comic" to me ever again.'] but no, cathy has a little dog, so maybe those (small dog-loving) women get this weird yearning is a worse way.

so what am i saying now, that i yearn for a cat? well that has pretty blatant lesbian undertones, but sadly i am not a lesbian. as conferred by my gay and straight friends alike, i'm no where cool enough to be a lesbian. one said i could be bi, but i think he was just being nice.

when stoned, my obsessions

are blueberries, oranges, and universal connectivity.

i met someone new today who's going to be a part of my life in a new way. maybe the ironic part is that while her initials are the same as the acronym of a sobriety organization, she described herself to me as addicted to pot.

then again, maybe what i need is a place where i can use weed to access my creativity and voice. i'll finally be able to live the way i'd like.

then why isn't my gut all aboard? just as her philosophy on problem solving, maybe sleeping on it will provide a solution.

skateboard philosopher

we met today. you had 2 dark beers, i had a shaken lime margarita and a pino grigio. jesus, why didn't i just order a cosmopolitan and a sex on the beach? my drink choices couldn't have been lamer.

you said your form of daily exercise is skate boarding from transit to school. you're multi-focused like i am (well, i'm more like generally unfocused, same thing). we're examining life, which i think is a fine qualification for philosophising. that plus the boarding equal the skateboard philosopher. like an intellectual super hero.

well that's not a bad thing to be.

a pretty west coast thing for certain.

attracted to intimidation

i feel like a sell-out poseur compared to you. i think of myself as a creative and a humanitarian, but i generally do neither, whereas you're doing both, pretty much on your own terms. you have your shit together in a way that i really envy, that i feel i'm racing after more every day.

i'm racing to get somewhere, and i guess you looked like an interesting route to take.

new guy

i finally bowed to the common knowledge that your situation isn't going to change unless you change your behavior. i decided to available-ize myself to the meat scene, and a new person has caught my attention.

unrelated to any interaction we've had, i was out in the park, stretching behind the bench, using the back for balance. i stood in a straddle stretch, then bent over the bench back, releasing my lower back muscles, letting my vertebrae pop out. that in itself is a great feeling, but i thought of new prospect j, who i find attractive, asking me if i like it from behind. i would quietly rasp 'any word of affirmation would be the greatest understatement of all time,' completely in control. 

hm, i don't think i have power fantasies very often, but i'm liking the change of scenery.

their fo

isn't orgasm like a burp? i just had a really satisfying, extended burp, but as quite a surprise. the release of air while burping mimicked the release of blood during an orgasm. maybe that's why guys like burping so much, it's like their female orgasm.

maybe that's what intuitives do, we can see in the dark

as i was walking home from the park, i noticed the different styles of houses in the dark. some that were generic and dark, that look like life-filler -- those parameters, boundaries, limits we set where things exist or don't. it's like we line our lives with a tactile quality, the limit to how we can understand things in a physical realm. where we say 'the coffee table is large and made of wood, and that's all i need to know about it,' that far.

so i walk up the street that is lined with the facades of houses and front yards. some are completely dark, some have interior lights. then i began to think about the intention of using light as some sort of deterrent of bad energy. the house across the street was flipped a year about and has been on the market since; the reality company keeps all of it's decorative exterior lights all the time. showing the exterior of the house in lights.

i wondered why someone would do that. quite a time ago it was safe to sleep at night, whether in a home, shelter, out in the open -- life was safe. but when you get too many people in a small space, there's going to be friction. so we as people created various defenses, light being a popular one. i thought about what light does -- makes it easy for a witness to see what a criminal is doing to property and identify a suspect, but even that's quite a stretch. criminals tend to go in the shadows.

then the idea of light in a spiritual manner came to me. there are quite a few people who believe in god as the light, right? maybe they're keeping god around them for safety. they feel safer in the light, because they can only see in the light, and they are uncomfortable not seeing in the dark.

maybe that's what intuitives can do, see in the dark. maybe most people could see in the dark, if they really wanted to. but people don't want to look there because some not great stuff is out there in the darkness. it sounds like the ritual i've had of entering my front door, feeling as though dodgy things are approaching me from the back. i walk through the gate and turn around to close it, thinking 'no, you cannot come in here,' and upon entering my front door, i image it closing on all the things that are not good for me, that i really don't need to deal with. those things will sort themselves out.

but sometimes i do think i can see in the dark. i don't know why i have such a high spook factor, i don't know why i still fear these things. i only allow passive energies to come through

/ /

hiding under something as a female child, looking up as those there are wood slats, and a light yellow, loosely knitted table cloth. the hiding feels more curious than fearful. it's like this scene from a past life played in my mind, like a memory. i'm playfully hiding in a cabinet with a dishtowel hanging over the door, peeking out. it looks like the incarnation of this memory is a blond girl, swedish, maybe swiss. it feels like a pleasant memory.

my religion

i was sitting out on the park bench, feeling especially paranoid this evening. i imagined a cop pulling up, getting out of the car and walking directly towards me. i'm standing, and he says, 'how are you tonight?' i tell him, 'just meditating very deeply.' something to do with the second level, or rising to be on a higher plane. sorry officer, but my connection to the sentient universe is away at the moment, please leave a message after the beep.

the i heard that persistent voice return, the one that always shows up first, nagging me to eat my vegetables and find a job. it's telling me, 'but this is your daily meditation.' i have a ritual and i feel that it connects me to what i value, what i praise. after dark i sit on the same park bench, facing approximately sw. i sit under the lamp light, looking at the sky, the clouds, the stars or the moon, whoever feels like showing up. i noticed the running track looked like a religious oval. it sort of is. i sit on an alter and praise a symbol -- that must make this a religion. 

i am rather pious in my devotion. i say my prayers every night before i sleep. 

it would be so easy writing scripts for kids cartoon shows high

being stoned lets you drag out each and every intention, emphasize every dramatic inclination. kids love things for exactly what they are, they love things that lack a context. that's what's different for adults, older individuals who've learned the routine and lost all contact with the universal; context is everything.

root finding

the more i try to understand it, the further it away it gets. when i was a kid, that was a great reality to live in (visually or creatively) but i hated being a kid in all of that, i wanted to grasp all that with the power and knowledge of an adult. the more i tried to work, study, and practice that awareness, to make some sense of it, it just slipped away. now all i do is spend my time trying to find that natural awe in life. the more i do so, though, the thinner the connection.

smoking weed brings me back to my roots. i can see v looking at me with a doubtful nod, finding me an ungrateful hypocrite, 'and you thought i was the poseur?' yes, i do think so, because i mean back to my roots as in how i visually saw and physically felt the world when i was a kid. i can look at natural things and watch them show me things, tell me things, explain energy, when i smoke weed as an adult. i no longer see those things as an unstoned adult. 

this is why we, as humans, love buttered toast

something about an epic standardization of information. something grand, like the ushering in of a new era. the world needs to collectively get on the same page.

hey world, did you hear that? let's all get on the same page.

let's all get back to our roots. that's what i was doing in the kitchen.

waiting for my toast, thinking about the different between my chemically-toxic margarine spread and real, old-fashioned butter. margarine users were uppity in the begging of its existence, 'you're going to clog up your arteries with all the butter!' now butter users can all 'who cares about clog arteries when margarine's going to give you cancer?!'

but back to the butter. salted, the fat of cow's milk. pretty basic. wheat to make bread, flour, salt and yeast. grain, salt and fat -- straight from the earth, these things nourish us. toasting the bread over heat makes the butter melt and resolves the dichotomy of yin and yang.

toast is a great metaphor for balance, if you think about it.

intelligence // disrespected // relationships

it's like the universe is offering to trade me something to get p back, in the more mature state i wish him to be in. the universe wants a religious promise. 

i gotta pick one. if i actually want to be with p in the state i wish him to be, maybe i owe the universe a simplification of my spiritual beliefs? loose touch with my intuition because i will need a prescribed ideology to base my life -- for p, that is. if i want it to be p and me, the trade off might be shutting out my intuition.

uh, god that would suck. well no, p didn't have a negative reaction to his own intuitive thoughts. so maybe the impression i'm getting is more of the universe taking away my intuitive ear if i want to be with p. that's a strange and undesirable outcome.

maybe i'm maxing out my toking. i do hear critical thoughts when i smoke, but i usually catch and remind myself that i don't need to listen to nonconstructive criticism.

so whatever the reason, i guessing i'm thinking that if were to be with p in a manner of my choosing, i might need to ascribe to some of his chrisitian-like values. he's a mennonite for hell's sake.

god i miss his face. now i'm getting the impression that he'll be the cliche 40-something who's hard partying past catches up to him in some sort of serious medical condition. heart disease or something. if he's able to carry out a successful career, which may happen when he decides to really grow up, and i get the sense he'll be pleased with his success. but a health issue is gonna take him for a spin. that looks like his forecast.

if i impose myself on that, where he's the relationship i want and need, i may need to sacrifice -- move to his rinky-dink town. but the sensation of coming home from a stressful day, lying with him in bed, my head on his chest, whispering 'baby i love you,' it sense really lazy warm chills through the back of my knees.

i had a coffee date with 'ski over the dinner hour yesterday. it was really great, now that i reflect on it. we met in a part of town neither of us lives in, got coffee, and then he walked us over to a park that had a pond, or as he called it a lake. now that i re-call what i wrote in my profile, 'i like checking out new parts of the city, getting coffee, and going for a stroll.' we did all three. this guy actually listened. 

it has me thinking that his explicit intelligence played an important part in our date -- he was a smart listener. i know i have joked about loving cute but dumb guys... but 'ski just slammed them all to shame. [i'm so impressed -- but at the same time thinking 'don't act like this is the best thing ever. sure i've dealt with aloof dumb dumbs, but i should be better at realizing who the smart listener guys are by now. maybe this should be the baseline.' maybe i've been allowing myself to be rather disrespected in prior relationships and maybe this is the time to increase the quality of who i choose to spend my time with.] 

well, that's quite a sell there, universe. even if it's not an intentional sell, my guiding voice is pointing out quite clearly that there *are* different options around me, and to be open to where these new paths lead. i was also impressed with how he gently waved his had over the occasional bug on my arm or shoulder, instead of an aggressive swipe. a mature wave, from a young guy. that another difference i find rather promising. rather odd now, i just did spell check, and three words in the paragraph are highlights as incorrectly spelled: intelligence, disrespected, and relationships. but all are spelled correctly as is. the conjunctions i'm and two i've(s) are highlights because they're not capitalized, which is correct. but i was a bit puzzled as to why... but why couldn't this be the universe or any of my guides pointing out two very important things: intelligence is a very important quality i need in a mate, and i haven't been listening to or validating that necessarily (spending my time and energy on academically intelligent guys doesn't automatically make them socially or emotionally intelligent, and the ever present need to consider my opinions and feelings. as i've been told, stop worrying about what he thinks -- what do i think about this situation? i'm recognizing my need of an intelligent mate, and i'm owning up to allowing guys from my past to disrespect. 

this is rather mayjah.

so i can look at my two options as retaining and growing my intuitive abilities throughout my life, without p, or i can kill the intuitive abilities but i get my perfect p, our time filling with resting my head on his chest and whispering 'baby i love you.'

for better or worse, this is still not a clear choice for me.

also, trees are important to the human condition.

a guy who's not a complete narcissistic d-bag.

voldemort was the kind of guy who could get away with whatever he wanted, and he knew it. what i need is a guy who knows what he could get away with, but doesn't do so for personal gain. v would take absolutely everything; the guy i need wouldn't take everything out of respect.

identity: overdue

sounds like the message is that i have a hard time remaining myself, i get caught up in trying to be what the guy wants. sure sounds like an identity issue. one of my life themes is the identity crisis. 

i have a hard time distinguishing myself from others -- in a coherent way. i pretty much act and react on a case by case basis, i'm fond of contextual significance and have difficulty respecting dictated rules, laws, conditions. how can you say what is or is not 'ok' before it even happens? i'm having visions of myself writing a radical political manifesto -- writing something that looks at why you're doing X instead of being concerned with what you're doing, what X is. 

might that be a more sophisticated society, one that is concerned with intention, not just action?

i don't really care to have a pre-ordained identity plan in my life, but society is really demanding it nonetheless.

dear cc

are you a stoner? i was sitting out on the park bench, thinking about our afternoon today. thinking about how i felt disappointed about not feeling a spark with you. you weren't what i had hoped for.

it was nice meeting you, really, but i didn't spark. that's usually an irreparable deal-breaker.

i feel as though i should give him the benefit of the doubt and ask him if he is a stoner, like me. i would tell him 'smoking weed has been an integral part of healing my back surgery. if it's not a significant aspect of your opinion of me, well maybe it could at least be notable.' like maybe even though we don't feel compatible while sober, we could experience an entirely different relationship high. 

isn't this one of the most common themes in love?; 'would we be together, if only we could be different people entirely?'

p as a gladiator

standing out in the park, thinking of how p took latin as his second language requirement in high school. there's something exquisitly nerdy about that, punctuated by how un-nerdy p acts. his group of friends are the small town deliquents. not complete badasses, but not complete poseurs. not country-ish, but not nascar-ish either. they do their fair share of drugs, fighting, and random stupid shit. binge drinking, hockey and video games are a constant. p is the brains of the organization, but not the alpha male. he fits in, makes sure not to stand out. a loyal pack member.

it's this question-less dedication to his pack that annoys and disappoints the hell out of me about p.

now i'm annoyed at myself for now recalling the annoying instead of the pleasurable aspects of my thoughts of p. standing in the park, thinking of p learning latin in high school -- was this part of his inspiration to attend law school? completely unrelated?

i chose the path of more fun and envisioned p saying things like 'i have fond memories of ancient rome.' the visual is p in a cartoon profile, taking a bite out of large chunk of time, his slab of time reading roman empire. a literal taste of the time. i can picture him in a simple white toga, sandals, a laurel wreath-like crown hair edging his dome. [one of the things i like best about p was that while he was clearly early on the road to hair loss, i could picture him with no hair on the top and i still thought he looked hot. that looked like a keeper to me.]

if i'm going to fantasize about some guy, why not make it a fantasy i really enjoy? if i want p to be a gladiator, so what? that's what's great about getting stoned -- allowing myself to dream whatever i want. it's a positive experience. 

maybe p as an ancient scholar. his fundamental wisdom stems from ancient knowledge [but he's still a contemporary soul who's dealing with its own purposes, choices and consequences]. i'm intrigued and turned on by his intellectual ability; i find his face very pleasing and i've come to realize i would still feel attracted to him after loosing his hair. i'm so into his head; weird. he's a certain denomination of christianity -- not quaker, but not mormon either. they have a belief in pacifism, and i'm wracking my brain trying to remember what it was called. it's a belief in leading a simple life--

mennonite. 'a member of an evangelical protestant sect, originating in 16th century europe, that opposes infant baptism, practices baptism of believers only, restricts marriage to members of the denomination, opposes war and barring arms, and is noted for simplicity of living and plain dress.' 

why do i keep distracting myself from thinking of p as a gladiator. why and i looking up the definition of mennonite?

maybe if i allow myself to think of him in pleasurable (gladitorial) ways, i'll remember that i'm missing him but am hesitant to try contacting him again.

food stoner

it's not meant to be an ironic oxy-moron. it's just that in the last few years, as my dad has aged, everything he eats is 'the best _____ i've ever tasted.' well, sometimes it's 'the worst _____ i've ever tasted,' true, but it's mostly the best.

my dad's certainly not a stoner, he's the exact opposite of a stoner. he just talks about food as though he were stoned. which is funny, in an ironic sense?

i got more drama than yo mama

this whole grad school, herniated disc, back surgery, wedding thing has been more drama than a soap opera. i'm in dire need of a turn of good luck.

i've been thinking about p lately, missing him. it was this time a year ago that i last spent time with him. i feel discouraged because i haven't met any guy that i've felt even remotely attracted to since him. my physical attraction would be described as blissful. simply, a happiness. a sense that i can't ever get close enough to him. i feel as though he is like rock, petros, and i am sponging onto him.

i am horrified and sometimes disgusted by the idea of becoming a parent, the ultimate turn-off. something about p made parenthood with him almost semi-plausible. there's that something in his eye...

then there's that thought that i could be building this all up in my imagination, and given the chance to reunite with p he might not be as awe-inspiring as i'm currently perceiving him. he had his lameness on display from time to time when we hung a year ago. 

is the characterization... more amusing?

swing batta' batta'

i have needed to figure out what i want in the professional, spiritual, personal and emotional realm, and i've spent the last few years doing so. i was standing out in the park thinking about how i've come to this point where i've been doing my studying -- now it's time to go on the record with my official answer. 

what are my career, belief system, ego-fulfilling and romantic priorities? i wondered if i'll be ready to try dating again after i return from my travels this month. the little why not voice in my mind asked in an excited gasp 'am i ready?!' would i allow it to be an option?

the career thing is hanging there, ready to find its landing spot. i feel like i'm looking for my best work option, but feel like i'm not seeing anything. i'm hoping my doubts will be resolved by a great opportunity coming out of the blue, landing right in my lap. 

in the chorus of my profession: network!

ugh... i'm over this already. anyways, go ahead career life, give it to me straight...

why am i holding it in? let it out

i was sitting on the park bench just now, realizing i had my thighs drawn together, squeezing calves, shoulders raised and  curved -- why am i holding it in? let it out.

i was sitting on the park bench crying, thinking about how if this were any other relationship, the relationship i have with anyone i consider family to be at the point where we need to break up. but when i came back into my room, i followed with these amusements ~

/

the many options of slanting 'my stoner life':

• my stoner life: just a part-time gig.
  
• my stoner life: raising a voice in what i assume is a legion of blogs written by stoners; an interpretation.
• my stoner life: the entirety of my time stoned, all that it encompasses.
  

the correct slant is my stoner life: it is what it is.

lately, it's been like i can't enjoy things. i get so incredibly irritable.

i remember from the first moment of waking up in the recovery room after surgery until at least two weeks later feeling a sense of mild euphoria, sometimes even better. it was like my back surgery was like winning the lottery -- what a surprise, what a peculiar way to get some extra rest and time off. oh well, i'll make the best of it by using my newfound enthusiasm for novel amusements to get myself some more hobbies!

that's when i was dreaming about how i'd ride off into the sunset with the kind of attractive-in-a-nerdy-way doctor who administered my rectal test. [and then i said to the doctor, '... and once i thought it couldn't possibly get worse, you told me to squeeze.' doctor and i throw our heads back in laughter, then bring our chins back down and lock eyes; in that instant the universe decides that we will join and remain united from that point on. fin.] those were some great days. why i abandoned that delightful fantasy plot point, i'm not sure, but it feels cozy after feeling so withdrawn. 

no wonder people like doctors, sometimes they work some serious magic. and no wonder people don't care about librarians, no one likes gatekeepers who prance around acting like they think everyone's buying their usher act but really they're the bouncers. i just wrote as my facebook status,

for some reason i'm thinking of how librarians are like bouncers, and there are actually quite a few reasonable comparison.

-

library cards = can i see some id?

where's my hold? = you're not on the list

overdue fees = $5 entry for guys when it's ladies-night

-

top-shelf drinks = dubject guides

-

patrons hear the same music = patrons hear the same silence

-hm, those last 2 weren't really related to being a bouncer, were they. man, i can't even answer my own reference question right. I SUCK. :D

not that everyone loves doctors and hates librarians.

/

upon editing, i'm now here with the chore of writing that i need to dump my father. but i'd rather go to sleep happy and amused, so i'm not going to regurgitate my thoughts from the park. i stared at that quarter moon, directly in front... no, i'm not going back right now.

i already let it out once tonight, and i have the right to say that's enough for now.

harassing... eh, so what

i've taken on a new pursuit: harassing local tween population.

if ew she can smell my smoke across the park, too bad, because i can smell her douche juice. well, more like hear her... douche tone. this place refines douche to a new level -- the intricacies of superiority in the attitude here seem like they stem from having a modern, progressive society, without the guilt of it's colonial master's history.

they both stink.

if you think cigarettes and weed are gross, then you have a lot left to experience in life.

/

do we absorb less when we connect more? maybe we're supposed to get to the point faster. maybe not faster but improve progress. spiritually, universally. i was reading a book about communication and how internet as a media decreases attention span, turning readers into skimmers. the book's angle on this theory was that skimming was bad.

well yea skimming's going to be bad, if you have too many words.

maybe spiritual growth is coming in communications that access our emotional evaluations and reactions, maybe being able to tap into that is a type of spiritual or connecting-to-the-universe-ical progression.

we're all in a hurry to get on the fast track to get to the end, right? to achieve growing amounts of objectives as time, we're told, runs out, as if there weren't infinite time -- time being something we've invented for ourselves, it's our own fault for subscribing to a belief of its importance. just as is a common moral to many stories, we're doing it to ourselves.

my point being, i don't think skimming is a terrible thing, as long as it still facilitates its purpose. maybe directness is the future.

it's my present.

/

the tween girls gawked at the bad smell of my cigarettes and weed, so i got up, smoking all the while, and sat on a park bench near them. after two or three minutes they organized themselves to leave, and as they walked by, i said in a wry voice, 'talk shit louder next time.'

[larry david voice] 'eh... i'll be burning in hell for eternity for saying that... eh, so what!'

an exacting revenge scenario

i looked up exacting to see if i was using it correctly, and one definition is 'stern; severe and unremitting in making demands.' yes, that's right, i'm thinking up a rather harsh dish of revenge.

i've been writing lately about voldemort, my over-ness of that situation. thought of smoking weed with him but have concluded there really is no purpose for us to be face to face ever again. i was standing out in the park this evening, thinking of my recent actions. my information gathering, my peeping, or nosing through. i know i'm over v by how each successive time i've gathered some info, i'm progressively apathetic. why try to stir myself back into that mix?

does it seem like i have anything better to do, legally and physically unable to work presently?

right, so here's the revenge scenario: i email a long document of communication between v and myself, exposing his sleazy, or at least adulterous-if-i-won't-get-caught, choices. i'll send this email to his current girlfriend, moral being 'girl, i don't care who you are, you can do better than this douchebag.' [god, the worst memory i have of his is how he flat out told me about how his ex-girlfriend got an abortion after she told him she was initially pregnant, not consulting with him about the abortion. i don't know what's worse -- that this guy is bitching that she didn't consult with him before doing it, or that he openly tells people this, especially in the context of talking about his past relationships. such a douchebag.]

the thing is, i'd need to re-establish contact with him, which may be a challenge, and although i have my suspicions there's no guarantee he'll act in the way i've planned most deviously for. i would need him to open up to my again, have him show a sign of his availability. i'd need that in order to show that he not only kicked me, unwell person at the time, when i was down, he talked shit about me to his friends all the while. i read the emails, the chats.

he used me and threw me away, and it was all kind of grotesque. as one positive gesture, person to person, i'd feel some kind of relief in passing that information on to his current partner. considering how these make-believe events could potentially unfold, the whole thing could result in her dumping him.

it would make for the best revenge, because his entire self-worth is based on having the validation of one female, and if could take that away from him, nothing could really cut him deeper.

then the fun stoner part where i let my thoughts run wild, this could be a run up to a murder on a crime drama like csi: ny. what if my exacting revenge scenario works so well that she dumps him, demolishes to infinite numbness? would he still be 'converting to islam' and thus some kind of pacifist, or would he feel enough pain that would ignite enough anger to react violently?

my high is making me wonder if he could ever be angered enough to kill someone. i think he'd be capable, as the cooler the temper one projects, all the more the core burns. he's like my dad in that way, he wants everyone to think he's cool as a cucumber, impossible to rile up, but when that one thing appears that flips the switch  -- stand back, it's going to get hot. one of the more vivid images i have of my dad abusing me is watching the spit fly out of his mouth as he screamed in my face.

i can't believe he thinks he deserves any credit for being a good parent after the way he fucked up my head, but whatever. i don't have to keep allowing him to negatively affect my life, i can keenly practice edging around him whenever possible. 

the next 3 weeks excluded.

back to v and the severe revenge scenario; i took the personal-perspective narrative of revenge and played it over to a fictional setting, v being so pained by the affect of my revenge that he would murder me. would it all fit into one episode of a csi show, or would it have to be a mini-series? if it's just regarding the murder, then one episode, but if it were some drama about the causes and effects of things like murder, it might be a 2-parter. i'm sure if v had editorial input, he'd at least want to be a 'smart' murder, where he plans it well-enough to almost get away with it.

that would be an interesting opus: the creation and endurance of a new-millennial relationship, the psychological play of a narcissist and a no-self-worth abuse victim. it could be something like 'he mocks and criticizes her to his friends, but makes empty promises of help and compassion. she decides if he's calling her crazy to his friends, she has every right to take that characterization and use it to advance; getting that long awaited-for revenge was the only satiating conclusion. but then he's so upset over the consequences of his actions, that he kills her -- and he was claiming she was crazy? he was the one so taken over by his emotions that he killed.' 

is that the ultimate exoneration of someone falsely labeled? is that enough to make a martyrdom?

/

i never thought of myself writing crime drama, but maybe this some intuitive nudge coming through. 

when my muse is my nemesis

he was right, we don't have much in common. i don't actually like rap music and fashion, he doesn't really care about traveling or providing personal humanitarian aid to those in need. he's not the kind of guy to get his hands in the earth, he prefers his ivory tower. he's probably into manicures, gets his nails buffed or something.

if i'm so over him, why him as a topic? because i've been thinking of v lately, and noticing this new thought. he was gone, now he's back, oh my. just because he's coming to mind does not mean that he's allowed to come bother me again. why i would want to be in contact with him again? if there's anything i need to work out about that experience, i can do it on my own with out consulting him.

the only thing i need to do is answer this: if i want to talk to him, what exactly is it that i want to say? the only thing that comes to mind is to give him an open invitation to come smoke weed with me the next time he's in town. 

yea... but why?

maybe i want to tell him what heinous thing i did? not to say i did anything lots of other people in my situation would do. the thing i fear is that i'm craving a certain inspiration, a particular kind of muse. an orator, one who inspires confidence exactly as the recipient wants it so. flatter my wildest dreams, banish my insecurities.

my nemesis, still a muse? i can't accept a muse who is my nemesis, it will only feed narcissism,

they called the cops on me

with nothing particular in mind, i recall having made a joke today. dang, i should have taken a hint from my peers and worked a little harder on getting that MRS -- all those hours i spent on meditation and introspection just mean that i got no one to pay my rent when i'm broke. i also included a lame joke about craigslist and sugardaddies.

if i have no burning questions these days, if i'm waiting patiently and not overly concerned about anything, then i wonder what i had been trying to solve for so long. my creative writing ta in college referred to me as a relationship writer during office hours where she critiqued my writing. i used to write about relationships, but when did that stop?

well, when did it start? end of college -- strongly promoted by voldemort. i guess i mimicked his desire for a mate, and the more i subscribed to his opinions the more i was fretting over dating and relationships. looks like when i got over voldemort i stopped caring about my status in intimate relationships, or even whether one was in the works. i suppose i was tossing c around for a while out of boredom and competitiveness, but i really think we are incompatible and he's not the missed opportunity i was pegging him to be. 

now i'm hanging out so relaxedly, like an astronaut on a space walk.

in non-relaxed times earlier today, i walked to my daily smoke spot to see a police car parked at the corner and the office standing on the curb, leaning on the car.

whoa. there are never cops in my neighborhood. and why is there one parked? right at my smoking corner?

i walked a wide berth around the cop car, keeping my hands out of my pockets, and went two blocks down and smoked in the alley behind a new house under construction. walked the three blocks back to my house with previously used avoidance tactics.

maybe... the police were researching for parking violations, or something.

but my roommate definitely thinks someone called the cops on my daily smoking, sending an office to wait out there all day if he has to. but wow, instead of talking to me directly, some random person notified the police.

uuugh.

my roommate continued, saying that whoever called the police did so probably thinking that someone smoking pot equals drug dealing in the neighborhood. that is the dumbest fucking thing i've ever heard. why would you smoke where you deal?! give stoners a little credit for fuck's sake. what are my neighbors thinking, that i'm trying to advertise and drum up sales?

it's how society works in the favor of ignorance. i smoked out in public, trying to show that i'm not a threat, but instead of taking the facts at face value my neighbors have made inaccurate assumptions due to stereotyping and ignorance. one person smoking weed equals lots of problems for anyone else in the vicinity. due to this ignorance, now i have to sneak around alleys and  appear shady and threatening, even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

it's the undesirable consequence of my location.

the political commentator

i've been noticing lately that i've been noticing my thoughts about voldemort. i now realize that noticing him in my thoughts is surprising due to the fact that he'd been absent -- for quite a while. my first reaction to thinking about him was 'oh, stop that, that's like asking for a disease relapse or a catastrophic collision.'

well, that is kind of true. but thinking about him raised no significant emotional reaction. didn't feel a burning hate for him (anymore), didn't feel sentimental for anything regarding him... didn't really care in general. so i decided googling him wasn't taking much of a risk.

the only thing of interest that resulted from the search was his guest... i was going to call it an appearance, but you don't see people when it's radio. guest commentator, that's it. wow, i should have just looked at the title of the post sooner. anyways, i listened briefly to the topic of the show and a little bit of his input, but i stopped. it wasn't due to being offended at the show's topic, which was tolling a conspiracy theory about america having planned and orchestrated 9/11 to create an excuse to start a war, because i already knew v's opinions on such, and i have no strong feelings one way or the other. i stopped listening because i didn't really care about what v thought or what he was up to. 

the great thing about being stoned is the new opening into flexing creativity. if i were sober, i'd probably just feel weird or bored about v for a while until my mind wandered elsewhere, but stoned i can take a sad thought and re-write the ending. open my train of thought to intuition and see what i can pull out of thin air:

he will write his phd disertation declaring some new scenester-approved social condition. he'll do the academia thing, the book writing thing. he'll be more than happy to step into the spotlight and be known for some sort of affiliation. he loves the attention (truer words have never been spoken). i can see him being some sort of political commentator in the future. 

poor guy, that sounds like the worst.

luckily i find it rather amusing.

mano a mano

i need to not talk to c anymore. it makes me sad, because i really liked his parents, and i think they liked me, too. but i'm trying to live my life being as open and honestly as i can. that's not to say i'm perfectly open and honest, because i'm far from it, but i think it's important. that's the only way i really connect to people. as i thought in the park, under the cozy coniferous tree, 'mano a mano.' one to one, that's what 'mano a mano' means, right? google says it means a head-on conflict or direct competition. hm, maybe my subconscious is finding direct personal interaction as something combative.

oh wow, that's pathetic.

what i mean is that i am more interested in meeting a person face to face, giving each other the benefit of the doubt. not meeting someone from behind personal prejudices or concocted barriers. as i was bickering with c most recently, i hated china because their culture of respect is based on a hierarchy and enforced with fear -- no one respects anyone, generally, unless there's an obvious reason why (ie: you're a poor, powerless, rural farmer appealing to the government for help). respect only exist for a reason, within a context. respect is not thought of as a way to exist in secular china (and just because people are buddhists doesn't mean they're legitimately respectful to strangers in everyday life just like christians in western culture). so you have nearly a billion people treating each other like shit.

i was bickering with c about this, as he was equating me to that which i was condemning. my response was that i was raised to respect others right from the go. i wasn't raised to think anyone who wanted my respect would have to earn it first. i told c that i respect people unless they give me a reason not to. he had no response to that, really, as i am correct in observing that in china people generally don't respect and consider others unless they have a reason to do so.

it's so primitive. i was standing under that tree, tuning into my intuition, trying to open myself and listen:

i was really doing him a favor. since he was very intelligent and sensitive, i gave him the benefit of the doubt over the glaringly obvious fact that his social skills were pretty weak. i guess i had seen enough value in him otherwise to practice patience for his weaknesses. i gave him the benefit of the doubt. i have been approaching him with respect and trust. an investment i was willing to make. this is where my weak will comes and says 'well, how can i really feel mad at c when i made the choice(s) that lead myself to this point?' taking ultimate responsibility for your actions is a pretty mature thing to do -- but it's not what i'm really in the mood for right now.

in an effort to change my weaknesses, i need to be more assertive and address what bothers me. i'm learning my boundaries and refining my values. at this point, my values still seem rudimentarily rough hewn (do those last three words, together as that phrase, make a redundant description? kinda maybe).

i'm solidifying my values, and i stood out in the park thinking about how i value being as open and honest in my life as possible, i find spiritual fulfillment in practicing those things in my life. i spend quite a bit of time on honestly and openness, as they're two challenging things for me, as they are for most people. no one's perfectly open, completely honest, but they're great qualities we can work on during our lives. 

c, though, does not seem to value his personal openness and honesty. he'd quickly argue that he's an honest person, saying he does not tell lies. he defended himself for this concern by saying it wasn't his fault that i made assumptions. assumptions i made based on ambiguous answered he would give me to rather blunt questions. unfortunately, i find that to be a rather childish answer. he's faulting negligent use of communication, not taking the blame for his own actions, his words and intention to conceal exactly what i was trying to get out of him.

i don't feel i have time for that primitive level of... combat. if we're going to clash here, i'm only willing to deal with the issue at hand, i really don't want to waste my time petty things. i want to deal with the issue of openness and honesty between c and i, and since he apparently doesn't want (or have the ability) to deal with it, he's scapegoating it all by blaming differences in language interpretation. because that's never ambiguous.

i called c out on using ambiguity in order to deceive, which he denies. i really believe that if you're an honest person, you'll know how to indicate your intention. i find ambiguity to be some sort of defense mechanism, a block. generally acceptable in daily mundane life scenarios, but a pretty big problem when used in what is thought of by both individuals as a close and trusting relationship. i'd be just as concerned if any of my other friends deflected personal or sensitive issues with blatant ambiguity. we're friends because we can trust each other with the personal, heavy, difficult stuff -- we're friends because we care about each other's well being.

i'm not interested in being close to someone who only wants me to see the good, someone who insists on hiding the insecurities, fears, anything unsightly. c only wants to see the best of me, only wants me to see the best of him, and wants us both to steer away from and generally ignore the heavy, difficult, unpleasant stuff. 

i guess some people really just want to be happy as much as possible, whatever that entails. that seems kind of boring to me. as i've been thinking over and over, i'm tired of the shallow and boring conversations with c.

i now find him shallow and boring, the opposite of how i felt about him when we first met. people really don't change, but perceptions sure do. what you find provocative one day, you may dismiss as completely parochial a few minutes, days, weeks, months, or years later.

people don't change, but your perception of them can go any way it chooses. 

forking / john mayer / clue

i'm thinking about what makes a good forking skill. as in, using a fork. i have the fork stem balanced on my fourth finger, my third finger holding the stem in place. the third and fourth in tandem move the fork across my plate in an arc. those are the stiffer functions. the real art of it is in the delicate thumb pressure, leveraging fork's... fingers? is that what they're called? the internet says they're called prongs.

am now thinking about awkwardest pub visit ever -- in belfast, contextual details never to be repeated. no. i'm un-existing it. never happened.

something in my mind is saying 'stoner me can connect with stoner john mayer, somewhere in the stoner ether.' then i hear what sounded like john mayer saying hello to me, but he sounds undesirably southern. looks like i'm not sure that he'd be my ideal smoke buddy. a few times in the past i've thought about what it would be like to get stoned with voldemort. we connected in a really unique metaphysical place. when it was good it was lovely, but when it was bad is was raw. i think getting stoned with him would be the only possible way i could ever really speak to him again. i had no idea then what i know now -- v is a classic stoner guy; i feel like smoking a lot of weed is giving me a clue about him i haven't had previously.

for some reason i want to call it a culminax

combining culminating and climax -- we've reached the culminax.

c and i. had it out this evening. over godawful instant messenger. i guess my intuition told me early on to switch over from adium to gmail chat because adium always stops working like 3 minutes into a conversation. i suppose i was being lead to a secure medium in having an important confrontation.

what we needed to talk about is not of interest to anyone else -- everyone's relationship problems are boring -- but privacy was a key issue. he needs multiple times the amount of personal privacy than the average guy (why oh why, he'll never say why) needs. he knows of his featured roll in my china blog, where we met and spent time together, and has read it ('it' being the edited version i left on the blog once i took the blog address public, as it were, where c and others could read it).

i think i'm not realizing how others feel about being in one of my stories. they enjoy my stories but certainly wouldn't want to be in one. i'm probably being completely clueless -- when i play narrator, they're subjected to my interpretation of who they are and their actions i report. the amount of transparency i want in my life, my work and my relationships, plenty of people would want prefer to have privacy. 

what one wants open, another one wants closed. it doesn't matter why, each side has its valid points; it's simply a conflict of interests. a nearly impossible one to overcome in most situations. i opened my floodgates at c in true me style, he restrained from giving any kind of reaction and kept his hand close to his chest in true him style. i poured it out of my heart; i felt as if i were tugging the lead of a resistant mule. a stubborn ass. that's not a completely libelous thing to say about him, there's some truth to the metaphor.

as i stood outside my door, looking at the gray slate clouds in the plum blackberry night sky, i recall thinking 'he's deeply insecure but doesn't want anyone to see.' he goes to great lengths to appear that he's comfortable and happy, even when he's not. after focusing on the thought that he is insecure, the strong intuition repeated 'you and he are not unalike.' yes, we're two insecure people, just like millions of others. what i've been failing to realize this whole time is that his way of dealing with that is to hide it from others, to work on it out of lookie-loos' gaze. i on the other hand feel that my way to deal with my insecurity, and somehow connect to anyone at a very base level, is to voice my personal doubts. while c is down in his lair, doing his personal work, i'm as transparent as the wind. i best deal with problems by re-connecting to the universal, to know that my pain is just like the pain of everyone else. we all bleed. knowing that i'm not alone, and telling others they are not alone, is how i measure my progress.

now that's making me think that's precisely why c likes living in china, it's all about face... and so is he. he'd really prefer to have flaws, problems and other indiscretions dealt with behind the scenes -- cracking it out in plain view is agonizing for him. it's a serious compatibility issue. at one point i didn't know how to tell him i needed some space without being cliche and saying exactly that ('it's not you, it's me. i just need space' -- code for 'this isn't working, period'). 

he asked me if i still wanted to be friends with him, and i said yes. the problem remained in that i didn't know how to tell him to stop being likable, to stop leading me on. but i couldn't think of specific lead-ons he's lead me on, as he's a master of walking a finely ambiguous line. i knew that i needed to signify some sort of marker point, some indication of change, a new direction, attitude or perspective. like i was sending up a flair to say 'hey, i'm not going to be bugging you as much any more.' is that being ironic -- when my actions contradict my words, when my words do not describe my actions? or is that just being a hypocrite?

it's like i'm finally coming into the ring, i conclude that after three years of hiatus and a year of follow up study, we probably aren't going to end up together, and even if we did it might not last anyways. his reaction to it all was akin to a sleepy middle aged man drowsily leafing through the morning paper, sipping his tea, responding with the occasional 'yea' or 'what?' but ultimately gives me a redundant look and sighs 'yes, i already know that,' turning the page and tilting his chin up to bring his bifocals to the headlines. even after he told me i'm important to him, i feel ridiculous and insignificant. not due to how he's treating me, but due to my own insecurities. c and i are not unalike.

all c wants is his privacy, and look what the universe is giving him -- someone writing some kind of memoir, including very personal information about him. we all have to deal with exactly what we loath, what is most difficult. 

/

i had a flashback of mortification; in my college creative writing class, i met with my ta to go over some of my works, and as she looked them over to recall what they were about, she said 'oh yea, you're the relationship writer.' it pained me to hear it that day and to think of it long after, i thought it the least original topic possible. now i do realize i'm a relationship writer; i write about my relationship with all things.

accidentally slammed

am speaking with c right now, but my gut feeling is a bit fired up, i'm feeling aggressively defensive -- i don't want to talk to him, no!

i don't really know how to just put it away... how to start pretending it doesn't exist. i no longer have any chance of going back there, i certainly will not see him again in the near future. i need a new direction, i need to stop going through these paces just because they're the only thing i know. i need to rid myself of the influence c has. 

i told him i've been thinking, writing and dreaming. he asked if that's helped me any, and in what way he means that, i don't know. i simply said that i was waiting for the answer to 'fall out of the sky any day now.' he asked 'what's the question?' and i bantered, 'what isn't?'

i hate how he always bounces back everything i say as a question, see how he likes it when i do it to him. he may be the most honest person in the world, but i just don't trust his lack of disclosure. everything out of his mouth is a question or a clever quip; he's essentially saying nothing. god, no wonder his chinese princess dumped him over lack of communication -- i apparently speak the same native language as he, and even i have no idea what he's talking about.

i accidentally slammed him in the end -- he said he needed to sign off chat soon because he was all chatted out from his day. i responded 'signed onto chat when you're all chatted out, huh,' and signed off.

i'm pretty good at being bitchy.

another hostage situation

i've had my second intensely realistic and very violent dream about being in a hostage situation. the first time i dreamt of being in a hostage situation was soon after my recent surgery, when i was still taking narcotic pain meds, or at least to help me sleep at night. i don't recall much of it now, other than my parents and i were being held hostage... and i swear i'm not kidding here, but i think we were being held hostage by girls, girl scouts-aged girls. i suppose there's some sort of subconscious symbolism there, like i'm letting my 'inner little girl' control me or something. well, if that's the case, then i have no idea what my inner little girl wants for ransom. 

the second dream i had, i'm not sure it necessarily qualifies me as being held hostage, but i consider fearing for my life while at the mercy of some ominous force to be in the same sort of fear family.

the entire dream i'm hiding in a house, worrying. fearing for my life. hiding from some police or military soldiers [what's so honorable about signing up to fight for a certain side in a battle? we shouldn't be fighting at all. there's nothing honorable about participating in something dividing, only in uniting, brining together, healing]. they're raiding all the homes in the neighborhood that have been marked in a certain way. in the dream i do not know if i'm in a house marked to be raided. the action of the dream was entirely hiding, waiting, listening, fearing.

the meaning of the dream is mostly the context: in my dream world, the planet had become so over-populated that the global government (of sorts) decided to implement measures to contain population growth. the global government introduced something along the lines of the voluntary human extinction movement, and those wanting to commit to never reproducing needed to indicate so by placing a round sign, pictured as the globe, outside their home. 

the apparent outcome of the global government's labeling project somehow turned into the military raiding homes that did have the sign, the soldiers killing all inside. it feels like a bad guy vibe, where all those who were willing to be the last of their own kin in a nod to decreasing global population, improving the future of the imminent humanity that will indeed live on -- aren't respected and left alone, but made martyrs by being killed very violently. 

and what for? that's where part of the fear comes from: the uncertain. in the dream it feels as though there's a rumor that another house in the neighborhood was mistakenly marked, the people that died inside were the family of a classmate i had during my childhood. the twist to the rumor is that the house had been intentionally marked by someone who didn't like the family.

and there i was for the entire dream, hiding in some home, dreading what felt like an inevitable death regardless of the fact that i couldn't logically figure out what it was i feared: had i chosen to label myself something that was now clearly in the line of fire? or if not, was it possible there could be anyone who would want to sabotage me?

the dream was in some sort of hyper-realistic world, all senses heightened. the echoing rattle of gunshots through out the neighborhood. the absolute stillness of everything besides the gunshots. no wind, no birds chirping, no dogs barking, nothing but still tension.

/

i've been thinking about the meaning of this dream as i've been writing it out. the plot doesn't really make sense -- people of a certain belief are indicated as such, for what seems like a positive reason... only to be slaughtered. i suppose the suspenseful, fearful setting of the dream is not too unlike how nazi raided towns and killed jews, that is, if they had the stars on their clothing.

incredibly frightening. as i described the context of the dream, i found myself filling in blanks that weren't necessarily included in the dream. i started to write that some sort of belief-driven group instigated the systematic killing of those who hung the round earth sign outside their homes -- but that wasn't in the dream. in the dream, personally volunteering to extinct your line of kin wasn't necessarily a good thing... in fact, it seemed subversive. although in waking life i am aware that scientists say that the earth is currently over-populated and it will break down as the human race depletes the earth's resources, to which i agree, maybe i didn't necessarily agree in my dream. one of my thoughts in the dream, when trying to figure out if i, or my family, were voluntary extinct'ers was 'well, if they want to end their use of the earth's resources, why wait until they die? why not just end them now so that there's more for those who do want to continue humanity?' i guess that would have put me on the 'not a round earth-sign person.'

doesn't it seem odd that my subconscious is more conservative than my conscious thoughts? then again, your subconscious is supposed to hold your taboos, isn't it... i guess i'm uncomfortable with conservative logic. maybe it's some sort of guilt over thinking that sometimes, people ask for it, or get what they have coming. 

/

now that i think about it, this is the same dream i was having in vienna, about the guy trying to get in the house because he was going to kill me. he was a random dark haired man, and i tried getting help -- i was standing in a room full all my friends and family, screaming at the top of my lungs, and everyone carried on as though no one could see or hear me. i always woke up after he broke into the house but before he killed me.

in my hostage dream recently, though, i didn't make a sound. 

/

my dreams have been more violent lately. usually my dreams are all symbolic of anxiety, it's always fear, i always feel like i'm chasing something, or being chased. i can't reach what i want, or demise is biting at my heels. maybe the violent dreams are just condensed anxiety dreams, packing more of a punch as the burden of fears piles up.

lion in a coma

that's what my ipod told me about my life, when i asked. tell me something i need to know about my life, the song is lion in a coma. i suppose it's applicable as my astrological sign is leo, the lion.

and i'm totally in a coma these days.

i was sitting out on the park bench, thinking about my physical recovery in the last four weeks, and my mental health during that same time. [just was sidetracked thinking about whether or not i will win a scholarship i applied for... but thought about how dumb awards systems can be, isn't trying to do your best kind of the point of everything? we're only trying to do the best for ourselves, so measuring each others' hard work for comparison is not only pointless, but kind of mean-spirited.]

in the last four weeks i've covered the emotional span from mildly euphoric to majority numbness. i'm trying to make plans, make ah plan, find the solution to whatever this problem in my head is... i'm in a hurry, but i have no answer, no destination, no directions. i feel as thought i'm waiting for something to fall out of the sky. i'm so completely bored and over this chapter of my life that i'm searching for the exit.

when i grow tired of looking, i take a nap. but this lion has been sleeping too much...

not to be the success, but the inspiration of success

that would be the greatest honor. yes, there would be something of honor to be the best at what you do, what you create. but what's more sacred than those who inspired the greatest artists?

can you hold? i'm having a difficult life

what i tell me about myself is not necessarily the truth. that is the big message i need to listen to now. my ego, my incarnation, has its personality, and maybe mine isn't so genuine. maybe my ego is a liar. maybe not, but my intuition says that the things i tell myself that create my identity -- some of those things aren't true. i never tell myself some certain truths, and sometimes i may tell myself untruths, i will believe lies if it makes me feel better.

this thought of what i tell me about myself is not necessarily the truth came from thinking about whether what i express in this medium is fiction or nonfiction, whether what i write here is truthful or not. my intuitive voice started up, showing me a larger-framed context. i need to see the bigger picture. looking as though my life is laid out in front of me on a drafting table, one of my trickiest obstacles in this incarnation is my ego; this is a sticky one. i watched the things my intuition showed me:

i feel as though i have more of a relation or understanding of male or yang perspective, thus i'm learning to appreciate being female or yin this time around, as challenging as it can be. but i feel as though i have this typical male strength and thirst for competition. it feels like i have quite a bit of experience spiritually, some sort of rank or distinction -- i have the abilities and resources to do great things. that's what my ego feels like.

the challenge is achieving that rank and distinction from the most indistinct of launching pads: the as average and middlest-of-roads female humanly possible. well obviously in the industrious world, seeing as i'm writing english prose and publishing it to the internet by using a computer. but of all the people that have those same abilities... i'm lost in their sea. i feel as though i need to do great things simply because i can, but i'm annoyed at having to figure how to navigate this abysmally ordinary life.

i often feel as though around me are saying 'we're waaaiting...' - waiting for me to do the whatever i'm supposed to do, and i don't know how to tell them i'm waaaiting too. i feel as though i should hand out little business cards that say 'can you hold? i'm having a difficult life...' and maybe the listener would be waiting to hear that ended with 'at the moment.' but no, i don't think it's a difficult life at the moment -- i think it's most of the time.