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 why i abandoned that delightful fantasy plot point, i'm not sure, but it feels cozy after feeling so withdrawn.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.

not for taste, but for effect

the enjoyment of eating is not only in the feeling of satiation, but in the quality of the food. sober, we think of sweet or salty. stoned, i feel i love the things i eat for reasons greater than sweet or salty. i love anything crisp, wet, or crunchy. chewy or dry things are the worst.

orange slices are the best. they're juicy and provide a really satisfying sensation in my mouth as my teeth and tongue work. i have mentioned previously that i notice all the work my tongue does when i'm stoned, in ways that i never think about when i'm sober. but there's something to be said about what foods make the eating process feel the best -- and not necessarily for taste; outstanding texture and effect can make something delicious. i love that being stoned makes me appreciate new foods for new reasons.

so this is when i start smoking during the day

before the traditional workday even ends. on a tuesday. this is exactly when i become a full-blown stoner, i guess. i had such an unhappy day, harping on old pains of the past. i know it's just psm. i know that i'm not really angry at what i think i've been angry about all day. it's so incredibly disruptive, makes me feel so awful inside, provokes me to lash out. at the people who come to me, my friends, something about this change in hormones makes me angry for no reason, and i really don't like feeling that way.

which is why i'm getting stoned in the middle of a tuesday in may. smoking during daylight hours, out in the alley, makes me pretty paranoid. although i'm in my room, all doors and windows closed, i can still hear a neighbor's lawnmower. can still hear the landlord's racket above me. i need to get stoned so that i can take a break from worrying about my financial situation. from harping on the 'why' i needed this surgery, the why of 'why couldn't i have the opportunity i wanted?'

i spent the first two weeks after recovery in some sort of mildly euphoric state. i was aware of it, but didn't care about the why of it all. it felt good -- who cares why?