trouble

tonight finds me wondering how exactly i would dig myself out of a deep and muddy hole, if i found myself at the bottom of a well or something. or quicksand. how would i get myself out of some shit like that?

well see. logic then interferes and i have to ask myself how the fuck i got stuck in mud in the first place. i mean. i have 20/20. shouldn't be any issues noticing pitfalls in my path over here.

that takes me back further, and then i get uncomfortable and change the subject with myself.

but oh. see how i digress?

this is me, some people think, at my best. wound like a top. just *finally* finished working but still thinking about it. with a list of things to do about a mile long and no time for introspection.

but good god. where've i got to?

and oh. oh hell no.

don't get it twisted i am not about to get all "poor me" on your ass. playing victim to some prior circumstances or pre-conditioning or poor choices or too much too short growing up. or like. what the fuck ever.





i transcend. this muck i am raking is all of my own creation and also pretty way down there. at least in enough non-practical ways that it tends to balance out quite well the metaphorical but practical and daily bullshit.

and i exercise my right to elevate my presence with attention paid to small details as often as possible.

but is that it, though? no.

this is where i raise one finger in the air and it's a lightbulb moment for me, really. i go

or!

or. alternatively.

i *could* go move somewhere and buy a small house and be a farmer. or grow vegetables in my backyard and crochet bikinis for a living and stop watching cable television. deal with literal shit to earn my keep and metaphorical shit only as desired. only as it enriches me and no more. never more.

but see. where would those nikes fit in there? or these nails?

i have to build my own jungle and find my own beach. it's not far away. not in 7 league gold sneakers.





but back to my problem. getting unstuck. that's my meditation for the night. i have to focus, children.

it isn't sweet dreams material but i'm over lullabies, a little. a lot.


*********


I want to wake up.

Good Night.

Fish in the Sea, You Know How I Feel

Spent so much time composing the setting for writing this that I plumb forgot what I was gonna write. Almost. I think.

One thing to note: this song looks like this on my ceiling when played on my new silly cheap fantastic speakers.




Yes. Most often I use them at work, to keep things active once it gets dark and starts feeling like I should be headed home.

They flash many colors. Water shoots up and all of that. If you focus hard enough, it's like taking a trip to Vegas, but only experiencing the good parts.

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean don't you know
Butterflies all havin fun, you know what I mean

I keep coming back to the analogy of shedding my skin. Because when I am uncomfortable in it, when I'm trying to get out of it? Boy howdy, am I ever uncomfortable.

But in my element and with old things left behind in the shrubs I am as nimble as whatever it is I am slinking through.

Or hiding in.

All depends on the moment.





One thing I have come to realize at thirty seven years of age is that I got where I am by doing things *in spite* of things. By absolutely *not* conforming.

And for some very long time that habit served me well. I'd go so far as to call it a survival instinct. Some superior adaptive Darwin bullshit, like my mega-small pinkie toes.

Except that the whole fucking theory breaks down in real life. It doesn't pass inspection now that I am a grown up.

Because very simply: I do not have to fight anymore. I got it. I got where I wanted to get and I have what I wanted to have.

And moving forward I hope to live up to that knowledge on a daily basis. Rebels without causes die young and don't change a whole lot of anything worth remembering.

But also. But also, and paramount:

There is just simply the resolution to be me. Whatever that happens to mean when I wake up each morning. If that's not enough for the whole wide world then I gotta just say "fuck the whole wide world".

That is not a rebellion. That is a decision.

And I can make those too, now that I'm all grown up.

Sweet Dreams and Stay Gold,

Angelina

Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean

Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

but the fire is so delightful.

The monthly party I work was on Friday instead of Saturday this month. It took some getting used to, and I was dressed like a 1950s divorcee. That said, it was pretty grand.

And in passing I said to some cowboy-looking gentleman:

You're really handsome.

Because Nina told me she knew a woman who met her husband that very same way. I am not certain my intent was the same, but I realized recently that I talk enough shit about people needing to make things happen that I gotta put my money where my mouth is.

Fully invested I am, in this particular lifetime. Talk like Yoda I do, because it's that sacred to me.

Ha.

As a result I have made myself calling cards. They are more like business cards because they are TMI, but still. A lady needs to leave her mark if she wants to be taken seriously.





Yet and still. My dreamy and tall square-jawed Prince Charming dashed away into the night. I didn't even get the chance to offer him a calling card. I put myself out there and was rejected. I lost one.

One of many, I am sure. But more will be gotten and lost and/or one will be gotten and kept before all is said and done. There will be flurries. There will be storms. There will be silent moments, too.

At all times I promise you that I will put my bid in. Solid.

And since there's no place to go?



Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Bonsoir.

Time Machine - 8/30/2003 - Frantic Dismantlers of Kindness

this is the holding taketank for all the rummies...

flagrant disregarders, smack-talkers, angry young things and self-destructors. four a.m.ers, tweaking losers, frantic dismantlers of kindness. street sweepers, nightclub creepers and secret keepers.

the not-so-fine line between knowing the lyrics to "mr. brownstone" and having them tattooed on your back.

the lack of perfection in my personal selection has led me toward the latter, as of late. wanting something bigger than life. wanting something worth conquering, not these tired sad old quests that begin in a circle drawn around the words so what's it all about?

fuck what it's all about. give me action.

this moment in time and sorry facial expression courtesy of a boy who spoke to me explicitly last night. as i tried to chill it all out for long enough to watch cartoons in my bedroom, he says to me he says i'm really lovely. really. absolutely sweet and kind and fun. and oh how he'd love to hang out with me. but he'd rather be abusing himself right now.

that's the prettiest thing i've heard in months.

i walked him downstairs and felt much calmer after he'd left. my god. how rare is that honesty? he's honey-throated, gravel-voiced and pure mannish. hats off to the baggage claim early enough in the game for me to check my own luggage.

and for the beautiful people...

three quarters of the busta rhymes crew otherwise known as the united nations of sexy. missing from this picture is miss alyss, who i believe was on the other side of the lens. daughters and sons were not safe that evening, believe you me.



all i can really say about this picture is that i don't know what we're advertising, but i'll take three of them. no. make that four. thanks.

and now. hmmmm. i've got something in the works today. something unimaginable. gonna finish it up and play show and tell later. i'm off to the attic. hold my calls.

and i wiiiish i neeever met her at all

you call my name, oh so sweet
to make your kiss incomplete

when your mood is clear
you quickly change your ways

which is essentially a supernaturally accurate description of everyone we all know. how many people are you really familiar with that are absolutely not fair weather friends?

once you come up with that number, re-examine the posse. imagine a shark attack, or some sexy and eligible possible soul mate or a million dollar lottery ticket or 25 to life v. snitching.

then, divide that number in half.

at that point - if you have anyone left, of course - you've got about half the people that will actually back you when the things you want are in direct opposition to the things that maintain their status quo.

myself. well. my status quo doesn't hurt anyone else too much. on nights like this i think that perhaps it's the best of several evils.

but i'm just 2 days away from real work, and i know that once i'm back there nothing i say now will actually matter much and so.

without further ado

adieu.

scripted

there's something about a script. there's nothing in my past that's happened often enough for me to be able to compare it. it becomes a way of thinking. there is a specificity to every sidenote that makes it feel like a way of life.

just now. just tonight i think i got past the feeling that i was reading some holy text.
i have been hesitating to mark my place as though i was reading Buddha's Teachings, or The Bible, or The Holy Qur'an. i pick those books up and let pages find me.

and when i read something even for a few moments i take on the cadence of the thing i was reading for a few paragraphs. this allows me to express things in ways i've never done before, and as a result allows me to express things i have never expressed before. it is cathartic. it is like going to church.

it is like channeling.

which is why it has taken me a month to realize that i can just dog ear a page of this script i am reading instead of finding myself starting at odd places each time i pick it up.

and it isn't actually that it's not a holy thing. it certainly is.



it's that it's a thought. and it took me a second to realize that with paper i can physically bend a place in it to dip myself back in without affecting its structure.

if you catch my drift.

also: there has been work. my work. my hustle. still tons of it.

but i *am* pulling back some. work is no longer every single waking moment. i'm wrapping things up. i'm closing the curtains and putting things into storage.

finalizing.

i take nights like this and at about 7 pm i think to myself

fuckit

and i keep doing whatever it is i'm doing and realize that no orphanages will burn down if i don''t create a schedule this very friday night.

it's a nice feeling. it's brand new to me and a bit of a surprise, at the moment.

blessed be.

now i'm gonna veg out further. no reading. just video games til i'm just drowsy enough to have a lucid dream. i can pick up where i left off tomorrow.

my place has been marked.

A Skewed View

I never mean to discount anyone's experience. I think grouping people up is a bullshit waste of time.

And yet I'm pretty certain that my friends are almost always one of two types of people.

Some of them were raised and bred to be successful, in the most traditional sense of the word. They had concerned and present parents. They had sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers who all finished high school and went on to college, or some hobby turned into a career that they loved.

Their parents stayed married - if not out of love then out of a sense of duty that is just as awe-inspiring as actual love is, a lot of the time. They grew up to understand dedication.

Those folks, at the very least, were sort of shown the way to a very stable means of living and co-existing. They saw a sketch of happiness growing up. In extreme cases they got everything they ever could have asked for and then even more.

And then they said "fuck it."

And then they decided to take another path.

And then they decided that maybe not college but maybe instead rapping or painting or selling drugs or bumming around or adventuring or anything else other than a straight and narrow life was a better use of their time.

That's one group.

The other group is the opposite and exactly the same. We came from not very much. We saw sporadic role modeling and faulty day to day functioning as the norm. Our parents tuned out. Spaced out. Dropped out of not just parenthood, but responsibility altogether.

For those kids. Those kids like me.

Our desires to be More and Better and Loved don't come from what we have seen. They come from what we never saw.

We didn't grow up around folks who could set examples of happiness, or dedication, or faith, or love.

We made all of those things up ourselves, often based on just imagining the exact opposite of what we saw in front of us.

Does that skew the view a bit?

Fuck yes, it does.

So yeah. Those are the 2 kinds of people I gravitate toward. I tend to identify more with one type than the other.

And then there are the Others.

So I guess maybe all of this amounts to not very much at all. Just some random thoughts for a random Wednesday night.

Here's to a random Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday too - right?

Right.

Night.

interlude

my therapist has this thing she does where i'll tell her that something i'm doing isn't satisfactory for some reason. like. my apartment isn't clean enough. i don't remember tax season. i get parking tickets constantly.

she'll ask

and does that *bother* you?

all serious, as though she really wonders. and i'll say something akin to

of course it fucking does.

and then she drops the hammer

but not enough for you to *do* anything about it.

end conversation.

*********

i hate it when someone uses my own logic on me. makes me want to scream at them for no reason.

i wonder if that's how people feel about me? hm.

food for thought. so fucking glad it's friday tomorrow i can't even express it.

bonsoir.

ehhh later for you

it's been a kind of whirlwind, the last couple of weeks. and tonight i am feeling lazy. the kind of lazy that makes me wonder how awesome must it be to awake each morning when you feel naturally refreshed and then hop out of bed to do a thing that feeds your soul all day long and then lather, rinse repeat...

but i am also feeling very navel-gazingly satisfied, overall.

and i am also feeling tired and wired simultaneously.

and well.

i just shed my skin again, i think. and that's no small business to get done with.

glossing my coat, back shortly.

in the meantime, please do enjoy some of ye olde me - fresh and clean, before these tendrils had got all the way up to my eyes and ears and such.

Once upon a time:



160 eyelets. inserted by hand. do you know what that act is? first an awl, to make a small hole. then a chopstick, to make the small hole bigger (sometimes the chopstick squeaks and sticks, which is irritating).

then take one of those tiny metal grommet things, about the size of the holes you use to lace shoes if you aren't into velcro. it's got sharp edges. force it through the hole, make sure every thread around it is laying as flat as possible (use the awl). put the tiny metal cap on, then hammer the die or use the pliers to finish it off. about 90 seconds of work, if you're doing it while you're watching gary oldman play beethoven.

one more seam and this is complete. i'm done with this project. my hands are mangled from it. working with the vinyl i cut a deep v into the middle finger of my left hand that's still not fully healed.

and i have a hand fetish. mine are scarred now, from this.

but it is done, at least. almost done. my "boss" was abrasive and at times insulting and more than once or twice flaky but tomorrow i deliver and it's back to corsets and miniskirts like hand grenades.

i don't know what to say except to quote immortal beloved. hearing someone say

i could not hate a man that could write such music

or whatever. yes. yes. we all say that. most of us.

i couldn't hate a person who made something of note. couldn't hold a grudge against a person with talent or beauty or kindness or a way with words. couldn't hate a man that wrote a song that bumped on every block while i was in highschool. couldn't hate a man who built a waterfall. couldn't hate a man who made a mural for a little girl's bedroom.



we crawl to artists. all of them. we say

render me

and hope to learn something that we didn't already know about ourselves. how we look in certain light. what we say that is noteworthy. what makes us attractive or unattractive. natural curiosity. my roommate handed me a picture of myself today and i was like "who is this woman?"

like those eyes over there. alyssa sees me as a fairy princess so she gives me enchantress eyes. i was underslept in that photo, having been on a bender. but alyssa is beauty so she rendered me beautifully.

this has been discussed before. artists only render themselves, with any luck more and more accurately as they hone their craft.

with any blessing, what they create becomes more and more flattering, also. i don't see pretty or ugly most times. tall or short or thin or anything. i fall in love with genius or what i suspect is genius, hoping to learn a thing or two. sometimes i do.

a complete. mental. landscape.

i want to see my own terrain, so i must make things. i must write and speak and curtsy and dance and sew and write some more. i've no choice cause no one else can make that map. no one else would know what it should look like.

finis.

savage is okay. better than okay. it is dips on the dancefloor and growling, plus more than that. i don't know what it is but i find it, lose it, love it, choose it.

i wish on a star and burn my candles.



and poe is all:

i am come of a race noted for vigour of fancy and ardour of passion. men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence -- whether much that is glorious -- whether all that is profound -- does not spring from disease of thought -- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of general intellect. they who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night.

and i'm all. preach it poe, word to the mother.

did i ever tell you about singing backup at the marley festival in long beach at the arena when i was 19 years old? remind me to tell you that some time.

Serendipity

I had a book about a dragon named Serendipity when I was a very young girl. If I recall correctly, it was a purple dragon. I read that book at least five hundred times.

*********

Going on trips that require air travel for me is like this.

I don't like flying. To be honest, I can't possibly feel totally at peace while I'm flying in a plane without a degree in aerospace engineering. That's just the kinda person I am. Working on it though, pinky swear.

But word: Something that big shouldn't go that high, you know?

On lift off there's this one second when I feel like I can't breathe. I focus all of my faith in that moment, even though it's not the main thing to be focused on.

But if I focused on the main thing, I'd never fly anywhere ever.

*********

The girl sitting next to me looks like she belongs in First Class. I wonder if I do too. I'm dressed like a sexy librarian and carrying a lap top and a 70s stewardess bag in a shade of blue that I don't think they make anymore.

I am on a mission.

She gets up to go to the restroom, and it isn't awkward because there's easily 3 feet of space between our row and the row in front of us, which is filled with family vacation types and 1 iPad per child, etc.

I watch my seatmate walk away, impossibly skinny but not unhealthy looking. Dark and a teeny bit somber in a way that manifests extraordinarily in the context of a playful little face like hers.

Skinny black jeans, black sweater, black leather jacket and greyish chuck taylors with her left heel coming out of the side of one of them, either walked to shreds or purchased walked almost to shreds. And also? Awesome red rimmed sun glasses, which I adore. But they are out of place because it isn't that bright.

Thankfully, when she sits down next to me she takes them off. We talk for a long time. She does what I do. A little. Well. She's on another level and in another game entirely, but her soul has been measured by changes and not years, so we have much in common.

Fresh faced and pretty as a Noxema commercial she was. And we talked about ayhuasca and social media and spotify and dmt and salvia divinorum and transcendental meditation and female ejaculation and the Age of Aquarius and rebellion and being self-made and the need to fuck this whole system and our favorite documentaries and bob dylan and mostly how very important it is to really really really fuck this whole system.

Her gorgeousness combined with an amazing capacity to rattle off thoughts freestyle that *actually made sense* astounded me. I was transfixed. We traded stories. We're similar. We're very different. I see the internet component to the film endeavor she is building.

The flight to LA felt like a 5 minute flight, because of her.

Moral of the story: ya gotta put yourself where you wanna be, dear heart. plan for it, and plan for what you'll do if it isn't as easy as you thought it would be.

Tomorrow this may prove to be just a dream, but you know what? I can say the same about anything else in my life. Ha! Equal footing for all, in 2011.


But one way or the other, your girl is coming back with a digital vengeance.

Was looking for Chuck D's Digitize or Die and found this instead. I'm not mad.

Descansos. Again.

There will only be very small clues to look back on when I want to recollect this moment in my life. It won't be easy. I have only To Do lists.

Binders full of them. Multi-colored and with various themes. Organized and completely illegible. Half completed and crossed off methodically line after line.

So maybe then again I do have clues. Just not too very much worth remembering at all.

I can tell, for instance, looking at the one I have now: 2 days ago I was on an insanely long and tedious phone call. I can tell that by the vines and hearts and scary vignettes I've drawn along the border of it.

40 minutes? Maybe an hour?

But I've no idea with whom I had it or what we discussed.

I will remember the Love Vines I drew, and the miniature creepsters in a clearing in the middle of a forest.

Those things. Those things are what I will have.

*********





Some poor and wise boy attempting to flirt with me once asked me what I'd really walk away with - spiritually speaking - if I spent a day being driven around town in a Phantom as I shopped for handbags and bento accessories and over-the-knee boots and vintage mini-dresses and fingernail polish and sneakers and perfume and legos and ostrich feathers and a thousand other frivolous things.

What would that experience leave with me that would resonate and make some sense of the open spaces I am filled with?

I was working a door in all white under a black light. I was blinding. Feeling ethereal, I cupped his face in my hands and flashed my animal eyes and teeth at him. I said this lovingly:

"A memory, booboo. A golden and shining memory. Isn't that all we ever have left of anything, anyway?"

And yeah I was a little tipsy off that ketel, but drunks and children don't lie. I kissed him on his cheek, bid him adieu and I have been thoroughly on my grind since. I still believe what I believed, a couple years later.

And I bet that kid does too.


*********


Not sure if I'm defending the way that I live right now: with so very few little moments all to myself, or applauding the sheer amount of action I have been able to pack into every waking moment.

Working or shopping. It's all a hustle.

And what would it feel like, I wonder, to just be still?

Fiddle dee dee.





*********


Working like an insane person lately. Two launches in two weeks and both are pretty massive in terms of the amount of effort going into them. And very recently I have made some mistakes. Nothing major, but just like. Not up to my personal standards.

And really the whole reason I started writing this was that I have finally realized in the midst of fucking up how much it really does not pay off to keep kicking yourself over fucking up. Yeah. Hurts in real time. No need to rehash it, you know?

It's why I don't watch the news.

It's also why tonight I feel free to release a good deal of guilt that I've been harboring for no good reason. I'm done with it. Don't get me wrong: nothing is ever not at all my fault.

But a good deal of most things are very simply human, and should be seen as such.

So with an easy conscience I bid you goodnight, fellow humans.

Guidelines

On a night like tonight when I have spoken to what feels like a million people - all of them nubile and almost all of them on the prowl - I feel flooded. I am whelmed.

Men: I think it's important for you to know that by the time you meet a woman she has likely been subjected to all manner of wild subterfuge having to do with her femininity. Regardless of her station and social standing. Regardless of her chosen or imposed lifestyle.

You can be the sweetest and kindest and most honorable creature in the world and really, it's likely going to take a bit of time to make that crystal clear all the way to the bone for any single one of us.

Some famous woman once compared being female to walking around holding a hi def television with you at all times no matter where you go.

Or maybe more like walking around with a priceless diamond tucked away in your pocket and that's just fine except that *everyone fucking knows you have it*.

And a lot of times it really is like those things. It is also about a thousand other things much less stress-inducing. And I'm mixing up my quotes. But it does not matter. You get my drift.

Women: for a few seconds every day imagine what it is like to feel as though your wanting to have tea with a woman means (while at the same time totally does NOT mean, but in a confusing and inconsistent way) that you have to approach her and request her presence at your tea party. And that even if all signs point to a green light, the asking is a daunting task.

Especially when she knows and you know and she knows that you know that she has this special and coveted and desirable fortune with her everywhere she goes.

And if she says yes? And she's at your tea party? If she has so much as a frantic moth encounter you are responsible (while at the same time totally NOT responsible, but in a confusing and inconsistent way) for the outcome of it and whether or not she makes it through sans traumatic after-effects.

The responsibility of being male makes a lot of me think "cry me a fucking river" but makes another part of me think I'm glad at least that I don't have THAT to deal with.

And yes. Normally I skew toward sympathizing with one over another. I don't need to go further into that. I am human.

It's all of these preconditions.

It's also the fact that I've only just now described my very own experiences. So multiply that by a couple billion and you have the number of takes on this subject that exist.

Get to reading. We have a lot of catching up to do.

null

things tend to end the way they start. so it makes sense that right now i am feeling particularly alone and overworked and whatever.

nervous to turn the radio on. video gaming. playing catchup. feeling like a bird in the rooms full of windows. nothing is safe.

the good things can be temporary and the bad things can become luggage. it makes no sense at all, and it makes perfect sense.



we grow up around tones of voice, and those tones mean something to us. we bring our ears for sarcasm or a lack of concern along with us everywhere we go. that is us at our most average.

it's a funny thing that gets us questioning things that should be a given.

another funny thing: the characteristics you find yourself loving most about a person or situation can end up being the same things that drive you farther and farther away if the chemistry isn't just right.

but then again, i think maybe that makes perfect sense, too.

it makes perfect sense.

bonchance.

Instructions

What to do when you have miscalculated grandly. Every person needs some best practices in their back pocket in case of emergency. So open up, buttercup.

*********

1) Draw back as many curtains as possible in an order that makes sense to you and in accordance with practicality. Temperature, visibility, required privacy and all of those things should be kept in mind.

2) Reconfigure your space a bit. As much as needed. Could be a little, could be a lot. Could be only what you have time for. Could be not a single shift in anything, as well.

3) Tend all of your plants lovingly. No constraints on this one.

4) Pay your dues.

5) Having done the above, sit still for a bit. Case your space.

6) Hustle. This too shall pass, especially if you keep it movin.

*********

Lather, rinse and repeat as needed. If you're lucky, you'll have the chance to do this many many many more times.

Blessed be.

Time Machine 9/24/2009 - Most Quiet Need

Best not to snap your neck trying to tell someone all of the different ways that you love them. Even if you are trying to be poetic, or save the moment, or get them to have sex with you. I'm telling you this because I know it. That sort of inventory never pays off because:

a) y'all two have totally different definitions of what love is, that is guaranteed
b) to top that you also both have totally different definitions of yourselves, which makes things even more complicated

So it's all wah wah wah wah like Charlie Brown's teachers. Realize now that true communication of what you are feeling isn't possible. It's just not. Not yet.

Some day though I'll be able to plug my brain into your brain, or vice versa. Some day we'll both get to feel the same things at the same exact time. That will end some of the alone-ness, but then we'll find that isolation takes place in other ways. Because that's being human and that trumps everything else.



All day lately I've been thinking about the Future. With a capital "F", as in everyone's. Not just what I'm going to wear tomorrow, or whether or not I'm going to order katsu from the sushi place when I get home from work.

The real future. What's that actually gonna be like?

For now I have a fishnet obsession, and my sneaker collection is growing. And did I tell you? That job I took that was just a contract turned full-time this week. Cause they like me. They really like me.

Do I like me?

Working on that.

In the meantime it is just hustle, and one foot in front of the other. And negotiations and predictions and educated guesses and calculated risks. And jazzy outfits.

xoxoxo.

Sleep Well.

new moon

in 7 days, 7 hours.

supreme adventure in approximately 8 days, 8 hours.

vacation starts in 5 days, 5 hours.

*********

this week is a giveaway - client visits until middle of the week and they are a favorite. on tuesday we shoot a bunch of girls in bikinis running and jumping. i have 2 new dresses to wear this week and a pair of grey boots that make me look like a bad-ass crime fighter. and the AGs. those glorious things.

i have a list of about one million things to do, today. all work-related.

a shift in priorities is beyond needed, it's crucial. i can't possibly become a real grownup, otherwise.
*********

here's pam grier as Friday Foster. i dare you not to swoon:



*********

i won it. all of it. and more to come. i'm supposed to be happy now, right?

right.

adding that to my list of things to do.

inspired

been reading before bed more often than not. the kind of book that makes me wish i'd been writing for my whole life.

i got an idea for a story this morning. i'm sort of scared of it. i'm going to try to write it anyway.

i need a writing partner. inquire within.

work. life. balance.

for the past two weeks i have just been collecting. never enough time or energy to formulate a really thorough point of view on any one thing. never really any need to.

so the sands slip through. days of our lives, and whatnot. the collection grows. it is sparsely tended. this is what remains.

*********

7/28

Last night was never-ending. Not in the way most nights have been lately, but because I had business cocktails at 5:30 and dinner at 8:30 all in my work hood, which meant an ungodly amount of time spent away from my cave. My hutch. My nest.

My late night dinner was with Liz at Bix, which is dark and dramatic feeling. Perfect for catching up on weeks worth of catchup.

We caught up. Work came up.

Liz designs video game interfaces. But she also works at a hospice on Saturdays.

Since she spends so much time around dying people it was Real Talk when she mentioned her doubt that on my deathbed I will be thinking:


wow. really glad i wrote THAT proposal.


Since then there has been a shift in perception.

*********

8/2

In other news. My diction. My cadence. I've developed some of the speech patterns that I tend to associate with people who are a little touched. There is a quality to my communication that hints at the fact that the majority of my dialogues are taking place not with the world at large but instead among my various Selves.

Telling a story I'll stop. Digress. Laugh to myself about some inside, inside joke and then continue on. I can't tell how it strikes other people. But I catch myself noticing it when I am in its midst and it can make a conversation either uncomfortable or endearing.

I'd need seventeen seventeen foot mirrors configured seventeen miles apart from one another pointing at seventeen different angles to achieve the viewpoints I require to create the reflection I need to see myself purely.

Meaning: no obstructions or embellishments.

It's a feat of magic. Time will tell if I'm up to it.

*********

8/5

A lot of the stuff I was hoping to win has been won. I've drawn a line in the sand, I am taking 5 days off that will really be 10 days at the end of this month. I'm considering a few nights at the Madonna Inn.

And I'm beyond beyond, when I imagine that.

Also: wondering how everything will get done. How I can see to that and still heed Lizzie's advice.

Those words are my most serious truths lately, to be honest with you.

I have to figure this out. I also have to take a second to breathe on my nails, buff them on my shirt and then gaze at them admiringly cause. Um. Yeah.

I got it done.

I said I wanted to. I never should have questioned it henceforth. Or maybe that's why it actually happened.

The world may never know.

But one thing is for certain: your girl's hustle has been paying off the last month or so and it feels better than *almost* anything.

Almost.

*********

and that's it. for now.

tonight. functioning as the curator of these thoughts. i am feeling a little bit like this:




bonsoir.

Fulfillingness' First Finale

And this comes on today as I am getting ready for a walkabout. It makes me think of Amy, too.



It builds beautifully. Now I am off to conquer the world. Or a few blocks of it, at least.

Brava

A remnant of common sense checked my hand as I was on the point of ringing Rezi’s doorbell. But I know that common sense, because it is my own particular brand; it allows me, precisely one minute before fatal blunders, to enjoy the lucid pleasure of telling myself: “This is a fatal blunder.” Forewarned, I hurry on serenely towards disaster, steadied, like a ship well down in the water, by a reassuring load of total responsibility. - Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette

I posted this quote as my Facebook status before drifting off to sleep on Friday night/Saturday morning. A 3AM commitment.

I woke up at noon and tried to shake the fog. I wake up foggy a lot, lately.

I learned about Amy Winehouse. I don't recall feeling so sad about a person I have never met in a very long time.

I'd been holding out faith, see. Rather silly of me, but required. My relationship with her was sporadic, iPod flashes and trying to ignore tabloid stories about her being a hot mess. I'd try not to even read the headlines, cause I didn't feel even a little bit of the train wreck fascination that I have about other people falling to shambles.

I remember thinking

I'll click someday, and either read that she's released a new album or that she's died.

I hoped for the former but banked equally on both because I don't like disappointment.

So no. I'm not getting at any presentience or new revelations. Just that it's tragic and sad and completely understandable. I can't imagine coping with that kind of genius and that kind of crazy every day of life while being followed by assholes with cameras.

Also: Amy and Claudine and Colette and Billie and Josephine and Assata and Elaine and Angela and all of them are cut from the same cloth from which most savages are cut. It contains a very basic and ever-present thread. A code.

Making a fucked up decision that is your *own* decision is better than living someone else's life. Any day of the week.

I agree completely. And I know that sometimes it has a happy ending, too.

*********

This is how I remember Amy. She looks healthy here, and pretty well-steadied too.

time machine: 1/20/2008

for the most part it still holds true



add to the list

Pirate stories. Historic shit. Excess. Good grammar and spelling. Sneakers, ponies, ice cream sandwiches, turquoise, knee socks, roller skates, private jets, breakfast burritos, polo shirts, girls named Duchess, pit bulls, infinity pools, ice buckets, parachute jackets and mexican coca cola.

zuzus. whamwhams.

Bubble gum ice cream.

Books.

Beaches.

Cellulose joints.

Trees

Snuggles.

Counting money, aquariums, lots of grass, candy paint, basketball games, swap meets, stargazer lilies, juicy oranges, show offs, cup cakes, fucking, sound systems, cherries, platinum teeth, front gaps, sharp fangs, velvet, incense, handstands and documentaries.

Steaks.

Miniskirts.

Windows.

Hot Tea.

Iced Tea.

Kittens.

Self Portraits.

Lists.

The Chick in the Yellow Slicker

Feast or Famine.

I got a lot of the things I was hoping for last week. Friday was sort of the pinnacle of the winning streak, a lot of deals were penciled in so now all I have to do is sort out the getting of the stuff done and we're golden.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Stop.

Go.

I've done an awesome job. Nina says I should be mindful of appreciating the things I do well, give myself credit where it's due and all that jazz. Growing up it was all just so many mixed messages. Nothing good ever, ever, EVER came without consequences.

30 years of thinking like that isn't easy to just shake off.

It is more of an easing out of it. Like bouncing from a party and hoping no one notices. One eye on the door and the other on the hostess. Edging. Edging. Slow and steady.

Then in one fell swoop I guess, I just commit to it. And hope the ghosts don't notice that I've left.

I think I've botched that metaphor. Cause really it's like getting people to leave my house party without being rude. The very last hangers on. Sleeping it off. Talking it off. Hoping to get lucky.

And me very gently nudging them toward the exit without overtly doing so. With luck they end up on the sidewalk thinking it was their own idea to leave.

Bah. Fucked that one up too, a little bit.

Shaking ghosts. That will be on my To Do list for years to come. I'll have time to refine the metaphor, I am sure.

*********

In other news: I've morphed from a bunny into a bird - and gained a familiar. A real life pet lion.

In even other news: I got the Chew Ominvore Edition #1 and have been spending hours reading it. Obsessing over every little detail in the drawings. The posters, the menus, the writing on the walls. I love the idea that they are laced with inside jokes and secret messages and little declarations of love and hate.

Furthermore: I began Tumbling. I don't know how I feel about the format and I don't know exactly what it's for. But I figured why the fuck not.

*********

Anyway the point I was getting at before is that I've gone above and beyond. Turned out an insane amount of information in about a trillion different formats. Submitted proposals until my eyes were bloodshot. And yes. Finally. Yes.

I should feel freer than ever to plan my vacation. I should not be hesitant to block out a few days of kicking it when my suitor arrives for proper courtship. I should feel as though I've earned it.

Instead all I can think is: how the fuck are we gonna get it all done? I always wonder that, and always get it done, but that doesn't take the wonder out of the wondering, if you know what I mean.

Ha.

When it rains, it pours. Lucky for me I'm the Chick in the Yellow Slicker.

Latent Inhibition

Going through the card catalog the other night I stumbled upon conditioned taste aversion, and remembered how fascinated I was with it when I first learned that it existed. It explains why I HATED pepperoni pizza for about 2 or 3 years after being overwhelmed by the stomach flu on the way home from a birthday party at Round Table when I was 5. I remember it clearly.

One thing led to another, I guess.

I read an article about a girl who makes crochet graffiti and I think that's about the smartest thing I've heard in a month of Sundays.

It also makes me wonder what it is exactly that I've been aiming for all of this time I've been hustling. Isn't it similar to the feeling she must have gotten when she turned the wall street bull into a neon installation?

Jeez. And I spent a whole 36 hours in Seattle and didn't even bother to venture past the hotel restaurant for food.

Am I inherently just a fucking hermit? Do I have my fists closed?

Sometimes I think I do. And that I've grown so used to the feeling of holding on to stuff that I don't even notice how it can be harmful. Latent inhibition, I think?

But then.

I wonder how else a person is supposed to climb a thing.

And of course then I wonder: should I be climbing it, at all?

But first, what next. Always first: what next?

Which leads me to where I started - thinking about what's next. I can apply my ability to think up Next Steps elsewhere, I am sure.

Diversification is a good look. The world changes too often and too quickly to be walking around with a half-sharpened pencil.

But it's not like I have to stop hustling. I just need to. Sprinkle it. Maybe spend less evenings working on my couch. I could be sewing instead.

The fog is rolling in and it's Saturday night. I have spreadsheets to do.

Bonsoir.


@ my fingertips
all the wonders of seattle, as seen from the bed next to mine.

looking ahead

but still looking out.

if i am not mistaken i am at the precipice of two months of the kind of work that leaves me spun out and giddy. busy in my sleep. head not so firmly attached to shoulders.

i should take a moment to be calm. but here's where it gets ironic.

if the next two months ARE hellish, it's because i've won something. and winning a thing takes a lot of work. and knowing you have the chance at winning a thing doesn't always provide a person with the sleep-filled nights a person should have if a person wants to not feel a little bit outside of their body 90% of the time.

then again, knowing you don't have a chance at winning something doesn't necessarily promote healthy sleeping habits either. not with a job like mine.

so what i guess i am getting at is that this cycle is a little. well.

never-ending.

i can keep hoping that some magical week will find me both not stressed AND with nothing on my calendar 2 months in the future, which would allow me to plan a vacation without guilt.

but. yeah. not gonna happen.

a person has to put a stake in the ground. a person has to invest in their own happiness.

i'm up this late because i've just sent my last mandatory email or proposal or budget or something. up this late because i'm awaiting a delivery of Life to my doorstep.

not the magazine. the Thing.

and um yeah. that's not gonna happen either.

what exactly am i totaling my life up to, again?

i need to re-prioritize.

*********

in other news: i visited the future today and it's fucking magical. there was a pool table covered in an interactive projection that made it look like waves and ripples and wobbles of mercury when balls rolled across the table. i stood in front of a screen that sensed every movement i made and changed my point of view and the things obscuring it based on that data.

the things around the corner seem massive. enchanted. challenging.

i don't have a graceful ending for this chain of thought.

good night.

Go Team

Like I told you, today was A Major One. Turned out to be even more so than I expected, and I respect it more so for that fact.

It's nothing but the power of words, can't you see that?

I got a phone call bearing good news. Not the mega jackpot news I've been hoping for but the kind of small win that an ego like mine needs to keep the facade intact all day long. Flouncing and swishing around in my 50s housewife getup and these Brazilian dancing heels.

Well.

I dressed for good news today.

*********

Then came The Presentation.

And it's not like it was all for naught, and it's not like we failed. But our approach got refined. This is a good thing generally, but tends to deflate when it happens at the moment when you think you're at your puffed up best. Ready for anything.

The Heavens have a sense of humor, it would seem.

Then a single email, some career advice, a chat with my homegirl and an apocolyptic parking lot conversation. A liquor store. A package of Japanese candy. A bottle of water about half as tall as I am and then here.

The other shoe dropped on my toe, but I am still standing.

Now resting.

But tomorrow I will rise again just for the chance of conquering it all. Anything less wouldn't live up to my legend.

Adieu.

Wireframes

There is another phase in The Thing I Do For a Living that is called "wireframing" or "user experience design" or "information architecture" or about fifteen million other names that all mean the same thing to me.

Being a person that sees my life and work as just more art, upon saying this I feel the need for a disclaimer: if you were to ask any true master of the practices listed above what the differences between them are they would have about fifteen million ways to inform you how I am wrong in my generalizations. And they would be right.

It's the bones of a thing. Its structure. The countless ways all of the pieces of it are tied together. Building a thing for public consumption without this phase is the kickoff of many a failed endeavor. That said, you cannot always wait around for a person to come do it for you.

Sometimes you have to think about a thing from scratch and then tie the little pieces of it together. In theory. Just lines and boxes on paper, really. But the beauty of the process is that while you are doing that. Cranking away at a seemingly tedious and unnecessary task, you are actually building a mental model that you will reference time and again later on.

It's those bits of my day that remind me of the magic in a thing. It is the same thing making pizzas, or ice cream sundaes, or reassembling the engine of a muscle car.

You walk away with a take away.

And if you are lucky, you produce something that wins you a gig, or a few gigs.

That's what I'm hoping for now. I poured all of myself into a thing over the holiday weekend and tomorrow afternoon we see our efforts are leading us somewhere Major or were all for naught.

This time tomorrow I will either be feeling optimistic or just lost, lost, lost to the whole wide world.

It's the highs and lows of work. I'm taking my thrills however they come, lately.

Sleep tight and wish me luck.

Angelina


the opposite of a wireframe. all design, no feasibility.

Cowboys, Angels, Gansters, Etc.

There is this boy I have known for a few years. Lovely to look at and fragile as a fresco. He's everything cowboys are made of. Gangsters and Angels as well. Tall, broad-shouldered, blue eyes with little lines from squinting and a square and honest jaw.

I think he has to wake up some mornings and check himself out in the mirror and just say

goddamn I'm glad I'm me

But it doesn't matter, really. His affect says otherwise. Every now and again I'll hear from him and I wonder if he has my disorder.

There is a piece of myself that actually keeps scores and ranks based on superficial shit if it is even remotely supported by a spiritual skeleton. That piece of me sometimes thinks that if it looks okay? It can be smoothed out. It could work.

But people aren't paintings or frozen moments in time. People are broken. People are works in progress at their most evolved and noteworthy best.

That's it. That's all we get.

So when once in a while I get a holler from him I wonder if it's that beautiful bookend version of himself hoping not to be left standing solo on the shelf.

Not that I am nearly as lovely.

Not that I am nearly as cool.

Just that on paper I make Perfect Sense.

Blargh. None of this is what I came here to say.

Today I got a Package from a Far Away Suitor. And you know how all this time I've been insisting that it's possible to pay tribute? Moaning to you over and over again about how I'd go to the fire, to the limit come what may if I felt like someone was bold enough to make a thing in my honor?

The heavens heard me.

They answered.

The result showed up at my job today in a plain envelope - I've been a-buzz ever since.

Then I came home and wrote this proposal that's like seven years long and tonight I've got the sense that it's Finally Fucking Done, you know? I've done the damn thing.

All that's left is to sleep through the evening and wake up ready to handle whatever comes my way.

And so I shall.

G'night.

Regarding Socks and Legwarmers

With socks I suppose, it is slightly different. So I will start with legwarmers. Preparing to wear them, I mean.

Almost every time I want to wear The Black Ones, I usually even have a particular set in mind. But I have like six pair. And while searching through the Pile of Clothes That Used to Be the Contents of My Dressers I will find like six *different* black legwarmers in perfectly wearable condition.

By that point I don't care Which Pair. The first mate I find is The Decider.

Everything else about my outfit must fall in line with that.

Fashion's Victim.

When it comes to socks I don't care if they match exactly, they just need to be the same pattern. So one pink and one white strawberry ankle sock works just fine for me.

*********

Sick today. I woke up with an anvil on my chest. I was having trouble breathing. Coughing. A complete loss of steam.

By 5PM I'd had DayQuil and was feeling no pain. Making no sense. But feeling no pain, either.

Upon tomorrow's wakening I'll not wait so long to dose myself. There is a lot to be done.

*********

I'm only lately wanting to ever answer that DFW craving for More that I mentioned earlier. I subscribe to extremes I guess, because those have a better chance of working. Or ruling out a course of action entirely.

I'm a workaholic. I can take my time and never mind for a second that twelve hours has passed and I'm Still Working On the Same Fucking Document. I'd rather do that than send something off into the ether that didn't absolutely give me tingles, you know?

We are what we are doing every second. And as much as people who are already doing what they love to do most and making a comfortable living for themselves by doing it like to insist that ANYONE ELSE can do the same, I call bullshit.

But I don't think it's impossible to love every single thing you HAVE to do. If you're really gangster about claiming the value of every second you are allowed to draw breath.

You don't have a choice, you see.

Better to die like a lion than live like a pussy, I guess is what I'm trying to say.

Bonsoir.

Angelina

jade mountain meditation

i want to go here:




i want to go here:




i want to go here:




i want to go here:




and i want to go here, too:

Temptation

vintage shot from the attic days of 2004

This is either. Hmmm. This is either to one specific person or to the public in general.

This is a missive. Or it is a sign in the middle of an aisle in a drug store that says "Cuidado!" telling you about how they just mopped the floor there and you should be careful or they will catch a lawsuit.

Okay so I am stumbling. Okay so that metaphor was janky.

Too late to make sense.

Too early for me to feel tired.

Instead of 3 AM awakenings I've had 3 AM sleepenings, for the last few weeks. I'm in here in my cherry liqueur filled chocolate candy of a massive bed laying like a pharaoh. Arms across my chest. Calm. Counting camels.

And nothing. Nothing even slightly resembling sleep until I've done a few rituals. The g-rated version says I check my personal email, check my work email, play angry birds, recite Buddha's words, read 2 chapters of Zora Neale Hurston and then just as I'm about to reach some grand new understanding of the world and how I might just fit into it? My eyelids get heavy.

I surround myself with massive down pillows and sleep. I dream of more pharaohs, and what it feels like to be The Chosen One.

I wake up at 6:44 exactly every morning, as well.

And my first thought is that it's a grand time to get out of bed, hit the Bay Club, hamster wheel on the elliptical for 45 minutes and then steam room it for 15 or 20 before showering and heading to work.

But my dream life. It's just so much richer.

So I say to myself that going back to sleep is both easy and great for my spirit.

What follows next is too mundane to go into.

But yes. This is me checking off one of my occasional rituals and issuing a warning.

You see. Well. I'm envious (now - before you read another word of this please be sure to compare the definitions of "envy" and "jealousy" before you go a step further. i chose one on purpose. represent.) of people who are financially comfortable.

And not just in the way that I am. Like. Bills paid, parking citations payable, batteries changeable. All that. Mind you, I am grateful for those things but what inspires envy is a level higher. It's the only thing I am missing.

It's waking up and doing whatever the fuck I want to do with my day every day of the week. It's sleeping until noon but knowing I have until 3AM to finish whatever it is I am working on. It's non-regimented days that play out like a Choose Your Own Adventure storybook. It's the time and resources to make my own art on my own time. Sew superhero costumes. Make feather headdresses. Wear them all to places for no reason.

Yes. That's it. It's The Freedom I envy.

So hearing/watching/reading stories about the freedom and proprietorship of other people that I don't really know and am not invested in just makes me more restless. More envious. More anxious.

It makes me want to take one or two more jobs until I'm assured baller status in five years or so.

But I don't have quite enough hustle. I should be a CEO by now, going by my calendar.

I should be typing this to you from a yacht.

But I'm not.

And while that is okay, being reminded of that fact only makes me more wishful and prone to silly decisions that never pay off in the long run.

We got what we got right now. That's all there is to it.

All is how it is supposed to be. Always. In all ways.

And on that note I'll bid you bonsoir and hope that sleep finds me sooner than later tonight. I have a lot to conquer tomorrow.

Love,
Angelina

Is The Coast Clear?

I reckon it is not. But that's just me practicing best practices (prepare for the worst).

At the same time, I truly am optimistic that it *is* clear (hope for the best).

And thus the circle closes. With both sides of me meeting to agree to disagree.

I really come here with not much else to say except that tonight I actually got to leave work before 8 pm and was totally stoked to get home to watch The Regular show and fucking daze out and flirt with my long distance possibly soon to be in the flesh boyfriend.

And then Ruby. Ruby wouldn't start.

Mind you, I just dropped more than a G getting that totally unsexy boot removed on Friday. So really it was the last thing I wanted to deal with. Like. For real?

So luckily my right hand chick at work hooked me up with AAA and they came and told me my battery was dead and I was kinda like what the fuck and then felt stupid cause apparently? I mean, in case you didn't know this either?

Car batteries just die on you like 3 or 4 years into your relationship with them.

I was absolutely THROWN by this information. The guy told it to me with a wise boy smirk and then called his towing service homie, who then came out and installed a new battery for me.

I am pretty sure he placed a follow up call to mack on me but got my right hand chick instead. Which is actually a pretty funny ending to the story.

All is well that ends well.

But still.

I want right now to be the right now I always wanted right now to be, can you dig it?

In It To Win It

The other afternoon I was on IM with a little bro of mine that I used to work with. I call him secretly "The Little Prince".

He is not from here. He appears to know nothing about a lack of luxury.

I actually envy him that and so am prone to be patient through many decisions and quandaries that I would not suffer in other people because:

a) he has a kickass work ethic
b) he is a gentleman
c) he is all of twenty three years old and any irritations i come across come with the disclaimer that "this too shall pass"

So we have remained friends long past the normal "work friends only" expiration date. But the other afternoon I found myself losing patience as he told me about this business venture he's in on that his family is funding and may not pan out.

I told him that I understand the worries but that he should file them under RPP.

Rich People Problems.

We had a good laugh. Moved on.





Anyway. Tonight finds me lamenting that I just spent a third of my vacation budget getting a FUCKING BOOT removed from my jeep on Friday and I realize that yeah. That goes under RPP too, to a certain degree.

That said, vacation is in August instead of July. Good thing for me flights to Mexico are cheaper then, anyway. I think I've committed to sugary sand and miles of ocean and swimming.

I am only worried about bugs. I hate bugs. I need a bug-free environment. If you have any suggestions in the Los Cabos or Cancun areas that would allow me to not feel threatened by creepy spiders, scorpions, centipedes, crazy urethra invading worms, leeches, rabid toads or flying fucking ANYTHING bigger than your average house fly? Please do inbox me at deetoxic at yahoo dooot com and I'll happily listen.

Two rules: I fly Virgin and I don't want to be surrounded by gringo snobs.





Color me demanding. I'll add contour as needed but I'm pretty sure your first take will be spot on.

Okay and today I made a commitment.

Quite honestly my job has been wrecking me in a million ways lately mostly due to myself and a fear of change that makes no sense at all. I've been on the fence. I've been over-delivering anyway as that is my standard but. Yeah. I could be more present I guess.

But today I went into the office cause of this pitch we are on and I finished off proposals and sent emails and talked to my boss some and in a split second I realized that I actually love that place. Love it. Love how I found it. Love how much they believe in me. Love how much I've learned about myself since I've been there.

Just love it. So I am committed. I gotta help make it all happen.

And also, I need to accept Change. It's almost always been a friend of mine. Always always if you count long-term impact. So why the tense shoulders?

Oh yeah. I need a week on a beach with a daily massage.

RPP.

Getting over myself, I promise you.

Angelina


PS: I really do think I should cut my hair off again and this picture is one of the reasons why, btw.