Friday, November 11, 2016

as a wizard

It is not a question about if I am inspired

I'm always inspired

I just don't believe there is a point to the purpose of my doing it

Does it entertain? Does it heal humankind? Is that even possible anymore. Was it ever? I know this is what Michael Stipe meant about losing my religion. Wasn't there a book or movie about some barbaric tribe moving through a cultural city and trashing it? It feels like that to me now. All refinery is lost. It means nothing. It is worth only what stock market value means.

I am so disgusted. Humanity.... I don't know .... there is only to run away. Run so fast that I don't have to think and take flight off a pier, jump out of this plain; this level. Feel the hate, it is like a live wire of toxins you inhale.

These first one hundred years of mortality have been difficult. But then, I have never lived a hundred years yet. They say that it gets easier a few times later. By your third century.

I just don't know if I have that kind of stamina.

You live between two worlds. It is easy to do if you know how. It is the only way I have ever been and that is before I encountered the count.

It seeps into the bones, the grief of millions; I feel it. You can hear it because it becomes nearly even visible.

I am the hapless heir apparent
Immortal Orlando Dorian de Sade the Count Van Pyre.....

I am a shapeshifter; can change genders too

I am predominantly one gender more than the other but I won't say which. You would have to guess. It was after the transition into.... what happened, I mean what it is that made me immortal. I haven't ever written about this before, I use only what can be easily disposed but sometimes....

There is one place that has been where all records of this have been kept. One of the few places where it is possible to camouflage with history. This is where I read the histories of this legacy and curse.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Beth after Bran

Life after Bran

There had once been adventure wrapped up within the words of notorious authors.  I do not see this now. Now to me when I look upon these books so familiar to me.... they are.... my oldest friends because they have been with me since my formative years.... no, to me now.... they make me sad. They make me feel that perhaps they missed somethings in life by hurtful actions to others.

You see, it was something like this when I found I admired Scarlet O'Hara while I found myself appalled by her actions. I think I liked her power; the way she was an object of desire to men but instead of becoming a pawn to gentlemen from the old world Southern society, she figured out how to use each of her admirers to her own advantage.

I was always too moral to imitate the fictitious behavior of a heroine I admired but I always thought about what Scarlet would do in any given situation in which I found myself at a disadvantage. From there, I adjusted it to fit my own ideas of acceptable behavior.

I see now that my mother was the most like Scarlet O'Hara than anyone I have ever known. My mother had skewed morality. That I found I could never excuse.

I only mention this to explain why I find myself so wrongly judged and so wrongly executed by my most bitter undoers. Because I consider every action inside and out; examine and analyze; obsess.... and it seems that it is easier for others to manipulate truth to back up their own cruel and unusual abusive actions; defined and defended by themselves as just.

Just.... assssspersion.

I find myself exhausted of faith times. Of those people whose actions became of most detrimental consequence to me. Consequences. Over and over the judgement in their eyes as they justify to me why I deserve their cruel verdict is cast at me with this absurdity of righteousness!

Judgement. What Machiavelli spell has been given sway over the winds that swept to ruin my life by demon philosophy?

And why have I become so acclimated to remain calm in the face of my own burning stake?

Am I channeling emotions into a discourse of philosophy? Because if it is possible to be so dehumanized for others not to recognize their own cruelty while identifying any of the faults in question instead as unprovoked, malicious actions, deserving of the worst punishments.... why are the rights of one favored over the rights of another? Or rather, recognized even at all....

So, I do not feel a kinship any more to my femme fatals. The misidentification of being leant The Scarlet Letter by someone years ago who might have felt his judging irony missed its target of insult, may be best highlighted to me how often a Mary Magdalen is colored in the light of a scapegoat, depicted by the self-blind-sighted party that eventually believes their own political slogans as the word of God.

Bran is behind me. Dean? I do not know..... where.... to ..... put

He changes and.... Jekyll and Hyde --and it is like dealing with ....mist.

What is real? What was real?

He asks me over and over why I have chosen this life I am living. A life that is solitary for which I am forced to be self-sufficient, even though my means are --insufficient. He tells me I chose this. That it was nothing to do with his violent behavior that he says is exaggerated by me. Even as he has conversations with me that he does not recall. At least the texts can be saved and shown as proof, but the conversations are not as easily documented as reference.

I have been in communication with him. A lot of it has been positive but

....his amnesia of his own actions stands like a solid iron door

Sometimes it feels.... it is like these things are showing themselves to me by some Virgil who is guiding me invisibly to see where I have been blind.... in order to confront

Worse now because the directness of the bitter illuminations is focused and more potent after fermentation.

Sometimes I wish ....for one more chance with one lost fairytale.

Only sometimes, which is too bad because, that was the only firm faith that kept me grounded in believing in why. Why at all. Faith in illusion

Faith in illusion. Faith is illusion. I picked fairytales because that has been the fortress. My fiction. My mythology.

I acquired Scarlet O'Hara's power but not for sport. Necessity. I think of Anais Nin as she described June.

I find I doubt now that Nin got it right. It could be that June was merely seen distorted as it suited Nin.

It was the unexpected fleeting thought of this one day that crystalized for me that this is how women's actions are turned against them. If you isolate the actions from the events that lead to them, we are seen as monsters. And then hanged after the judgement is delivered by the enemy manipulating all the laws of subjective truth.

No one can be trusted ....but I keep holding on to the hope of finding somebody loyal to me to put my faith in.

Today... I feel like ....a stone. Cold and stunned utterly to the level of vacancy. Today, too, I look back at a year ago and

What. Not a reprieve to waste my time and energy but instead the sobering remoteness of my perspective ....and it becomes.... my most dependable confidant, cold in its indifferent embrace

Friday, July 15, 2016

saving the world & Mona Lisa*


It was a Friday; worked all day and went to gym after..... 

Courtney has an epiphany while walking. She watches clouds in the sky. It is a blue sky that is perfect but below are thick white clouds. She watches the clouds because she's going nowhere fast. Treadmill. Going nowhere fast. 

There is a gull that flies by, it looks silver in the brilliant light because the sun is battling out the clouds. Good and evil. There has been new disaster now in France. This time Nice. It makes her depressed. What has become of this world? Is there anything left to say or any way to make it all better? She always thought she could save it.

Sometimes she thought she wanted out. Just wanted out. Sometimes she still does. 

Today it was hot and driving to work with the windows stuck closed up.... and no AC; she felt like her brain was melting. 

Maybe it was because this just makes her tense. 

But she looks up at the clouds. She gets a sick feeling because she sees something ..... she has her headphones on.... 

her bands become the soundtrack to her life and lately it's been this band because there was something about the energy of the songs, the unusual pace, that beat.... that has been keeping her going, like a machine pumping her heart.... for her ....because she didn't feel like she could anymore; 

all faith in people all tapped out. And the singer's voice is the guide through her brain, pulling her through her scenes of inner hell, clearing her way past all her demons, eyes closed and going nowhere fast, the voice like Virgil and Orpheus and on the tv screens all over the gym, the news is on everywhere. Everyone is looking at the images of things that look like the end of the world. It's surreal. It scares her. It's like that movie Independence Day.

But this is what scares her as she looks up again: among all the heavenly pure white clouds there is a dot that grows that forms into an ink black cloud. It is above in the midst of all fluffy white. She gets a chill. She watches this cloud grow. Before it showed up in the sky there had been only big beautiful white puffy clouds.... the voice that guides says, 'you can sit beside me when the world comes down'* as she watches the clouds in the sky ....get absorbed by the black cloud

she watches, the sky turns grey in front of her; vision drowning; for the world. It mirrors fears of total obliteration of her own meaning.

When she gets home after, later she will text to Jim that she doesn't feel well. And beg off their date, she doesn't want to go out. And she will feel bad knowing she's being mean to someone but she just can't help it. 

But right now she is thinking of her Zack, thinking of the way they always walked together, their trails.... convinces herself to think of something else fast, anything, anything to avoid the morass she takes there and back. She forces back the dam; she wills it away with the muscle that comes from watching fairy tales end just the voice holds her. Now. Because it is human and there is feeling which reassures her that maybe she's not the only one and lets its harmony pull her down a quiet stream; safe and cool under a canopy of leaves.... still going nowhere on the treadmill.... and thinking: isn't it strange? There are people all over this huge room and there is a row of people all walking to nowhere. And behind her another row of people on bikes going nowhere. This begins to freak her out.... 

No. And wills it away, mind glued to those thoughts defended behind armor, within the canopy, within the voice that pulls her. Somebody said yesterday that music can make you high. Did anyone ever doubt that? Of course it does. It is the one place she could fall into and fully let go to. The only place. It was the only art she couldn't do; no natural skill for music. No doubt why it was that she loved it. She could turn off her thoughts and let the mystery flow over and overflow her mind.

So she thought about her husband. She missed his music. The way he would play his guitar, the warm sound he gave it. So she thought about him and the end of the world and so many conversations they'd had about this kind of thing. For all his negative qualities there was one very amazing quality beside his musical gift and his wit and.... the way he moved against her that was better than anything-- no this was that he never wavered in his love for her. But that was never the issue really. It was more that if she mattered enough to him than why didn't he take better care of himself--get help? Why did he let their life fall to ruins? Why was she left rowing the boat alone? 

turning her back on the end of the world as Tyson says, 'if we can change the weather, if you wanted to yourself, and if you can't I guess we all need help, yeah I need help....'*

She thinks of her husband and wished he could understand that phrase.... but that is the mystery of his genius. 

They have been separated for over a year, almost two, she realizes. It's been a whole year since he moved away. She left him and then he left the state.

What could their life ever be to make that work? She tried to image. Right now there had been no drama in her life since he left. Her life was not the disaster it was when she lived with him. The liquor bottles everywhere, tripping over beer bottles, blowing more money on weed and abusing his medications. 

Sometimes you gotta go, you know? Even though your heart still loves. 

She walks to nowhere as the world comes down and sees a text come on to her phone from him. She looks at the sky. It's turned blue again. It's a sun shower now and everything looks fresh and clean.

When she walks to her car she thinks about all the men she's dated since Zack and she broke up.... and thinks about why she just can't.....she can't can't 

She lets the sunshower rain on her 

feeling distracted her thoughts

Her latest persuer is texting her. Yesterday he seemed great.... But then, so did that other guy, and they prabably really are, she supposed. 

her thoughts stand over a half dead horse 

What if they just always lived seperately? Be like those Bohemian writers she always admired....

But then he'd get evicted ....and wind up staying over and never leaving. And their life would go to pot. Back as it was, taffy thoughts and those questions from everyone asking her when were they going to be divorced ....every time someone asks her about that she doesn't say anything. Just shrugs. Because she can't somehow and none of this makes any sense, and yes she knows that. What does make sense anyway?

She should go out. Everybody says and she has more admirers now than when she actually 
cared, why does that happen that way? .... but looking up and he'd be walking towards her, the way he smiled, would say his nickname for her and open his arms....thinking about the better times, and where they go? She pulls into park and heads to her place saying no. No, stop. Gets the mail, she wills thoughts to neutral. Falls shattered but sound inside the music turned up to deafening. Home. 
'If we can burn a city, in futures and in past
Without a change our lives will never last
Cause we're going fast....'

She blends into the harmony singing--deaf, totally high, like that seagull flying across the sky all silver in the sunshine.

'You can sit beside me when the world comes down.'*

Maybe tomorrow she can save the world 

*Mona Lisa --song lyrics and Real World  from All American Rejects ❤️ 

😘thank u t.r. (i went4it)

Sunday, March 13, 2016

gravity from rebounding; Beth reflections

It has been over a year and I have not been with anyone and I think every time when I consider what I want to do with my free time, maybe be social or meet someone but no.... I don't want hands leaving clammy trails on me, the idea repulses me.

It has not been worth the trouble to be honest. I could care less. I think this strangely makes me more appealing to people--they see someone who is completely bored with the chasing game and fantasies of romance who is preoccupied. 

What am I preoccupied with? Survival. To just make it to next month without being any thinner. My clothes no longer fit me and I can't afford to buy any that do. So I see a world most people don't. People talk about food constantly. I try not to think about food, but then they tell me about a meal, share a picture. I go on Facebook and you see more friends with piles of food everywhere. My stomach growls and I get nauseated because it's been too long since I ate and water begins to make me sick on an empty stomach. Even the apps on my phone have food advertisements, close ups too.

The world I see is very different, yes. I don't even feel. I guess it's better not to. I'm not miserable actually, I feel like my body knows what to do with the nutrients I do give it and I think animals were built to survive on reserves if you choose well when the opportunity comes. I know that I am a survivor because I learned that young; the instinct.

It is 'Hugo' I find myself thinking about lately because.... enough time has passed.... it was one day ....something inside me shifted.... and I felt such a  terrible sadness.... it was for him. I had the most heart breaking image in my mind of him-- it was so awful... and I can't write about it. It was too awful.

I felt so sad. For him. For him. And it killed me. The kind that you cannot turn off. You see, I have been so angry at him. All this time. That anger over why he just gave up. How he just let it all fall apart and then blamed me. I fucked up the money he would say. And I know that everyone must believe him.... especially believe him that I was this Jezebel whore.

But it doesn't matter, not that because those people mean nothing to me. His thug family; one of my therapists called them that. Well, it fits, and all those people there.... that thug town. But 'Hugo' was never like them, that is why they never understood him and never will. I knew after a year both sides would see the other without the nostalgia of the other.

I don't know what I've been doing all this time since I left. 

I don't regret leaving. I know that the only way he was ever going to get out of that rut he dug himself into was if he faced his past with his family and childhood neighbourhood. Because he romanticised all of it and they did about him too. But they were awful to him growing up. And awful to him since I've known him. His pain stems from here. 

Not me.

The only way he will be able to be happy with himself or in a relationship is if he looks at the ways they hindered his paths. Once they are both aware why he is so deplete of hope and prosperity and look in the mirror.... well, I don't actually look as bad as they do by comparison. Even his best friend let him down numerously our years together. I am preferred as the scapegoat, of course, but I think eventually it will be time to correct their logic.

I had not let myself think about him since he left. Long after Bran, too. And then I realised I've been lying to myself. Even the attempts to date, my heart was never in it. I've been lying all this time to myself.... it's crazy to me how I can make myself believe something.... but I guess this is how I survive; I can brainwash myself.... until one day I wake up aware of feeling empty, because it wasn't real; just distractions to avoid something else. Rushing into anything.... All of that.... had only been rebound. I was so angry at him, I wanted to replace the disappointment with the first thing that fell into my lap. And my daughter.... Jamie--she ....was just the last straw. I feel like I've gone hardcore rogue.

But it is ok. I have survived. I am strong. Stronger than Vera who only knows how to run away. And brag. And be spiteful. To name one of my old friends from my life. Past. I see those people I once filled my life up with.... were choices I'd made when I didn't know how to give myself credit. I picked friends with huge egos and who were the most selfish people masking their selfishness with acts of flamboyant generosity for themselves to look good but were not necessarily ever the best choices to really help me by their actions. So in the end punished me with brutal opinions of me and my life. I won't name or list.

At first I reeled over this sense that everyone turned their back on me.... but I see it is only because they grew bored. And bored of the guilty reminder.

But this is how I am purging myself of people like that. It wasn't of my doing to but-- now I can see I'm better off without any of the people from my past. None of them. 

One day it was clear. 

I have been waiting 

        I think that is really what I have been doing. 

What do I mean to him? Do I mean anything? If I ever did.... if he really truly ever loved me.... but if he just lets me go too then that means he was also a fraud.... we were always broke, yes-- I don't think that has to have been but I don't think he could have been different while carrying his albatross. But if he truly loves me as he has said then.... he will find his way back to me and want.... to and want me more than ever 

     and then it will be worth it because he will want it to be better.... and I won't ever feel like his coffee maker or toaster because.... he will sound the way he sounded the other night on the phone when he said, 

"you know, Beth, you're pretty great....!"