Sunday, November 20, 2016
Friday, November 11, 2016
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
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.
I find myself exhausted of faith ....at 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
Sunday, March 13, 2016
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.
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....!"