Tuesday, April 25, 2017


I studied psychology; I have a degree in psychology; but I don't believe in the 'science's' ethics. There is so much unmapped of the mind-- how in the enormity of it all can a singular approach understand an infinite amount of individualistic variables? Based on what? Statistics? So what if you are an anomaly? They do exist. It's also known as Individual

I don't know

Am I that radical? Really?

Why do we teach in nursery-school that snow flakes are great because there are no two alike?

Only to be squished into a cookie mold in a square box; buried

Maybe I should have day dreamed more during class reading of Jonathan Swift

I need a cave

Then I can continue my study of the human animal. And be amazed. From afar

I think I might have more sympathy for them that way

It's too personal when I don't get the mix at all

Science and emotion

Does anyone see a problem here?

No? Just me then.

Let's turn to our emotionalist experts....

The poets.....

Those words can break your heart

What is this then? A type of madness? A neurosis.

We live everyday marching toward our death. In denial. Nobody in the matrix talks about it. The cubicle next to you you only hear music that sounds like sex and violence.

I humbly report today....

within a well

   I dwell today

No hero in sight

but me and the reflection of the Lady of Shallott

Saturday, April 15, 2017

a note to add, because it occurs to my sleepy mind and thoughts to put it down and to mark;

He asks the right questions

"How would you practice?" .....he asks this..... but it is late and I pretend incoherence. Sometimes it is only the relief spent, exhausted of energy that allows the rest to wash over.

Sometimes all you really need is a really good fuck.

I think the world would all be a better place

....and maybe the rest really doesn't have to matter anymore

because all the signs are telling me it's time to let this chapter of my life go, nobody seems to object and, well, there's Eliot to distract me for awhile

When I try and explain to Eliot, he understands. I mean when I say.... when I tell him:

"When you grow up being punished all the time by your authoritative figure.... my parent, as it were.... you grow up feeling that whatever you do is bad and wrong and set up to fail.... you believe it must be that you are bad; just born bad; even though you have no idea why because it isn't because you try to be, in fact when you try it doesn't even matter as the outcome is no different.... fail.... well-- you accept it then; it is inevitable and best to accept rather than believe something that just breaks your heart every time..... I guess eventually after years, as an adult I was totally unconscious that I even did continue to accept this.... because this was now imprinted upon my entire reflection of self.... to my first husband he reiterated this idea and used this to blame me for his right to custody......"

(I sneak some quick thoughts to note on things we speak together about tonight as he steps out the room.....) 

"but I think ....it was when he asked me, 'what did you do to make your father and family hate you so much? It had to have been pretty bad for them to treat you so badly....'

I knew then when he said this that.... he was not my champion

That was the moment he broke my heart. He never saw me. He had no faith in me because he was not emotionally deep enough to understand what I had been through growing up. And he was doted upon and spoiled himself as a child and continues to be even now.... He was a selfish partner. Incapable of empathy.... so I knew my champion would have to be.... someone who could empathize .....

"It has taken me years to realize and recognize that what others have been saying, erroneously as my personality flaw of low self esteem it actually should have been called something else; "Dysmorphic-self-concept."

"Like those fun house mirrors....

"To me, in my mirror, I saw 'bad girl' who only gets hand-me-downs.....

--Because-- yes, I know how to aim high and how to accomplish and achieve .... but not win because.... I will drop the ball before I win and do you know why? because : I was taught to; I was punished when I excelled.... because I outshined my older sister..... and made her seem less than daddy's golden best that was never meant for me to be .... even if I won the right to be

so I grew up terrified of success,"

and through all this he listens

and hears

I know this because it is awhile.... we are both silent

Me with my continuous overflow ....anxious thoughts of a person with a hyperactive mind disorder and too much nervous energy.....

He says.....

"I have been reading your blog...."

Here I stop..... artistic integrity.....

So do I go on writing as if he isn't reading this?

Only, he continues more,
"I think only after having read your writing.... it's the thought patterns that..... are saying the actual....not the facts themselves...."

So I hesitate-- because, for the sake of artistic integrity I am searching for enlightened truth

I mean, Jung said we become our names so ....

In search of pure light; truth through enlightenment-- so I think....

"Because," he says, "I didn't --exactly-- say that --I mean-- as you wrote it...."

An author's prerogative.....

I smile and say,

"It's a story, Eliot.... it's written in code and it's my dictionary

and guess why? For when someone tells me they think they see them self in my characters!"

It is allegory  and not meant as an actual account unless it serves that purpose.

"The literary purpose is searching for personal truth by exposing only when the exposure of this truth is safe to be defined and until then, it is within the shadows cast

that you suspect

the truth therein lies.....

and in that you know

.....you must focus all your instinctive clues towards in order for it to develop in front of you bright as dawn, clear as day and in sharp relief like a black and white scene.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

The real Muse

The real Muse

He sits across from me at my table..... so much has been ---....? Revealed? I am not sure.....

This is so much to try and get my mind around.... so to pen I go to think.... only no pen. They are easily found and indelible. While publicly I go to blab to an anonymous and not existent readers but like those pages blown across a subway floor ..... into one mind it may befall....

to make sense? I don't know. Because if this were truly novel, I'd not read it in first person narrative..... only this is my diary

what would I do different in third person? I would assume more wisdom as expected from an author. Author is responsible for where this plot is going.

But I don't know. Maybe you do. Only, in the craft of writing story; be it for 'film' or literary publishing..... there has to be the crisis where it all is leading to

So, this is not  possible

and my life has crisis so often then it is all many plots for many films

In just one week

which has always been my life-- I had two parents who lived wild and high strung lives. The kinetic energy required to fulfill as much as one of them astounds me; but that he was also a playboy by night..... wooing rich and famous women; notorious and scandalous. My mother was a double Leo. You may think: Jackie-O and Madonna

I have hidden in their shadows

But I have always unwillingly and unwittingly drawn attention to me

I suspect it's because my dominating genes of theirs were the obvious and physical kind. They were drawn to each other for years despite the dangers involved, it was an animal attraction; my mother even told me this.....

So I look like the lovechild product of two notorious people; a bit dangerous and too exotic for anyone's good. I have attracted psychos to me, I have been stalked more than once and I have attracted acts of sexual violence --which I never put out there on my own. I try to hide my looks because I see the way it has wrecked my life. I have been judged by what I look like. And hated.

I don't know what it is about this man-child .... who is exactly the same age as my husband, 34. But I am older than this so I know I have to remind myself-- for so long I forget because I pass easily for that age and younger and so I have been able to get away with immature behavior

to be honest

but I think it was the alternative to cracking up

I needed the ventilation of built up rage of holding my breath; of hiding; of faking smiles.....

to be tormented and ridiculed for how I look-- with nothing else to bargain with to survive, I see the power of what had once been the curse. But I know until now, my undercover guise was only a time to prepare; to study; to evaluate; then to ask what shall it be manifested for? Throwing out to the universe like confetti.


don't know what to do with all this shit--- make it into a beautiful mosaic because I no longer 


               to carry it around


so ...... we look at each other now, as he tells me why he is here on business-- and, it, of course, blows my mind-- but he is being honest, he tells me......


What do I make of my man-child now?

I look at him and I see a young god. He is all golden and beautiful. Tell me why he should look at me? I am already over the dumb social world his generation surf upon. I don't want any of that. So boring. It has no soul at all to me. I want to be close to the Earth more now because it's dying and I have always been an Earth worshipper. I love nature and see beauty in it. As an artist I am most alive nearest the Earth. Hiking, the smell of mud, grass, the texture of a tree trunk, the crunch of dead leaves, pure air

waves.... sand..... warm breeze and then feeling free

Do I ignore that he is actually quite a stalker then?

Do I ignore the fact that he did this-- stalked me, so to speak, for a story--overlook it?

Only, I am drawn in because I am an artist of story.... his stepfather was my father's editor. There is a literary vain that connects the minds at play. He may understand .... or have the potential to because he has already become .... a mused. It occurs to me now that actually ..... it is me who is the Muse

to him

He is by trade..... well, he tells me over these last several days.... also an artist of sorts..... he's writing a screenplay

about me

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

the one they did not see

I see now-- with all of them-- it was always a test of worthiness. At first they seemed they were-- but then they showed, ultimately-- that they were not. I put their esteem above my own. I was expecting too much. And my anger was the disappointment. It was delusion to believe it was the Ultimate Love. I had to know for sure, though--I had to test it. How loyal or strong was their love. Was it strong enough to be unconditional?

I had to test them. It was not even my choice to. It is that I know there are some things that only a love without conditions could accept about me. And until I found the one who really could -- I could not let myself truly feel I could be loved. So I never trusted those loves. I believe, as result, their love was not for the me within; the core; the truth of all I am; because, they go unaccepted by their claims of love. Could not withstand the tests. They only loved the shadow they saw and drew of me. They could not see the one asking to be heard; the one who sought for love the most as this one is the core; the center from where I exist; the true essence of all I am; who I am. And if they could not get it-- then their love was not for the one who stood before them in the flesh. The one they did not see.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Lost Champions & Plan Z

Plan Z

I am beyond.... I don't know what to do, it seems the sign for change I have been waiting for has come-- it's time to act and I'm --so tired

to think of my beautiful child man friend ....I don't know why I should because if he knew what a vagabond I live like I believe he would rethink our acquaintance. Which should tell me I best not take any of this seriously. I mean, if I can't be me with someone then there isn't anything serious happening. Just superficial. A distraction; I'm sure he would agree. Those Brits don't like things when they get sticky.

I'm good with this.... as I say: you're too close

And maybe I will think of something to save the day for myself if I allow a bit of distraction because I need --- just anything; barely holding on

He won't tell me what he does....

    ....so, of course my suspicion is obvious. So I start to Google him

of course

...but am I so stupid?

I pace back and forth over the apartment and I can't look

I don't want to know.... what is wrong with me? Of course he would expect me to. Maybe he even assumes.... in which case I ought to know

should know

but I don't want to know

I am poised and terrified. I don't know what is wrong with me.... because everything else is falling apart

falling down

I lost my car today

last night I felt as if I was at my own vigil. I felt like a ghost. Departing

what shall I do?

I have said often that I live feral; always in combat mode. I have hyperactive reflexes. Doctors are amazed. Quick trigger. Even a total stranger at a store remarked at my speed catching something randomly coming at me. To be honest, I don't know where that comes from. DNA inherited or from growing up in fear of my dad. The 'guard'-- she never sleeps, you see? She always must stay on watch. She is like Morgause in 'Merlin'-- armor and shield; that has been me all my life since 'daddy' and his physical, violent rage at me. I am not wholly ok inside. I know that left some terrible, ugly scar that must be the cause behind my own personal warped traits. Such as this.... I never drop the guard and.... I am so tired

I think I did hope my slipper would be found

But I see it is my tragedy. I really am Electra, you see? That is my real name; I think-- at least in this carnation. I am not sure if I get released of this vice from my core that pierces the center of my being with unnameable agony when this one ends unless I have to achieve an understanding that I may still be stuck on; I don't know, but Lord, I could do with some help just about now. I'm out of reinforcements of every kind

But I think lately.... of what is required of me ....to humble myself? More.

to trust in only those who have earned it and risk telling others why. Humility; ironically by exposure of self. I had only pride to cling to when my father tried to shame me by whipping me and calling me that bad name but

I found pride


when I was less than five

I hated crying in front of him. It was his pleasure.

I had to deny this of him.

This agony.... To know your father takes pleasure in treating you badly

has the danger of stripping you of pride.

I realized this after the earliest of his beatings. And I practiced withstanding tears during pain. I practiced.

Yes? I practiced.... it was hard at first

He said he'd stop once it made me cry because then I could say "I'm sorry".... I never did anything wrong, he never said the real reason I was supposed to be sorry. So I got mixed up trying to recall anything. But I knew the truth inside so I decided to remove myself from his.

This resolve taught me to find my strength and when I was close to breaking that last time.... I made myself laugh and I told him it tickled and could he do it some more

I finally didn't care

didn't feel

I was free

And I won

He went into a rage worse than ever and I made fun of him. I don't know what made me so arrogant but I think I found physical pain is not as bad as shame.... that burn

I grew up knowing that burn

....always-- it prickled, my name shouted like a curse; I felt guilty for breathing, eating, taking up space. I watched them let my sister help herself to gifts people intended for me. Easter baskets, jewelry, anything she thought she needed two of. And this was openly acceptable

..... here I am lost in the sadness that is so Van Gogh

this misunderstood madness

a vision of beauty that maybe others cannot see but it is too late

and I no longer care

I go sit on the bathroom floor and keep the door closed, turn on the fan. It drowns out the world. To hide. I put my head inside the circle of my arms and I cry. I imagine Joan of Arc and wonder that I should let my personal garbage wreck me so much.... I can be stronger; I am stronger; I never needed anybody, I don't need anybody and this is just part of the path. I am on my mission and I embrace the opportunity for solitude.... this way is much better off; 'you're too close'

Yes..... so I think now of Eliot.... and somewhere inside me I feel a moment of quiet. I think of his eyes. Those eyes that break hearts; big guileless boy-child blue eyes. They are wide and look so pure

I am not sure how he learned of my misfortune about my car because I am not talking to anyone right now. I don't want to

unless he has access to my Facebook but I am not aware he has

he sends me a text asking if I am ....ok ?

and he's sorry for what happened

hmm, define ok

the truth is no

this is why I am crying on the bathroom floor with my head in my arms searching for Father. Breaking
     like final shards already quite broken in a box of glass Christmas balls that belonged to great grandma.... dust

in the light you see they sparkle; those glittery shards

I always wonder about the lives of the ancient world ....they existed

do we matter? do we all leave behind prints?

Am I ok? There is no reply. I think it is too late for ok

It's plan Z now

I don't know who I am but somehow it is not a bad distraction to wonder who is Eliot....

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Mad hatter matter & ....me

And so I find myself

      .... like Alice through the looking glass

and fallen into the mad hatter's garden party

His text was to tell me that he was on his way over.....

I feel like I must have tripped over .....the live wire fantastic. Because I don't understand what is happening here at all, but it feels like ....I have already read this somewhere. In a book. All covered in dust. And you find it in the public library, that was built and dedicated to....

only I am Cinderella grown up because they never found my slipper

He shows up to apologize --is he madder than a mad hatter? There is something I am so drawn to about him. It is like he stepped off my page or came out from my ear while I was redreaming. He's physical-- when he enters a room he commands his space that way athletes do. He is big, but he has a model's face. He looks like a young Viking prince, and it is so strange, because it feels like I knew him once. I meet people in my life often who trigger a vague memory of something that came from my dream waking mind. I remember people. There are stronger parts of these memories in connections to certain things. All my lovers have been familiar; wait....not all, no, but the important ones were.

None of them made sense to me. The attraction is a force that seems to recall guides to me or vice versa. I always want to run away. I never want these. They suck me dry like soul eating vampires.

and then I am tagged as the dragon lady

I am so tired....

We have been together over 24 hours straight..... now.... the last person in the world I would ever expect myself to have broken my nun-code for.

So I am self-conscious, yes? And he thinks this is something to tease me about.

Wicked brat ....and he only gets away with this because he's so cute.

Bloody hell,


No. no. Nothing has happened! Nothing, really. I don't need to chastise myself, so.... hmmm, so, here's the thing.... he comes over. Did I write before that it is the middle of the night? My place is not prepared for ....

I am not very keen on his being personally aware of my financial reality. (Keen? That is his word! Why am I saying this now?) ....I saw a funny thing I want now on e-Bay; it's a pendant necklace with this inscription : you're too close.

They call it 'Emo' ? Was I really born in the wrong generation or am I just really immortal?

At least just faery.

So Eliot makes fun of me, he brings over chocolate ice cream from 7/11 because I mentioned it's my favorite. He buys me four of them and some other odd choices that are more to his own delight. He wants to tell me about himself and when he discovers that I have no tv and no computer, he goes to get his tablet to watch movies with me.

"I think I should be afraid of you," I tell him, but I eat the ice cream. He has actually taken over my kitchen and makes me a hot fudge Sunday because he got whipped cream and other things. It is impossible to turn this down, I have priorities, of course, about chocolate, I mean.

The whole time I watch him I am thinking: if he were ugly and my age would he be in my apartment fixing me a bowl of ice cream? The answer is in the question.

"So why do you think this, my lady? I have only been completely honorable .... ok, except that I know I did not tell you straight off that my step father knew your mother."

I laugh. Only, it sounds shockingly like a giggle because I am saying,
"so, that would mean that we're almost like cousins."

"No, it means exactly the opposite, little nutter, and, it means we don't have to worry about going through the formalities of acquaintance initiation.... we are essentially....." (I have mentioned he has the flare for drama?) "from the same circles."

"Hmmm, how do I know you are who you say you are?"

.... he has big guileless, almost child-like eyes.... they are the kind that can haunt your heart after he has broken it. He knows it too, he knows his power. But Eliot; he needs and begs description; like his aristocratic golden beauty: the slant of the Norman bones beneath wide arctic blue eyes that follow the slant but is behooved by the personality traits he relies on as his best secret weapon; his prerogative to be crass if he's up to it.... because just as easily he flips the switch and turns to charm in one blink. Charm is a very powerful tool.

So he feeds me ice cream while making fun of my cats now,
"I am afraid of him because I think he might mistake me for a meal, or parts of me."

I don't know.... how to respond so I say,
"Why did you become interested in all of this; me; etc ...."

"Because he told me about everything and.... about you...."

I am waiting for the rest. But nothing comes. Instead, he is just looking at me. Starring at me. He is looking at me the way I saw him look at me at the shop that day.

He has his head tilted to one side slightly and he looks with a funny twinkle in his eyes. He dazzles; when he smiles a certain way, he has dimples, and when he wants to use them, he does. They are not possible to resist and I am sure he has practiced this trick all his life. Only, what does he say? Do you know what he says?

"I always wondered what you would be like.... you're so beautiful.... do you know that? Look who your father was, I knew you would be....you  know, Beth, you don't look your age."


I say,
"I don't understand what you are talking about, Eliot. What do you know? I mean, about me? I thought you.... wait--I'm confused...."