Sunday, May 1, 2016

note on the st lost stranger


was i not good 2 him enough/tell me
what more could i have done/or did i go 2 far
may b just the passing of a star
my ❤️ was once so strong/
it once knew exactly where 2 b long
....but now beenwandering the sts 
late at nite/all nite....these daze,
flying way up in2 outer space.....
tell me how 
could i have done it right/tell me how 
i could have done it all right/& tell me y
if u can,
y i always fail the test/fall
short of all requests 

i think i'm losing my way 
down 
so way down 
getting so washed away/away downtown/
where r u these daze?
this landscape is so m t 

y don't u walk w/ me awhile?
 b/c i 
can't stand 
I just can't stand/can't understand/so kill
me now w/ those electric beams I stand
b f @ your gate
b/c this just won't dissipate 

b come the angel & the star 
& 1 day i'll find
where u r b/c
i'm not n e where
w/o u

dawn falls across his face

dawn falls across his face 
i watch the light grow
as the designs move and fall
making shadows
and with each new pattern 
that falls
i see other faces i have known;
they change from gentle 
and become fierce or serene
of pure brilliant changing scenes
   it is the sweet illusions
     i have seen
but it is the secret room 
    we have shared
....and always dripping down 
      my fingers 
the recognition always becomes clear 
as the focus of his eyes
 
      i can rise out of the breaking 
      death of night, take flight 

      mourning knight 
                shades
                    of dawn 
....today he reaches for me 
 & with his touch i am reborn
no more to mourn 
 released from the vise 
  like the awakening of light
that should come with dawn

it is his kiss that wakes me 
takes me from the darkness 
sow the hole
and quiet
the willow of my soul
   and trace his down the path 
to his lips
   as dawn falls across his face
      

Saturday, April 30, 2016

oh no.
so confused....

i just woke up.... have to get out of here 

........


i know it was just a dream.... it made me wake up and I had to be alone. 

so i left 

but it's confused me and now I feel so sad. it was the dream i just had. I mean before 

fell asleep there
        --i had to leave 

it's raining and i'm sitting in my car confused 

i feel so empty 

it was so real. this dream. so strange. like i forgot where i was and with who. and i guess i thought it was someone else because of the dream. I had to get out of there. because now i ....feel so sad.... what does it mean when you dream about something you believed ....
 i think i lost something 

something i really needed. and now it's too late 
 i guess it doesn't matter 
      it doesn't 
   tomorrow i will make myself forget again, no-- now, because i know what to do 
 it just takes proving i know how to triumph in extinguishing my connection to pain, one drop is enough to prove it and i will make this go away 




changing positions; impersonations; roles;perspective in areo not always hind-sight


Ithink I saw “Ckoz” the other day at Trader Joe's. I mean, youdon't see someone who looks like that every day, he really standsout, you know? So I caught a glimpse of this guy down the isle I wasstanding in. He looked high. Which would be normal for him,considering where I know him from. It has been so many years since Ilast saw him, I had only been in Michigan not quite a year yet. Sopeople look different a bit older. But there is one thing distinctiveabout Ckoz, you just don't see everyday and it goes perfectly withhis personality because he is a proud odd ball by choice. Tallcaucasion with two feet long blond dredlocks and always strangelysuntanned. I think he once told me he liked to surf. He also had thecoolest cat ever and I liked his place. Very earthy, like he is; alltextures and brown and beiges. A beautiful guy if I ever saw one,those bones across his face and the surprise of brown eyes that areso warm you instantly fall in love. I remember I wished I could havedated him and he kept following me with his eyes so I could tell itwasn't just me. So, of course, over the years I've always wonderedwhat happened to him. It always seemed strange to never bump into himagain.

Alsofunny to maybe see him there. Where my husband used to work. So itwas a bit startling to me, I don't exactly know why. Because I keptsearching for him again down the isles, not intentionally, but kindof checking as I was getting stuff. So I see him again. By now I knowhe sees that I am looking at him. And I keep looking in case herecognizes me back. Because I am not sure if it is him. I guess Ithought maybe he would recognize me and solve the question for me.Only, you have to consider: it has been all these years now and backthen I was with someone he worked with so he may have no realrecollection of me. But I guess if he was attracted to me then hewould still be now because I am still the same type of whatever itwas about me he liked so it could be that reason that he is lookingat me too with a longer glance than most people do in grocery storesin passing unless they are interested in making a pass. I realizethis last part as a kind of 'whoa!' dizzying sweep. I force myselfback into why I am at Trader Joes in the first place and how I havebeen doing so great avoiding those situations that would turn out tocomplicate my life. I didn't see who he was with, but he was withsomeone and it could have been girl friend or mother, I really didn'tbother to take it in because I was more curious to know if it was himor not. I guess, because, if it is him, than maybe the chances ofbumping into him again are just as likely to happen again. Whichwould be cool. I guess, I could increase my chances of this if I wentto Trader Joe's every day starting by the end of the week when hewould need food again. And he would shop there because he was also avegetarian.

ButI don't really want to bump into him, of course! I mean, if he hadcome over to me there and flirted with me, I might have had anaccident getting home because I can't handle shit like this. And if Iremember, there was something in his eyes that was extremelyintruding and he didn't even try to hide it. That secret propositionin the amount of time it takes for that other person to turn away intime to ask. And just as quickly hidden as soon. And it would havebeen so simple and arranged. But my husband always sensed things likethis and impeded the slightest opportunities. Not that I blame him,his friends all, mostly, turn out to be dogs who would and werelikely to. And, as we know, did. And it is inconvenient to bedreaming of someone else when you are with this other person, not tomention depressing having to face the knowledge these feelings existwhen you just want a peaceful relationship with your current partner.Uncomplicated and smooth, no conflicts, no power games.

Workingon this story plot.....
So,ignorant of her position, enthroned on a pedestal, he admired herfrom afar with the pathos of a devoted lover. But this was not theearthly love, you see. It was even more valuable as somethingintangible, the torture made the work he did of her his best work ofall. He had had her that night. And that night was scorched inhis mind indelibly as something to be unequaled. She was perfectionto him. And nothing at all like his mother. Which, perhaps, shouldhave been mentioned first.

Forher, it was a different painting. She saw his sea of loverscome and go, paraded in front of her. None of them were her.Secretly, she hated every one of them. But then felt evil for feelingthat way and then sunk into depression over this. She would write inher journal, today is the anniversary of the day I met Christ. Theday, I guess, when I gave my heart to Christ.....
*****************



Butshe wasn't writing that today.

Shesat in a quiet, little coffee shop just down the street from thegallery where Christoff's exhibition was going to be. Everyone hadgone out to lunch, which usually meant they would be back in no lessthan two and a half hours or later; usually closer to three fifteen,sometimes four. They always invited her to go with them. They likedto go to places they picked randomly from Zagat's, which, neveroffered the cuisine she personally liked. She liked things that werehealthy; herbal teas, grains you could see and do sketches of;alfalfa sprouts on sandwiches. She liked textures and color and foodnot bathed in sea salt or chemical alternatives to sugar. Or sugar.So, they all thought she was weird, which she was already used to bynow. She wasn't really a people person. Which was the main reason shecame up with all the other excuses, even though they were true. Ofcourse, she could be the social butterfly for an event forChristoffe, like at his exhibitions. But that was work. And it wasexhausting for her. She was very good at it too, she knew thedrill on social mingling and social ques, knew how to be charming andhow to be a popular host. She had spent years watching her mother andshe was the best; she could have taught Martha Stewart a thing ortwo.

Todayshe sat by a window in the little coffee shop, her laptop open typingthoughts. It was like a diary. Only it wasn't a diary. Or it was adiary but it wasn't her diary. Not actually. But it had all heremotions, it had experiences that she had, and then it also wasallegory. It told a story. Stories. Because she loved a good story.It was her best hiding place since she was four or five. It was whatspinach was to Pop Eye. It was easier for her to lose herself in astory; stories. The stories were links to her. Or the other wayaround. She was linked to stor--

someonebumped her arm passing by her table and made her hit a key. Fuck! Shesaid under her breath, because she hit something that made somethingweird happen and whatever she was just working on had magically beensucked through a byten off vortex.

Itwas her story. It was where her real self was. Broken off fragmentsof selves. Those selves seemed like those corners you turn in alabyrinth where it comes to a sudden stop; dead end; false turn drop;down a rabbit hole that goes on and on only she is looking for whento get off, hoping to soon recognize the right....

Foundit!” she says out loud with relief,” looking at the file she hadaccidentally closed, last paragraph unsaved and lost. Shit.... sherefocused and went back to her document. She wrote some story about agirl named 'Electra.' ..... and so she wrote, sitting at the coffeeshop which would become something she did almost every day, sittingat the same spot.....








itwas days later and he couldn't get her voice out of his head. Therewas something about it, the treble or tone that was so unlikeanyone's voice he ever knew. If it could be described as wood, itwould be mahogany, he thought. What are the chances that she moves toNew York just as his band starts their world tour. By the time hecame back, she said there was some exhibition they were doing inSwitzerland and expected they would be there for quite some time asthat was one of Christoff's home bases, besides Denmark. Maybe it wasjust as well, maybe some things are better off left to not everdiscover the mystery. Keep the wonder and the fantasy alive instead.Still, every time they boarded a plane he would work on Otokonoko.Sometimes he and Goki went skateboarding together and would keeplooking around for Fuji Juji hoping that she would add something toit. But she hadn't signed on to AnimeAmi in a few weeks. He got sometexts, a few a day, but she was always pressed for time because theexhibition was getting close and she had to finish a lot ofpaintings.


Electracontinues.....

However,there is one person in history, an author from another century that Ihave heavily identified with to the point, sometimes that it feels asif I wrote the words I read. It is a strong heart strung pull withinthat feels, actually like it jolts my very center of being And when Ilook at this person's life, I see that so much of what I try daily topurge myself of could easily be related to the horrors of his life.And it would almost help me to better understand my own emotions andidentity confusions that I m so in need to purge myself of. But itis, of course, quite ridiculous. And yet, it would also explain myattraction to that particular art movement and I feel more at easeamong objects from that time period, like I am trying to recreate mypast life comfort zone. It breaks my heart to read about his life atthe humiliating end and his words of pitiful shame. It echoessomething inside of me. Since I discovered him at age 14, I felt thisrecognition of self.

Maybefor the point of Literature we can explore this as a fictitious possible reality. Or for the point of a psychological study done inself portrait from observation desk: “objective.” because,easily, this could be a helpful tool. Freud would disagree but Jungwould applaud.

because,certainly, it would not be Vita, although I would find her attractivein either carnation. But I would have loved to have been Garbo, butshe was still alive long after I was born. She is a woman I admire, Ithink she is my favorite of all my role models growing up. I lovedher for her independence, her choice to remove herself from thepublic, the fact that this made her even more sought after, her styleand her mystery. What an amazing role model to have by a woman? Sheknew how to use her most useful tool to her life's best benefit andeveryone else didn't mind. She was interesting and different and notafraid to be who she was and then ultimately shun the world. I loveit. She is my queen. For that matter, Madonna too, unabashedly.


Doesn'tit blow your mind when you've just had the most amazing sex withsomeone? Lately.... it's been more than a few times a week. At least2016 has turned out to be my most sexually liberated year. And thereis a lot to be said about being sexually satisfied and notemotionally confused. No, it is not about control, it is aboutfreedom. Sex can totally clear your mind of all the other shit, eventhings you thought really mattered once, those things become likeshadows and you wonder why it mattered. There is something so sincereand so human about the tactile, living in the now. Human. Sharingthat with someone. In the moment, close and warm, flesh to flesh andmelting like one. I'm so happy. There is no need to have to use wordsor worry about tomorrow. No excuse to make about acceptance that herenever has to apply or even the need to remove the armor or questionsabout definitions or deviant roles. I think we all make it all morecomplicated than it has to be. Whatever it lacks, I can create. Myfaith in trust lies where it should: in the self. You becomeinvisible on the portrait wall, because they pass right by you everyday; to become an object of possession you are instantly ignored. Inever signed anything that claimed I wanted to be auctioned off. Ibelong to me. You have wanted me, but I am mine, I never gave myselfaway, no brand was burned into my flesh and I decide my own path; Iam me, I am mine; I belong to me and I am fine as long as I keep thekey not where it can ever be found. With my secret.

Howmuch of this do I tell.... how much of this is Electra, or herdictionary.... how much of this do I tell ….how much do I tell?

maybeif you dare me.
but, eventhen, you won't be sure if I just made it up


it'sgetting late. I have to get ready, later in a few days maybe

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

a thousand lashes to my soul



tortured soul


It is my secret that haunts me. It is terrible; horrible. I wasn't going to work on here for a while as I have to stay focused on the manuscript. Now I realize I need a place to put some things. To reflect. I also see it has backfired, my habit to run from past selves, how I like to destroy things I've written about painful memories because I want to wipe the memory from my mind and erase it entirely. As if I could. But I lose all my points of reference, don't I? I have no documentation now of …..which was the whole point to writing it down. While living in NY, I threw out six boxes of journals starting from day one of my writing history that began at age nine. I'd kept everything. And I'm sure it was all there. Written on the walls. All over the walls.


I say over and over that this story I write is about identity. Because, it is. And people may wonder why going through life every day wondering about how life may have been had the discovery of my identity ever happened; wonder why it should matter.... but it becomes a crucial necessity when your only source of self came from an abusive background.

What's in a name?” 

You've got your mother in a whirl; she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl.

Ego and id. 




That was yesterday

it's been so strange lately. Like even just now, typing strange and the keyboard gets stuck on 'a' for some reason. That is the way things have been going lately. Like everything I touch disintegrates. Before getting gas, the pump kept stopping all the way through and something seemed a bit funky-off about Herbie too but I won't say so maybe it'll just go away.

I go look in the trunk just now, which is also my 'storage unit' and I see this old postcard sent to me at Bard College. That time one of my dad's colleges fell in love with me and he always used to send me love letters. My parents actually encouraged this (I was still a minor), but anyway, I find his old postcard to me and my school's address. The unexpected confrontation of a past self sends me through a time warp. Where I always get lost. I was looking for my three pound weights. I find the glue gun I've been looking for instead. Finally, I find both weights, but as I go to reach for the second one-- and it is pitch dark out, you see-- I guess the handle was under this other thing. This other thing is what you use to change a tire. Well, this thing hits me in the head. Like hard. I felt myself start to black out but caught myself. So now, I’m sure that I am going to have a serious bruise right at my right temple. I will look like I got beat up. But my hair covers it.

Tomorrow morning, at 8 AM I have to go to the dentist. It seems that I have been grinding my teeth again at night. I didn't realize this until the day before because my jaw is so sore. So, I don't know what happened but somehow in the middle of the day I realize I broke my very back tooth from grinding my teeth so much. Oddly, I felt so much pressure off my jaw. Actually, this tooth has been throwing off my bite since I got wisdom teeth. Last night I felt all this releasing of tension from my jaw and around my neck. So, its freaky that I just broke a tooth and all because this has never happened to me but suddenly one of my most painful areas of my neck feels a fraction relieved of pain. But still, I am worried that maybe my nerve may be exposed now or that I could get an abscess so I got an appointment right away. 

I don't think I really have considered that I am recovering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Each day, at home, I have begun now to force myself to stop. To just do nothing. I can't seem to do that for very long though, and Peanut doesn't help. So when I do this, just stop.... there is silence. There is quiet. I convince myself over and over that I am safe. I don't believe it at first, but then I start to once the world has gone to bed. Or at least this side of the world. It is only when there is that perfect quiet of night that I feel safe. When nobody is around.

So this is when I mentally go through each muscle in my body and tell myself to let go. Let the guard down. Just for a little while. That it's ok to now, ok to leave my guarding post at the wall of my Self. But this is so hard for me. There are so many ghosts in my head and they come out when I let the walls down. But I forgot how to last that long. I once knew my own understanding of my subconscious. But something happened those years with my husband. He intruded. He was always suspicious of me even though he had no reason to be. So I constantly had to prove it to him. He made me tell him every little thing I did all day and he was ticking off the time in his head. Transparency. I had to do everything all day as if he were watching me. I second guessed my decisions. I surrendered my privacy because having to prove myself for every waking breath was too exhausting. The hours he would badger me like the Gestapo. 

I forgot how to be in my own head. Letting my thoughts go where they would. Go to places that he never approved of. So this is why I began to resent him. Because this was my definition of self. He had become my warden. Another jail. 

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's something that I do. But not anymore. I just don't need to now, too and maybe in a way I needed to then. Because I was in need of chastising myself. No, it's not maybe. That is why. I knew it at the time too. It was as if my inner self believed I needed the experience of some kind of demoralization. Something I felt guilty for. Or some things. 

So now.... RB (a.k.a. 'Rhett Butler') tells me that Ellen has convinced him to move to Michigan! WTF? I am confused, what is going on, what's that all about? Ellen! How in the hell, of all people, does she wind up in Michigan? That alone was bazaar when he told me that a few years ago. Ellen and I are arch enemies. She has hated me since the day RB laid eyes on me. Its so weird, I do remember the day so well when I first saw her. She came into the bookstore where I worked at the time. I was a manager. She actually looked like something the cat dragged in. But for months RB told me stories about her. And his long list of other girls. Kim, who had the spider web drawn on half her face but oddly hidden by her Robert Smith hair-- so it was the nineties. RB and I used to tell each other about the people we were hung up on at the time. He listened to all my stories about Robert who I pined over for four years and probably still would have if RB hadn't come along.

She also left that horrible phone message on my answering machine with the worst imitation of an English accent if I ever heard one! But she says, “this is the gynecologist calling to let you know that the STD test came out positive....” She denied it for years until recently she came clean to him. He never believed me when I told him I knew it was her. So, she hates me because RB was into her until he met me so she feels I ruined her chances with him. It's not like water under the bridge between us, either, because RB always gets involved with those females who like to be vengeful. Usually to me. They are all crazy. Worse than me. They make me seem like the most stable person in the world. So, Ellen is the type to hold a grudge. I've never been that way but..... for her I make an exception. Only because I trust her as far as you could throw her. And we live in the same state! She's from New York, like RB is so, it's strange we are both living here now. 

Anyway, when he tells me this—that she has convinced him to move here..... suddenly I am 25 again and seeing red. WTF? Is he moving here for her? And I know that is what RB wanted me to think to test me. It just seems weird to me. I am telling him that everyone here is trying to get out of here, why would he think of moving here? He tells me for his line of work, there are actually a lot of jobs here for him. Ann Arbor. So I don't say anything. I just listen and wait. But I am imagining Ann Arbor, because I used to live there after my daughter was born. I loved it there. 

RB—no one has ever known me as long as he has. He knew me in between transitioning from the culture shock of being away from Holland and having no clue about New York. And my first driver's license. He knew my parents. He knew my bedroom at their house, my teenage furniture, the relationship with my family. He saw it all and he filed everything away in his head about me. He has seen me at my worst more than once and he has dragged me out of most of my disasters. But ….I waited and waited for him for years. I don't understand why he picked Terry or this last one or why he chose to put me on a pedestal instead of being with me even as he has explained it to me and it does make sense because this way let him keep me in his life and now—well. He doesn't want to be involved with Ellen, he explains there is no chemistry but they are really good friends. I know she feels differently because she made a pass at him a few months ago when she visited him. And how would I feel if they hooked up? I would try not to think about it and would probably vomit every time I did. 

I have been living on my own for over a year. I feel like I am on the verge of discovery. Self discovery. And, well, there is this problem of mine. I feel like I need to look at it. It's very personal. But he has been trying to get it out of me. I think that is what made me break my tooth because I noticed it after this. I told him part of it. Because he kept pushing me. He tells me he understands it. Only there is a subtle nuance he could not possibly know or understand. And it embarrasses me to tell him. He says, “I know everything about you, why don't you tell me?” so I tell him, “because I have not even told myself. I have not even written about it. And if I say it out loud, I will be confirming the existence of it. And I don't want to. I think I prefer to push it away and force it from me.” But he got it out of me. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. Only, it does make sense that he would be the one to tell. It's funny, I never drove on the expressway in my life until he convinced me I could. I'd only just started driving. He coaxed me through the experience. I explain to him about that weird thing that happened and how I got afraid because I saw something about myself and it was reflected in the person I was with and it was this that made me understand so much. And in many ways has set off a kind of domino affect where only having been faced to face with this could I have fully understood. But was also what made this one different. Maybe the most honest I've ever been that way. You know, maybe it's enough. Because now I can just give up. Because it's searching for a needle in the haystack and I don't even think that needle exists. I just always hoped it did. And so I can accept this this way as I realize there are not a lot of people made this way and right now I may be the only one. Anything else will just leave me wanting. I am just too different to be understood for all that is me. And changing for someone else is more lonely than being with someone in body but not mind or soul. Because now I know that I just have to be me, just me and that's all I want to be and I will never compromise myself that way for anyone. At least never again. Take me this way or not at all. Which is why I am happiest those moments I'm alone. Just sometimes the emptiness kills me but until those hours of the day of quiet, the shields stay up forever. But, oh yeah, I'll fuck someone. Don't get me wrong. And I actually think I prefer it this way. I get to be the poet, “oh what ails thee knight at arms alone and palely loitering....” because you know, he wants to. He has been playing a game with me. And what if he really does come here? I mean, he went with Ellen to Tennessee and he lived there for awhile, so he's not just blowing smoke. But I told him I can't be with someone whose head is in the clouds. Not anymore. I'm only just getting grounded and somehow he has me confused now. It's like da ca vu.

And, as usual, my daughter has inspired me and encouraged me. Isn't that an interesting twist?

I wrote somewhere once, maybe it was my blog, the adage: out of the mouths of babes. I also wrote how I started to understand identity better during those years with my daughter from birth up to when I legally, no longer, laid claim. I believe I never left her sight up until that point. We never even had day care or baby sitters, it was all mostly she and I 24/7 until the shit went down. And then she withdrew and stopped talking.

But up until then, we would sit on the wood floor of that old apartment in New York as the trains roared by every fifteen minutes, shaking the place full of dust. We would play blocks together for quite some time. In the beginning it was only the communication of building things. Then she would stop me to show me her order on it. So I'd let her. I always let her decide. So, I noticed early on that she had her own ideas that she firmly believed in and each time she would stop me to do it her way, whatever it was, I observed her logic behind it. If it made sense to me, I would let her do it, but if it was faulty thinking that could be disasterous, I would figure out how to explain this to her. I learned her language. And once I understood her language, I taught her mine. I also realized early on that her thinking process was very much just like mine, so many times we didn't even have to use words. I didn't notice this part until her interactions with others, like her father who complained to me that he couldn't get her to understand him and it was starting to piss him off and I was confused because she always understood me, it was usually only that she was very stubborn and very willful. Which I explained to him. But he decided to show me. When he demonstrates what he wants her to do and she ignores him he thinks that's proof she doesn't  understand him. Which I thought was very funny. Because she was just sitting there still doing what she was doing with extreme interest. I said, laughing, “she's ignoring you!” which he didn't believe. So he challenged me to get her to do what he just tried to make her do. It could have been something like, “let's go, go get your coat, we're going to the park.” But she sat there still playing with a row of horses all lined up by colors and sizes.

It was only because I knew exactly why she wasn't interested, so I had an advantage. I just sat down with her and started handing her the horses in the order she was working and I said, “you're having fun with this, aren't you?” and moved as if to play with her and she nodded with concentration, not bothering to look up. So I said, “yeah, the park would be nice but only after you're done playing here, right?” and she would then stop long enough to look at me with a bright, happy smile and nod yes, before reaching for the next one. And then I said, “ok, I'll tell dada that's what you're going to do, ok?”
of course, her dad was not convinced we had had an actual conversation but then, when she dramatically slammed her hand across the neat rows and scattered them joyfully she looked up and went over to him. We were doing that kind of conversation long before the book on infants said they were capable of understanding. Like the time I locked her in the car with the keys inside..... she was still in a baby seat and I got her to pull up the door lock!

It was always so easy to be in synch with her and she was a lot of fun. That was the happiest time of my life, really, because I felt like I was actually learning from her. I think it is because I was open to it and respected her point of view and willing to try things her way. Sometimes her way was much better. And more often this was true as she grew up and the trade off was, she trusted my opinion and trusted me when I told her what to do. I never had a problem that way with the exception of her tantrums stage. That I'm not sure she really completely outgrew.


Watching her, I see myself sometimes. The oddball characteristics. Everything else, she got from her dad. She's an artist and a writer, just like me but both are nothing like mine. Did I influence her that way? Or is it inherent in the genes?  

I got this jolt the other day when she told me that this person she's involved with now is a Virgo like me and she compared this person with me (this person will not use gender specific so this person is referred to as 'they') said how it makes sense that she picked someone like that. Like me; things about me. I guess I was always sort of expecting that but I feel like it's a repetition of a theme, is it nurture or nature that I may have given her my Oedipal complex; Cher/Chastity? Is it because she watched what I went through losing her to her dad? He took her but it only made her more attached to me and then what about their difficult relationship--is that the cause and effect of her resentment towards men? I feel somehow terribly responsible but just because I was an anomaly that altered the paths of norm for everyone involved and for all that manifested. Everyone's catalyst. But no-- I don't really believe it's bad. I think maybe the pretense of normalcy is at the center of everyone who suffers from depression. And she may be breaking out of that and I never got to and I'm glad the world is a better place at least in that way. 

Sunday, April 17, 2016

a picture says a thousand words and is open to misinterpretations of a million meanings


                                























Just wrote 3840 words in one stretch..... Just 36160 to go. A friend of mine told me she's going to harass me to make sure I finish it on time. I was doubtful until she started texting me. I guess it worked. I have to save my words now and posting more art.