I know that things have definitely fizzled out between me and my lover...I was silly to hope that our passion for one another would sustain time and distance. His communication with me has become less and less, and life has run away with us, and away from each other. So, I distract myself. I seek comfort in the busyness of my days, trying to find another to occupy my heart and mind, and try to tell myself that it was always meant to be this way...that we were never supposed to really want one another. I tell myself that this is all in my head and that he is indifferent.
All of that, I could forgive, and hide and bury deep inside of me, and not really speak of it to anyone...except when I sleep and dream. My dream last night was so vivid...I could feel him, smell him, he was everywhere and I woke-up in tears. I miss him and I hate it. No matter how hard I push it down, it comes back up one way or another. Dreams betray me, and yet I can't wait until I can dream about him again.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Monday, March 29, 2010
Re-do
I really haven't had much to write about lately. I've been working so much that it really has drained all the creativity out of me. But I'm working at home these days, which saves me about 3 hours a day out of my life. So, I've decided to start getting back on track. I've even managed to pick up a new books to read.
Also, since I've cleaned up my company and just focused on the important stuff, there hasn't been much drama. That's good in some ways, terrible in the writing department. I have nothing to write about, and nothing really worth remembering... how sad.
How sad is it that my life is pretty ok, and I have nothing general to get excited about. I love the people in my life, I like my career, I like everything just fine...and now...I have no inspiration. That's so not cool... I need something to want. Hmm, maybe someone? hahaha
Monday, October 5, 2009
Sad
I sent my sister a couple of emails and most recently a letter and enclosed some class pictures of the girls. Never got a reply. I never do.
This makes me so sad...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I got it
For so very long, I toiled and despaired over my writing style. I finally understand it now though, how to tell my story without sticking to the formal writing styles. I need to do it my own way... express my thoughts and ideas in my own way. Write it and fuck it. It's what I do best.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The best nickname ever
I knew this guy who was always fishing for reassurances and compliments. One of the things that he use to seek reassurances for was the size of his manhood. I dated him for a while, and while I hadn't thought he was inadequate, he certainly wasn't - um, overwhelming. I never said anything about it, because 1. I didn't care 2. because I didn't think it was anyone's business.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Annie Sprinkle
I recently picked up season 4 of Weeds. I'm too cheap to pay for the HBO/Showtime subscription, so I love TV shows on DVD. Anyway, Nancy was having a conversation with her sons and she quoted Annie Sprinkle!
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Unblocking writer's block
I've read more than a dozen books in a period of 3 months. I've been trying really hard to read everything I can to keep my mind open and going while I write my book. I'm writing fiction, so I read non-fiction, memoirs, fantasy/sci-fi novels, mysteries, newspapers, magazines, young adult novels, children's books, poetry, philosophy, plays... jesus, I think I read more in the last few months than I did my entire college career.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sway
And she swayed to and fro
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Art of smoking...
An excerpt from the book I'm writing:
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Stupid Quizzes
I've been taking those quizzes about what certain things define me. Ugh, I hate them. I got Wuthering Heights in the latest one. The one book I obsessed over for decades. Stupid book, that I love so much. And of course this would be my most favorite part:
"I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."
Aww, now I have to go back and read the book again for like the umpteenth time. Reading Wuthering Heights is like sweet torture.
"I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."
Aww, now I have to go back and read the book again for like the umpteenth time. Reading Wuthering Heights is like sweet torture.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Reading Writing Remembering
It all feels like such a joke, but I feel so happy when I finish writing a chapter. I'm consuming book after book like it was crack, and I can't turn my brain off for shit. I'm also constantly haunted by images of my past. It's coming at me in waves. I want to ask questions and find out answers about my life, but I can't. There isn't anyone to ask anymore.
I'm feeling like a pariah, a recluse. I want an apology, that I know will never come, and if it did... it's too late. It would be empty and worthless. It's so sad to see someone you love so much...and know they don't see themselves.
I'm purposely reading books written by women, and I"m finding that there is an underlying emotion behind a lot of broken characters. I find a lot of parallels.
He thinks he's a young bright thing, that someday someone will save him from his self-loathing. He thinks if he confesses his sins at the start, that if the woman knows what she's getting into, then that somehow proves how much she loves him. If she doesn't accept it then he's just nipping in the bud whatever real relationship that can develop on its own terms. What he doesn't understand is that all that invokes in a woman is either to love a broken one-legged dog or realize what a pathetic weakling he is. Either way it turns out, it's all true. He feeds off the love, sucks it dry, because he knows he can never be the man she's hopes he can be. It's silly, but women want to be the one that saves a broken man... but the only thing that can save a broken man is himself. No one can save him. EVER.
This is what I have relive every time I write.
I'm feeling like a pariah, a recluse. I want an apology, that I know will never come, and if it did... it's too late. It would be empty and worthless. It's so sad to see someone you love so much...and know they don't see themselves.
I'm purposely reading books written by women, and I"m finding that there is an underlying emotion behind a lot of broken characters. I find a lot of parallels.
He thinks he's a young bright thing, that someday someone will save him from his self-loathing. He thinks if he confesses his sins at the start, that if the woman knows what she's getting into, then that somehow proves how much she loves him. If she doesn't accept it then he's just nipping in the bud whatever real relationship that can develop on its own terms. What he doesn't understand is that all that invokes in a woman is either to love a broken one-legged dog or realize what a pathetic weakling he is. Either way it turns out, it's all true. He feeds off the love, sucks it dry, because he knows he can never be the man she's hopes he can be. It's silly, but women want to be the one that saves a broken man... but the only thing that can save a broken man is himself. No one can save him. EVER.
This is what I have relive every time I write.
Monday, April 27, 2009
8th grade life, no life...
My parents are cleaning out their house and have stored away many of the books that I left behind. I had more than 400 books at my mom's house. Everything from children's books from the 70s to all of my books from college. Among them were some of the journals I would keep, dating back to 2nd grade. It's so weird to read them again. But what's even weirder is that I found a journal that I used to write my stories and poetry in.
One of the poems was Satan's Scream, which I've posted before. The other was a story that I never finished about a group of high school friends who learn that one of their friends has a dark history filled with suicide and accidental deaths. They find out about his past from a new and mysterious kid at school. The friend with the dark past had moved away because he was sure that his best friend's suicide and his girlfriend's car accidents were murders. He was convinced he was next. So, he moved started a new life and never spoke about his past to his new group of friends.
I wish I had finished the story. The writing was juvenile, but the story and plot were actually pretty good. I was tripping out. I didn't use a computer, I would write everything down, and it wasn't the best way to write a story. I was 13, and I didn't have any patience. I was filled with happy nostalgia reading the story. I didn't do much as a kid or teenage, except write and read, so my memories are inside the volumes upon volumes of journals that I kept over the years, and rereading some of the favorite books I had as a child. It's kinda fun, and a little pathetic that I didn't have much of a life.
One of the poems was Satan's Scream, which I've posted before. The other was a story that I never finished about a group of high school friends who learn that one of their friends has a dark history filled with suicide and accidental deaths. They find out about his past from a new and mysterious kid at school. The friend with the dark past had moved away because he was sure that his best friend's suicide and his girlfriend's car accidents were murders. He was convinced he was next. So, he moved started a new life and never spoke about his past to his new group of friends.
I wish I had finished the story. The writing was juvenile, but the story and plot were actually pretty good. I was tripping out. I didn't use a computer, I would write everything down, and it wasn't the best way to write a story. I was 13, and I didn't have any patience. I was filled with happy nostalgia reading the story. I didn't do much as a kid or teenage, except write and read, so my memories are inside the volumes upon volumes of journals that I kept over the years, and rereading some of the favorite books I had as a child. It's kinda fun, and a little pathetic that I didn't have much of a life.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I consider myself a pretty tolerant person. So long as you appear sincere and logical, and you have no intentions of hurting yourself or anyone else, then I'm pretty much okay with how most people live their lives. People who lie to themselves are the most intolerable people. People who can never admit that they are wrong or inflexible with their thinking, narrow, close-minded... they are the ones that I mostly take issue with me.
I was reading a book, and I came across something that really broke down how I felt about a recently falling out I had. A very significant falling-out...
The conversation takes place after an argument between old friends, where one attacks the moral character of the other. Basically, the friend is judgmental and critical about the way the main character is living her life. Another friend sees the encounter and as an unbiased third party makes a pretty accurate assessment about the situation...
"She's a whore, that one," Pam said.
I pulled out a Kleenex out of my purse to blot my tears. I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it....
"I wouldn't call her a whore, but she's truly not careful as she might be about who she goes with," I admitted.
"Why do you defend her?"
"Habit," I said. "We were friends for years and years."
"What did she do for you with her friendship? What benefit was there?"
"She..." I had to stop and think. "I guess I was just able to say I had a friend. I cared about her kids, and I helped her out with them. When she couldn't work, I'd take her hours, and if she worked for , I'd clean her trailer in return. She come see me if I was sick and bring me food. Most of all, she was tolerant of my differences."
"She used you, and yet you feel grateful, " Pam said. Her expressionless white face game me no clue to her feelings.
"Listen, Pam, it wasn't like that."
"How was it, Sookie?"
"She really did like me. We really did have some good times."
"She's lazy. That extends to her friendships. If it's easy to be friendly, she will be. If the wind blows another way, her friendship will be gone. And I'm thinking the wind is blowing the other way. She has found some other way to be an important person in her own right, by hating you." - from All Together Dead by Charlaine Harris.
That pretty much sums up how he is. He uses people, and then he finds someone else to use until they are completely useless to him, and then he moves on. Never really giving back what he takes, and never really understanding respect and loyalty to others. He can never be a part of anything, because he never really belongs anywhere. There are no good qualities about him, because he has to constantly remind himself of his manners and consideration of others. Good people, don't even have to try. It just comes naturally. He is the kind of person to kick you when you are down, and throw things in your face because he doesn't know how to articulate his feelings. I mean, I've actually seen him throw a tantrum. It's an amazing thing to watch a grown man throw a tantrum. He's like a lost 5 year old trapped in a 35 year old man. It's sad and it's pathetic.
I'm glad to accept the fact that he just doesn't belong in my life, and I am sorry to have extended my generosity and love in vain. I can't even say I wish him well, because even that would be a wasted wish...
I was reading a book, and I came across something that really broke down how I felt about a recently falling out I had. A very significant falling-out...
The conversation takes place after an argument between old friends, where one attacks the moral character of the other. Basically, the friend is judgmental and critical about the way the main character is living her life. Another friend sees the encounter and as an unbiased third party makes a pretty accurate assessment about the situation...
"She's a whore, that one," Pam said.
I pulled out a Kleenex out of my purse to blot my tears. I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it....
"I wouldn't call her a whore, but she's truly not careful as she might be about who she goes with," I admitted.
"Why do you defend her?"
"Habit," I said. "We were friends for years and years."
"What did she do for you with her friendship? What benefit was there?"
"She..." I had to stop and think. "I guess I was just able to say I had a friend. I cared about her kids, and I helped her out with them. When she couldn't work, I'd take her hours, and if she worked for , I'd clean her trailer in return. She come see me if I was sick and bring me food. Most of all, she was tolerant of my differences."
"She used you, and yet you feel grateful, " Pam said. Her expressionless white face game me no clue to her feelings.
"Listen, Pam, it wasn't like that."
"How was it, Sookie?"
"She really did like me. We really did have some good times."
"She's lazy. That extends to her friendships. If it's easy to be friendly, she will be. If the wind blows another way, her friendship will be gone. And I'm thinking the wind is blowing the other way. She has found some other way to be an important person in her own right, by hating you." - from All Together Dead by Charlaine Harris.
That pretty much sums up how he is. He uses people, and then he finds someone else to use until they are completely useless to him, and then he moves on. Never really giving back what he takes, and never really understanding respect and loyalty to others. He can never be a part of anything, because he never really belongs anywhere. There are no good qualities about him, because he has to constantly remind himself of his manners and consideration of others. Good people, don't even have to try. It just comes naturally. He is the kind of person to kick you when you are down, and throw things in your face because he doesn't know how to articulate his feelings. I mean, I've actually seen him throw a tantrum. It's an amazing thing to watch a grown man throw a tantrum. He's like a lost 5 year old trapped in a 35 year old man. It's sad and it's pathetic.
I'm glad to accept the fact that he just doesn't belong in my life, and I am sorry to have extended my generosity and love in vain. I can't even say I wish him well, because even that would be a wasted wish...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Haze
Sitting in the backseat of a car, close to dawn, when it's not quite dark, but it isn't quite day break... just a hazy grey light filling the atmosphere. I should be tired, but it was one of those nights that you know you'll remember forever, maybe not in detail, but that feeling... and my mind won't rest because you feel that perfect moment of contemplation. I could feel the effects my alcohol binge literally evaporating at the back of my throat, and it feels like it's coming out of my eyes. But I'm happy. I'm happy because it was good times.
I had one of those nights when I was with my friends, we partied, I met a boy, I fell in love with him, I loved him for about 2 hours, and then I fell out of love with him. I threw a drink at a girl on the dance floor, and I can't quite remember why... We laughed and we stumbled all over the place in 4 inch heels, I held back my friend's hair as she threw up behind a bush.
I remember going to an after hours club, falling down a set of stairs... like literally all the way down the stairs... jumping up when I hit the bottom and announcing that I had to pee... so I did. I dropped trou, squatted down, started peeing. Then BOOM, the doors of the club open and everyone comes filing out. Was it wrong that it was kinda kinky peeing in public in front of an audience? I don't know... I was wasted. So, I just kept peeing, smiled and waved at everyone as they walked by.
There are so few moments of true mindless nonsense and meaningless happiness that are this genuine. There are so few moments in your life you're actually allowed to be this stupid. Because before you know it, life happens and it's like someone pushed fast forward and your youth ends... and your other life begins. There are moments upon moments of happiness in my life. Different types of happiness, and many moments of complete perfection, existing all in synchronicity with my low and painful moments... and this memory of that hazy morning was one of stupid joy for me. I had stop and write it down before it becomes of those things I forget to think about.
I had one of those nights when I was with my friends, we partied, I met a boy, I fell in love with him, I loved him for about 2 hours, and then I fell out of love with him. I threw a drink at a girl on the dance floor, and I can't quite remember why... We laughed and we stumbled all over the place in 4 inch heels, I held back my friend's hair as she threw up behind a bush.
I remember going to an after hours club, falling down a set of stairs... like literally all the way down the stairs... jumping up when I hit the bottom and announcing that I had to pee... so I did. I dropped trou, squatted down, started peeing. Then BOOM, the doors of the club open and everyone comes filing out. Was it wrong that it was kinda kinky peeing in public in front of an audience? I don't know... I was wasted. So, I just kept peeing, smiled and waved at everyone as they walked by.
There are so few moments of true mindless nonsense and meaningless happiness that are this genuine. There are so few moments in your life you're actually allowed to be this stupid. Because before you know it, life happens and it's like someone pushed fast forward and your youth ends... and your other life begins. There are moments upon moments of happiness in my life. Different types of happiness, and many moments of complete perfection, existing all in synchronicity with my low and painful moments... and this memory of that hazy morning was one of stupid joy for me. I had stop and write it down before it becomes of those things I forget to think about.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Amy
Once upon a time, I met a girl ...her name was Amy. She was beautiful. She had an Aeon Flux body (the cartoon not the movie), a perfect face, bobbed jet black hair, and perfect milky skin. I remember her so well because she was the tallest girl I'd every seen. She was dressed up in vinyl booty shorts, vinyl halter vest and thigh high boots. She definitely made me feel homily, but that is easy to do considering my sexy outfits pretty much consist of t-shirts and jeans.
We were in a run down apartment building in Hollywood to pick up our new friends (Amy and her boyfriend Mani). Their apartment contained a dirty futon, against the wall, a cheap glass coffee table with dirty cups, glass pipes, and fast food wrappers scattered across the top of it. There was also a cat, and upon further observation, little piles of cat shit in the corners of the room. I was unaware, until we got there, that we were supposed to buy speed for my roommate. I also just realized that I was finally visiting my first crack house in Hollywood! oh yay!
Amy offered me a seat while my roommate and Mani went to the back to "conduct business". I sat on the floor, against the wall, facing the open front door, which let in the only light in their apartment from the hallway. There was a crazy black man kicking a six pack of beer down the hall muttering to him self, "I'm fucking cutting him, motherfucker...fucking motherfucker thinks he can fuck with me....fucker". He paused in front of Mani and Amy's open door way, looked inside at Amy and me sitting against the wall, and waved. We waved back. Then he continued to kick the six pack down the hall and muttering away.
Aside from Mani's speed dealing business, Amy also starred in only girl-girl porn, because "Mani would get jealous if I were with another guy on film. And if I did do a guy, I could only do it up the ass." Hmm, good to know.
We began talking. She started talking about her cat, doing porn, never touching speed because it messed her up pretty good, growing up in Washington, running away the year before, and how she met Mani who was her boyfriend/pimp and 18 years older than her. I listened, as I always do. I nodded when it was appropriate, tried not to act to shocked in certain parts of her ramblings, and sympathetic when expected...but finally, I had to ask, "How old are you Amy?"
"I'm 17."
We were in a run down apartment building in Hollywood to pick up our new friends (Amy and her boyfriend Mani). Their apartment contained a dirty futon, against the wall, a cheap glass coffee table with dirty cups, glass pipes, and fast food wrappers scattered across the top of it. There was also a cat, and upon further observation, little piles of cat shit in the corners of the room. I was unaware, until we got there, that we were supposed to buy speed for my roommate. I also just realized that I was finally visiting my first crack house in Hollywood! oh yay!
Amy offered me a seat while my roommate and Mani went to the back to "conduct business". I sat on the floor, against the wall, facing the open front door, which let in the only light in their apartment from the hallway. There was a crazy black man kicking a six pack of beer down the hall muttering to him self, "I'm fucking cutting him, motherfucker...fucking motherfucker thinks he can fuck with me....fucker". He paused in front of Mani and Amy's open door way, looked inside at Amy and me sitting against the wall, and waved. We waved back. Then he continued to kick the six pack down the hall and muttering away.
Aside from Mani's speed dealing business, Amy also starred in only girl-girl porn, because "Mani would get jealous if I were with another guy on film. And if I did do a guy, I could only do it up the ass." Hmm, good to know.
We began talking. She started talking about her cat, doing porn, never touching speed because it messed her up pretty good, growing up in Washington, running away the year before, and how she met Mani who was her boyfriend/pimp and 18 years older than her. I listened, as I always do. I nodded when it was appropriate, tried not to act to shocked in certain parts of her ramblings, and sympathetic when expected...but finally, I had to ask, "How old are you Amy?"
"I'm 17."
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Unstoppable meets Immovable
When I was 17 I started dating Nikolai. I met him way before that, but we didn't actually start dating him until a fews years later. I'm crazy, in the way that isn't conventional or cute. More like, I'm pretty fucked up in the head. Nikolai likes crazy fucked up in the head chicks though. I guess because he never knows what I'm going to do next. College was an adventure for us both, and while we may have strayed away from each other, he's always been there for me even if he hated himself for it. There has never been anyone who has ever loved me so completely and perfectly as he has all these years.
The funny thing is, we go through our highs and lows. We go through moments when things aren't so great, and maybe we can see our lives heading in different directions and we at times when fight like crazy, but there has always been the one thing that remains true... the thing that happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object ... we love each other so passionately and so truly that it has always been a constant in our life together. No matter who I was with, no matter who I may have loved throughout my life... Nikolai is the only person I have ever been completely in love with all the time. It's true, that you cannot define yourself by one person your whole life, but there can be the one person who will always be there for you now matter how stupid or bad you may be, and Nikolai has always been that to me.
It's fun watching people trying to figure me out. It's even more fun watching them trying to figure out Nikolai. He's easy, at least to me. You can pretty much assume what he tells you is true, because it usually is. Occasionally, he will form an opinion about what you say after he's had a moment or two to digest what you mean. For the most part, what you see is what you get with him. I like that, because it's the opposite of me. I mean, I will tell you the truth if you ask... it's just that most people are afraid to ask. I don't know why...I'm not mean. Just direct and sarcastic, which I guess could be easily interpreted as being an unsympathetic asshole.
Ok, so maybe the latter is more true, but I never said I was perfect. Far far far from it, actually. But I do what Nikolai tells me to do for the most part. If he tells me something private about a person or situation and asks me not to say anything, I don't. If he tells me to stop directing the blame at him for something isn't his fault, I do. If he tells me that someone is spreading lies about what I said or didn't say, and he wants me to just ignore it to save the trouble, I do. Always. Rumors always end with Nikolai.
Which is why I never feel the need to justify my beliefs or actions to anyone, even if what they believe is wrong or just a flat out lie. I just let it go. I figure people need to believe certain things to make them be able to stand themselves... to justify themselves to themselves. The hardest thing anyone has to do, is to live with their own mistakes and shortcomings. Lying to yourself... well that just makes facing yourself a little easier.
The funny thing is, we go through our highs and lows. We go through moments when things aren't so great, and maybe we can see our lives heading in different directions and we at times when fight like crazy, but there has always been the one thing that remains true... the thing that happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object ... we love each other so passionately and so truly that it has always been a constant in our life together. No matter who I was with, no matter who I may have loved throughout my life... Nikolai is the only person I have ever been completely in love with all the time. It's true, that you cannot define yourself by one person your whole life, but there can be the one person who will always be there for you now matter how stupid or bad you may be, and Nikolai has always been that to me.
It's fun watching people trying to figure me out. It's even more fun watching them trying to figure out Nikolai. He's easy, at least to me. You can pretty much assume what he tells you is true, because it usually is. Occasionally, he will form an opinion about what you say after he's had a moment or two to digest what you mean. For the most part, what you see is what you get with him. I like that, because it's the opposite of me. I mean, I will tell you the truth if you ask... it's just that most people are afraid to ask. I don't know why...I'm not mean. Just direct and sarcastic, which I guess could be easily interpreted as being an unsympathetic asshole.
Ok, so maybe the latter is more true, but I never said I was perfect. Far far far from it, actually. But I do what Nikolai tells me to do for the most part. If he tells me something private about a person or situation and asks me not to say anything, I don't. If he tells me to stop directing the blame at him for something isn't his fault, I do. If he tells me that someone is spreading lies about what I said or didn't say, and he wants me to just ignore it to save the trouble, I do. Always. Rumors always end with Nikolai.
Which is why I never feel the need to justify my beliefs or actions to anyone, even if what they believe is wrong or just a flat out lie. I just let it go. I figure people need to believe certain things to make them be able to stand themselves... to justify themselves to themselves. The hardest thing anyone has to do, is to live with their own mistakes and shortcomings. Lying to yourself... well that just makes facing yourself a little easier.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Satan's Scream
We are all in the hearts of sorrow and desperation
Scraping and screaming, feeling its manifestation
Obsession take control of our minds and hearts
Rolling us away in meat carts
We feel the sorrow
We feel the love
We feel Satan's scream
Like an evil dove
Jo.-
Written in 1990
Scraping and screaming, feeling its manifestation
Obsession take control of our minds and hearts
Rolling us away in meat carts
We feel the sorrow
We feel the love
We feel Satan's scream
Like an evil dove
Jo.-
Written in 1990
Blog Observations
I always think its weird that people never have anything bad to say on most of the stuff I read... and I can never think of anything good. I have all these weird insights and perceptions, but they do me no good in most realities and situations. I know a lot more than I say, and I mind most things more than I let on. I think Nikolai is the only person who comes close to to being... I guess, close to me. He's the only one I trust, when it comes to knowing anything about me. The only one who isn't afraid of my vicious mind.
Most people, I find, just like talking about themselves. They may be interested in what I have to say, but only in a way that pertains to them and their own crisis. At this point in my life, I'm learning more and more to just keep my mouth shut. But where does that leave me?
Most people, I find, just like talking about themselves. They may be interested in what I have to say, but only in a way that pertains to them and their own crisis. At this point in my life, I'm learning more and more to just keep my mouth shut. But where does that leave me?
Yoda of Interview Campfires
I was in an interview recently. They interviewed us in a group, which was a weird experience. But there was a question that kinda stuck with me... and it was interesting to hear other people's answers (you know, in the way, that it was completely not interesting). "How do you, as a manager, keep someone or your team motivated and keep conflicts to a minimum, especially on difficult projects?"
The premise was superficial... and so were most of the answers..."Oh, I try to keep them focused on our goal... I try to remind them of their rewards...blah blah blah". I was bored, watching everyone in their stuffy outfits, bad shoes, and even worse hair (I really believe that hair clips should be banned from formal interview attire).
Then my turn came around. "And how would you approach this type of situation, Ms. Damian"
"Well, I find when people are unhappy, especially with work, they mostly just want to be heard. Most people seek out someone who can relate and understand why they are unhappy. If an unhappy employee can express their concerns or unhappiness to their managers, and have some sense that they understand who they are, and that they are more than who they are during work hours... it can make a big difference between having an unhappy employee and a motivated loyal employee. So, I listen. It has worked for me so far."
I don't know if it was a good answer. I just know that everyone got really quiet and starred at me like my left tit popped out of my blouse. Well, whose bad idea was it anyway, to interview people in this way, for an upper management position, no less. It's a sure fire way to invoke artificial and disingenuous response. It's also a little degrading, interviewing people like it was some sort of campfire. I figured an insightful response would throw people off.
The premise was superficial... and so were most of the answers..."Oh, I try to keep them focused on our goal... I try to remind them of their rewards...blah blah blah". I was bored, watching everyone in their stuffy outfits, bad shoes, and even worse hair (I really believe that hair clips should be banned from formal interview attire).
Then my turn came around. "And how would you approach this type of situation, Ms. Damian"
"Well, I find when people are unhappy, especially with work, they mostly just want to be heard. Most people seek out someone who can relate and understand why they are unhappy. If an unhappy employee can express their concerns or unhappiness to their managers, and have some sense that they understand who they are, and that they are more than who they are during work hours... it can make a big difference between having an unhappy employee and a motivated loyal employee. So, I listen. It has worked for me so far."
I don't know if it was a good answer. I just know that everyone got really quiet and starred at me like my left tit popped out of my blouse. Well, whose bad idea was it anyway, to interview people in this way, for an upper management position, no less. It's a sure fire way to invoke artificial and disingenuous response. It's also a little degrading, interviewing people like it was some sort of campfire. I figured an insightful response would throw people off.
Lové
My best friend is the most spectacular person in the world. I emulate her because she embodies everything I would like to be. She's tactful, graceful, brilliant, beautiful, and successful. Even her name is lovely.... She and I attended LMU together, and I hated her when we first met. She was more brilliant a writer than I could ever hope to be, and while we were never competitive, she makes me want to be a better person. She's a bitch to watch Jeopardy with, because she knows every fucking answer. We really have nothing in common on the surface, but I love her more than words will ever express. She was with me through my darkest times and is a huge reason why I pulled through them.
She was my roommate, my maid of honor, she was there at the birth of both of my daughters, and second in my heart only to my children (equal to and sometime comes before Nikolai). Even if we don't speak for months, it always seems like time never passed when we do start talking again. And when things go wrong in my life...I can't make things right until I talk to her.
She called me yesterday and informed me that I would be her Maid(en) of Honor. I've never even been a bridesmaid. My girlfriends never get married, and when they do, I'm not really close enough to them to be considered. Which is great for me, since I generally hate weddings.
Actually, we both hate weddings. They usually aren't what they are suppose to be. They turn out to be an annoying precession of events that completely alienate guests... kind of like watching slideshows of people's vacations at the Grand Canyon. Basically, a lot of weddings are like torture. There are exceptions of course.
Marriage, in general, is something that I am wary of. While I'm happily married (about 85% of the time, hehe)...it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Being a mom is easy and natural, but staying married is a challenge. Nikolai and I went into it blindly and forced into it in a lot of ways... but here we are making up our own rules as we go along and have faith in our love and our family. We are grateful that we love each other more than we ever have in the almost 14 years we've been in one another's lives.
For Stefana and Steve, I have never been happier about two people getting married. During her Maid of Honor speech at my wedding 8 years ago, Stefana said, "The two of you were a foregone conclusion…" Well their wedding day is the same. Their love is unique and genuine, and it breaks all the rules… and it's perfect. They are perfect for each other, and I adore them beyond measure. I am honored to be a part of their lives, and share their wedding day with them. Te ubesc!
She was my roommate, my maid of honor, she was there at the birth of both of my daughters, and second in my heart only to my children (equal to and sometime comes before Nikolai). Even if we don't speak for months, it always seems like time never passed when we do start talking again. And when things go wrong in my life...I can't make things right until I talk to her.
She called me yesterday and informed me that I would be her Maid(en) of Honor. I've never even been a bridesmaid. My girlfriends never get married, and when they do, I'm not really close enough to them to be considered. Which is great for me, since I generally hate weddings.
Actually, we both hate weddings. They usually aren't what they are suppose to be. They turn out to be an annoying precession of events that completely alienate guests... kind of like watching slideshows of people's vacations at the Grand Canyon. Basically, a lot of weddings are like torture. There are exceptions of course.
Marriage, in general, is something that I am wary of. While I'm happily married (about 85% of the time, hehe)...it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Being a mom is easy and natural, but staying married is a challenge. Nikolai and I went into it blindly and forced into it in a lot of ways... but here we are making up our own rules as we go along and have faith in our love and our family. We are grateful that we love each other more than we ever have in the almost 14 years we've been in one another's lives.
For Stefana and Steve, I have never been happier about two people getting married. During her Maid of Honor speech at my wedding 8 years ago, Stefana said, "The two of you were a foregone conclusion…" Well their wedding day is the same. Their love is unique and genuine, and it breaks all the rules… and it's perfect. They are perfect for each other, and I adore them beyond measure. I am honored to be a part of their lives, and share their wedding day with them. Te ubesc!
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