it's in the cards

it has to be. it can only go up from here?

new story needed

In the dim light, the room is unrecognizable. I push myself up and out of bed, falling into a pattern my body and mind knows, but this morning; my heart aches to conceive. Looking in the mirror, I recognize the straw colored hair, features I’ve had forever, but struggle to recognize myself in this place, in the dim light of another day in a place I – in a another body? – have chosen to be.

Outside, the grey day matches my sense of displacement. It colors everything in shadow rendering the world generic. This could be any day in any city and I’m any person doing what people are supposed to do. Except I don’t want to be doing what I’m supposed to do. I want to be artistic without the poverty, marginal without the stereotypes, privileged without the responsibility. I want to live in a world where our greatest dreams can be realized no matter how crazy they are. Although my parents always told me I can do whatever I want to do, be whatever I want to be, right now this seems like a fairytale told to calm children’s anxiety over the future and lull them into thinking that what they really want to do is Finance and what they really want be an Analyst at a large Financial corporation, meet a fellow worker bee and produce 2.5 kids, live in an upscale neighbourhood and have some nice cars, trappings, etc…. And for those who always wanted to be an Artist or a Dreamer? Doesn’t really fit into the narrative.

I’ve been somewhere where I was me and it’s not here. It’s not doing this. It’s like living a nightmare everyday where I’m wearing someone else’s life. A grey puddle of days and weeks and hours. There has to be a cosmic change so I can reconcile with the girl bathed in illumination, where everything she did wasn’t always right, but she was living how she wanted. All I need is a spark- something to jolt me into finding the place in this world where I belong, and I feel like me. I’m actively seeking this place out universe… show me the way.

Illumination: Just, enjoy.

I don't care about the contents.
I know you wanted me to want to know what you kept inside and why.
What matters to me is, that, somehow, in the shadow of your gaze,
your presence,
I was me.
I saw me in the world, as I wanted to be.
And you were there, but I didn't care to question.
Just, enjoy.

Sent from my iPhone

overthrow reality

My lovely aunt sent me the following celestial prediction the other day and it rang so true:

I am, however, participating in a movement to overthrow reality -- or rather, the sour and crippled mass hallucination that is mistakenly called "reality." This crusade requires no guns or political agitation, but is instead waged by the forces of the liberated imagination using words, music, and images to counteract those who paralyze and deaden the imagination. I invite you to join us. You're entering a phase when you may feel an almost ecstatic longing to free yourself from the delusions that constitute the fake "reality."

I’ve returned from a Technicolor world to a reality so grey it looks monochrome and with such a dull sound I feel deaf. Not inspired to write or create, I realize that the routine and activities inherent to ‘regular’ life are designed to muzzle. You are convinced you need a job to purchase things to make you happy. But these things don’t. And the job you need to purchase them doesn’t either. As resolutions don’t always happen on New Years, and don’t always work when you try to change immediately, I’m going to try to make a lifestyle change. I want to get the fuck out. This involves saving copious amounts of money. So I’m going to do my best, and work for the dream. I’ve also applied for random jobs around the world, including Afghanistan. Something has to change, and I’m going to work to change it – because I need to free myself before I no longer want to be myself in this ‘reality’.

true colors

i haven't felt like writing lately. just feeling down about things in general. kind of like the girl depicted above. dead ghosts keep bleeding on me, i realize my dolls were just that, never reliable or to be counted on when i need them. just inanimate and selfish, waiting for me to create the scenarios and play they want to participate in. and if they don't. they won't. no element of compromise or selflessness seems to reside in the doll's character. everytime I attempt to play with them, I cut myself a little bit inside. i have nightmares about being let down and feel they'll come true. often lately, they have.

people's true colors seem to be showing lately. and I feel saddened by some, realizing their insides were black. i'm done falling on the sword for them. i need to start looking out for myself once and a while. sacrificing constantly for nothing, without faith, tires me, and I'm done with it.

i don't think I ask much, but for some it always seems like too much. the flies swarm early, and I seem oblivious to the signs of a dying relationship.

here's to looking out for flies before the death disintigrates my insides. i don't want to feel the rot.

recycling

he warned me. "I have 100 pounds on you easy, and you're matching me drink for drink." I never listen. I think I'm a woman of steel, able to withstand a barrage of beer, or a tsunami of tequila, or a catacylsm of cider, or... well, you get my point. This morning seemed early, and hazy, and slow, as I tried to pick through my things and figure out how the night ended. The scent of scotch in the air told me why I'd forgotten, and the clothes strewn across my apartment indicated a real rush to get them off.

We hadn't seen each other in at least four years, and I'd felt bad about how I'd ended it (three times). I never wanted as much from it as he did, and although we had great chemistry, that was about the entire sum. Apparently that chemistry hasn't died. I just wish I could remember how awesome revisiting it probably was.

white gold

Freedom is riding high above a pristine sugar dusted terrain, the sun in your eyes, anticipating riding the natural rolling bumps between the trees, carving the soft melting crust beside the forest and feeling like you’re surfing on a perfect wave without waiting for it to come. Your only responsibility is to yourself, making sure you hit that nice drop in Baker’s Acres, the pure powder trail on the way down and the kicker at the end. When you’re on that board on the mountain, the only schedule to adhere to is beer time, once the sun gets too low, the lifts close and your legs scream out for relief. It’s a definite plus when you’re with someone who enjoys it as much as you do, and it’s so beautifully sunny and warm, you don’t need a jacket and worry about a unsightly goggle tan (which would secretly be awesome, because you wouldn’t have to verbally brag about how awesome it was). Every year on my birthday, mother nature doesn’t let me down and gives me a reason to anticipate another year, especially one that might include, even for a day, this awesome sense of freedom.