…

you don’t know what it’s like .  to put things in cages.Since my son was four, I have done this. Put things in cages.  Away from me. The hell. I live in. you don’t know it. You can’t. These animals. they don’t know how to adjust. Like my son does. They haven’t had the time nor the inclination. i can’t do this.  i don’t know how. to adjust to this sort of confinement.

and it hurts. This pain.

Sentencing someone who has never known a cage. A cage. An entrapment. And I cannot let them out for fear of loss. I don’t want my cats hit by cars or eaten by coyotes. Because no one knows better. No one knows these things. Means nothing compared to my animals. my life, my heart. Still beats for these animals. More than human life. So much more. Our animals. Our children. Our lives. Are they not interchangeable? I hurt. For them. for things they should not know. Yet they do.

i am so sorry. So sorry…

Life really is a series of Unfortunate Events.

I find myself again in one of those times where upheaval and chaos are the words of the day. Much like a roller coaster ride. Only in this one the scary twists and turns are filled with my falling down my stairs and dental nightmares, and horrific landlords you read about in the paper, but rarely experience for yourself. Foreclosures and moving hell, and wondering when you will be working proper again.

Hopes and dreams of perfect teeth, and your child getting into the right school. And driving legally. Of weight loss for good for once, and people who love you and don’t leave, and healthy happy cats who don’t find the need to tell you of their discomfit by peeing on your few personal possessions.

All Hail Discordia!

This is the path I find myself on yet again. Perhaps my husband and best friend was never as much the eye of the storm as he thought. Perhaps I bring my own flavor to the mix, as it were. I hope that as challenge after stumbling block befalls me, that each, in it’s own right, will serve a greater purpose, and that rather than be foiled by my supposed misfortune, I should continue to flow around, or under, through, over, (is it really ever as it seems?)…and move on again and again, becoming wiser still in my own personal quest for growth and enlightenment. Salvation isn’t always what you want it to be.

Is not the person fitful and depressed, seeking only to be more understanding, or courageous, or patient…etc., NOT given these virtues, but in fact, most often, served up a heaping plate of exactly whatever it is that would force them, if they had the belief or will to do so, to imbue these things upon themselves?

I suppose that for me, it is not so much a lack of understanding of these things in which I take unto myself, but that for whatever reason, these paths should be deeper, more ingrained in my mind, an ever constant. Maybe the changing universe seeks to continually remind that it will never get easier from here on out, just different, more interesting?

I don’t know. I only ask, as I have asked before, and have been given, the tools I should need to combat these herculean obstacles, and the sight with which to find those tools in the first place. I hope to never want for that opportunistic door to slam in my face for the loss of it’s recognition.

Well, another day, another set of trials. A literal pain in my ass. I pray the torn up bruised muscles heal quickly, that the dentists and oral surgeons I may encounter in the coming weeks be kind and just and sympathetic, and for the love of all that’s holy, reasonably priced, and that the help that has come forward to my aid for the rest of this week and this coming week, understand the difference they make, and my willingness to do the same for them.

You can throw shit in my face, and make me a cynic, but I can no more change my nature than the color of my eyes, and I will always be to the core of me, a good person.

Back to the grind people. Move along, nothing to see here.

How to tell who your real friends are…

I spent most of the second half of the day, into the night, running back and forth from a hospital in Hollywood to LAX, to a friend’s house…

I was supposed to be working on an art project for a show that starts Tuesday. Had to call and negotiate hanging one of the pieces I am working on two days late, in time for the artwalk in downtown LA, but after the start of the show the work is in.

I stopped and considered the reasons I did these things. Thought about the kind of person I am, want to be.

And discovered something. That I am not the only person in my life who does these things, feels this way. California isn’t as artificial as I previously surmised. And there’s a good kind of energy running through some of the people in this town…

Because your real friends don’t care what you look like. They only see what comes from the inside of you, and that’s where your beauty lies.

They come running when the sky falls down, with a hug, and words of wisdom, understanding, and that infamous shoulder to cry on. And they let you cry, and scream, and punch if need be.

They lend you money when they don’t have any, drive without licenses to see you, bring you booze and cigarettes. They watch things they aren’t fond of, and listen to music you love, and somehow always find your joy in it.

They would jump in front of a train to save your life. Go out of their way to run that important errand you can’t. Tell you the truth even when it hurts. Lend you their clothes even though you are sure to stretch them out.

Real friends show up at your house with groceries when you are broke and cook you dinner. Clean your house when you are tired, or too sick to do it. Help you move, help you pack.

Real friends help you develop your social skills, and have no qualms of hitting you over the head when you screw up.

Real friends will love you, make love to you, and still be your friend. And call you the next day, the next year, and even when they aren’t near you anymore.

They read your blogs, and comment on your photos, send you silly things in emails just to make you smile.

I have friends like this. I consider myself very lucky.

And I hope they do too.

Suffer

This is the way of life. To find peace in the suffering. To make peace with one’s self. I hope that the effort that I make pays off in the end. That the direction I feel pulled in is my true intuition, that these feelings I have are the right place to be right now. I have to trust that all things, all things right now, and all my future holds are where I am supposed to be, and that in the grand scheme of things I ether survive or I don’t but it will be a good life, and I will be remembered, even if only as a carbon footprint, a smudge in the dust of passing fancy, and I was worthwhile to someone, to something. Enough to still be here now. And that has to count for some small measure of peace. I like to think that if the teachings of Buddha are still valid, than so is my life, as I have changed, altered or affected others. And it has to be enough. I hope it is enough.

Stillness

The world is so still today. Even with a breeze the heat is stifling. Despite the sound of wind chimes and the trucks flying by on the freeway, it’s as though someone put a damper on the volume. Took the people away. Left a blank.

It feels like fall. This strange hot. This silent scream for something I have no name for. This want.

This is not the first time I have felt this, it seems to happen every year. Though this time, alone, it feels almost alien. A part of “me not me” dying to get out, back in, I don’t know.

If words came out of my mouth right now, I am not sure I could recognize my own voice.

This too shall pass.

Resentment

I swear, some days I just want to scream. This is the most asinine situation. My husband is in Chicago with a 20 year old girl, worrying about being homeless and not having enough money for food, while I sit here with his stuff, and hers for that matter. AND I HAVE TO MOVE!!!! Again. Which I just did four months ago and didn’t even finish. And now I have to get rid of things I would rather not, without any help, without enough money. And I have to find a way to get them to get their things. And I get to pay a bunch of bills from when we were together. And for this house. And all the utilities. Fuck everybody. I am so mad. I am not just being nice here. I am getting walked on. I am getting trampled to death.

How nice should I be and for how long? When do I quit? When do I give up?

I wish I had clearer answers.

Art Show

Tonight I am showing at Ruin. This is the first time since high school that I am showing my art in public. What a week I have had. Getting all this ready at the last minute, running around, sparring with bokken, teaching friends how to use floggers and getting tips on swordplay…a few unmentionables and an abscessed tooth. Short on cash and bruised to heck, but am in high spirits as I get ready to head out and set up for the show.

I got some frames and boy do the pieces look amazing framed, even if it did take all day because it’s been years since I have done it. I am looking forward to this and really hope that some of it sells. I got a good nights sleep and I am ready for the long night ahead. So come buy art!

Come check it out!

The Night Gallery @ Ruin

3100 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90005

wear black.

Singing for myself.

I went out tonight. Visiting a dear close friend, my doppleganger, from years long since past. She’s a platinum blond now. Our kink doesn’t run as deep as it used to. Doesn’t matter. What we have is something completely new and different. We went to a dive bar. She got me to sing. The one song I know well enough to sing…from the days I was in high school. Singing in a cover band which can feel like karaoke at times. Called Bigmouth. Doing cover songs by The Smiths. I was 14. The last time I sang in public, I was 20, in a garage band. I wrote a song, called In the passion of the kill, half singing half spoken word. Brilliant song. I’ll post it some time. Regardless, I went to perform this live at a house party, with most of my friends there, and the PA cut out. No one heard me sing. Not a soul. I never sang in public again. Stopped playing guitar, stopped playing bass.

So I go out. And they make me sing. So I pick the only song I like enough to do. At least that they have in the book that I know at all, How Soon Is Now. And I go up and no one tells me you have to turn the fucking mike on. So I sing the whole first verse and no one hears me. I feel and look like an ass. The deja vu is almost unbearable. I think I muttered something about killing people slowly at that point. And fuck up two other parts of the song because of it. So I sing it, and whereas the normal place I can be heard belting this tune is on the dance floor at Ruin or Malediction, I am perched on a stool, next to monitors so low that I can only hear myself, with a bunch of people I do not know looking at me…though I still wonder If that was an accurate representation or not, of my voice, at all.

And I slowly start to notice there are people singing along, and I maybe I might sound ok. And then I finish. Hoping to hell I had the lung power to hold the notes. And I hear applause. Which takes a minute to hit me. And some cheering. And they tell me I sound good. People I have never met, tell me I sound good. And my jaw wanted to fall off but god damn it I have tis pesky skin thing holding it on so it doesn’t go anywhere.

Holy fuck. They like it. My voice, apparently much like Lauren Bacalls, is nice to listen to.

I just did something I have never done before. And you know what?

It felt ok. I think I kinda liked it. I think I could do it again. Maybe I do not suck. Wish I could have heard what I sound like. Someone come tape me next time. I still have some surfing and apparently some shooting to do, so I will be down here again. With boards and guns. Handguns. The loaded kind. Look out. You thought I was dangerous before…

By the sea.

One of my favorite things to look at.

The lights of man over the water.

The sound of the waves hitting the shore.

I can feel myself moving,

I can feel my soul growing,

I see my art blossoming,

I can see my self becoming.

There is more to me and this world

than meets the eye.

Summer Fall

In the cool crisp air of night falls,
in escaping the confines of self
I travel south along the lines
across the bridge towards the
false light of can’t and won’t sleep.

Through blackened wall and metered
entrance greeting newness familiarity
knowing it was what I needed wanted
to see just then as the wind shifted…
and then you.

The bass throbbed a heartbeat
my heartbeat pound the shoes
to the ground roundabout the dance
my mind does singing lyrics
to songs I’ve sung in sleep
walking back again and again
to see you.

It’s the end of the summer
false ends and shifting solstice
weather lies and truth is cool night
and hot days as far as the eye
can blink it all into clarity
because when I close them
you’re still there.