This isn’t your almost blog today

As much as I have to admit I have a tendency towards the unconventional methods to deal with uncomfortable events and actions in my life, I have turned into an attack binge writer. Be careful not to tell me what a limitation is. I hope Brian recovers from this shady way of covering up emotions with a series of words injected painfully until the victim is too confused to ask what happened. Apologies to the others who know who they are. But I’m not sorry. Don’t be a crybaby for Christ’s sake. Not here; start a blog or watch a different time bomb.

I’ll be on streaming youtube now while I fix websites and play some songs to get even with my lack of practice by showing how much no one cares.

Get off FaceBook. Go outside and steal some hubcaps. Streak down Broadway. Write or play music or build a bad reputation.

GET BEAT UP. Trust me – that is the way to learn how to unlearn how stupid you thought you were.

I can’t stop writing. This is a real issue. I’m going to WordPress. My phone is off and I don’t want to talk about it. I want to make sure nothing changes enough to succumb to boredom and retweets of Trump. I want to start something and then run.

Yes, I won’t know until I do the analytics so if you think you don’t care, you would have figured out how to tell me that and stop asking me to think positively and MAYBE you would get out of the way and do something intelligent.

I will not make apologies for my stupid mistakes again.

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The Joke is On

“Okay,” I said. “I can take a joke.” I began to shuffle down the opposite direction of the atrium corridor and I began to focus on a new plot, but I needed a new persona first, then the intangible and it’s obscurities would be a natural consequence.

In an effort to prove the power of the meaning of words, I will launch my latest metaphysical awareness campaign: Speaking in one-word sentences. And as I waited for my mom to pick me up from school I was reading an essay written by a Hawaiian clown who used to teach French Revolutionary Architecture but decided to write in order to teach and he wrote well for a clown I suppose – as I waited the notion struck me between the lines that this constant quest to transcend the shallow traditional surface of society and judgment, I was not operating inside the function of my mission to master world domination.

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The second time I was administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was he second time it wasn’t necessary, and was the event that spurred me to embark immediately to see a specialist.

I always thought of myself as the dangerous type – mentally, obviously.

Hmmm. Life is inconsistent. I picked myself up and put myself down. I was as much a part of the problem as I was the solution as I was to the apathy.

What you expect of someone
something or
someplace
is what you’ll get.

Yeah, WHAT ever. Thanks for explaining THAT one to me, you self-actualized f**king genious, you. ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF? ….I wish I needed to regurgitate all the selfish-help book epiphanies that I read by a pragmatic spiritually elevated “writer” connect my (thus yours and the -universe-) dots.

When conversations turn into mud and I am being sabotaged by the tactless talkers, I used to terrorize them. Now I am older and I have a fifty-fifty chance that I am going to care anyway; I just sigh and quietly say, “Based on the information you have provided, explain what specific impact you have just made on my life.”

“What are you implying?” is also a fabulous conversation-stopper. My brother and I began to compile a list. Then friends added to it. Someday I will publish it under the self-absorbed section at Barnes and Noble. Soon I will care enough to get angry again.

“That’s an interesting perspective,” my friend C.A. would say when she was confronted by the psychologically stunted.

Self-fulfilling prophecy is determining the meantime what will concern very largely your past and present meantimes.

So my NEXT entry will be My Thoughts on “Nothingness.”

So… how are you going to be noticed when you’re not here?
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Cuckoo

THE CUCKOO CLOCK

The last point I made before the clock struck midnight and the stupid cuckoo popped out and reminded me yet again that I was doing the right thing breaking up with you because you had no sense of class and you would always be a person who thought nothing of it to display a cuckoo clock in the living room and minded not that this type of ornament was – at the least – tacky, but especially a reflection of the demise of a psychological connection between a couple. 

The cuckoo was not the problem so much as the problem was the words we exchanged while it cuckooed.

The last point I tried to make was for you. It was going to happen this time. In four days, we would get the news and the news would be what we want it to be and would change our lives and we would be happy again. The point was to make you believe that the streets we walked through tonight would be paved with gold and honey in four days. The pavement on which we strode this evening was smooth and familiar, but we would not miss it when it turned to gold. I felt myself smile as I thought of your disbelief. I handed you a shovel and asked you to bury that cuckoo clock yourself and  the phone didn’t ring for four days.
W Clark

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The Space You Left Behind by Wendy Clark Hudson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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Your Semi-Daily/Weekly Bog

The Beanstalk.

Then came the Beanstalkers…

Now that I have decided not to participate in the mischief which bounces beneath me and breathes down my back, the lucky day bursts its bountiful fountains of the purest, warmest light within and around me; my love of life and the depth of my own fragile yet enormous temple of true faith is surrounded in that song of the magnificence of being; the most transcendent revolution of self becomes real.

Now that I have decided to burn the barriers of self-conscious self-doubt and self-betrayal, I decide to run into the living room wall as fast as I can and with full knowledge of the eight feet I have to build momentum. And although the pain is quite a bit more intolerable than I would have expected, not only because I thought a small jaunt of machosim might just fix or trick my mischievious mind redirect the synapses to bigger and better ailments, my expectations are always higher than I could ever reach, and if there was a beanstalk and I caught sight of it, hell yes, I would be stacking phone books to get to those branches and know I was in for something new and cool, whether it broke my heart or set me on a path to heavenly starlight roller-rink, life is all about beanstalks, bruises, and broken branches.

Now that I have decided not to learn any lessons, I will sing you a song about it.
Now that you have decided not to give me any reasons, I will seek them forever.
Now that I have decided not to participate, I have missed the point, I have not given any reason, I have rolled the dice, played the game, and walked away.
Now tell me—you know the stories of the games, you know all the contenders – now are you going to be the dealer or are you going to be the player?
Now blow some bubbles in the wind and sigh happily in the sunny sunshiney super nothing of your immediate detachmentality…. why? Becuse you are no longer a contender.

“Deal me in.”image

put up or shut

down.
prove yourself
passing time
save face
misplaced but you cannot erase
the shame you got
you cannot erase your genes
so write it down
you have no rights
to any rite
and if you find the
answers
i will smile and tell you
congratulations
put it down on paper
so everybody can reference
put it down on paper
so you know
the answers.
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Sadly, I didn’t make a break for it until I saw you, thus I couldn’t get far enough away to ever live with myself for being in love with a robot.

Regret

I walked out of the place and haven’t even stopped thinking about your face but I wanted your actual presence so I walked out of that space and that place and I knew more than I wanted to reflect upon. Time is always in a hurry anyway.  Those times we drove home any place and how many years I didn’t waste then or some place.

Now we are years ahead
You have changed and put your hands on a different part and angle of your hips now
I still want to run away from you sometimes
The way these reminders are the best way to not forget the way I haven’t changed
The truth syrup astounds me as much as the last words we exchanged
You were always available to let me down
So thanks for that and I am getting back up
I will take my time and let go of the record collaboration
And the interpretation of love versus hate
Plus the regret that I regret every dayIMG_2030 (2).jpg

I’m looking past the place I filled the tank with using my last known income and you were on the phone and I knew then that the moment I was trampled – and so simply cut –  the empty pain of my every cell deflating and gasping, the air poisoning my lungs, the way someone who falls off a skyscraper may feel – the terror of this being new to me and assuring this was a space I found – not for the last time in life either.

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I walked over to that space but can’t stop thinking about you.

Glass Zebra

But I would like to begin again.

I wonder why I left work during the middle of lunch still.

When I realized he saw me beside the broken pieces of our clumpy jagged edges of the glass zebra, he may have been stung like a match head to the temple, that I was the one he saw there, realizing that the pieces of broken jagged clumpy were pieces of my irreparable goddamn heart.

“Shut the hell up,” Jemeriah reminded me. He wasn’t happy that my boyfriend wouldn’t drive to get my wisdom teeth out.

The dentist hadn’t taken into account that I was thin from my recent long bout with adult chicken pox, and the prescribed medication was unlike any other I had ever.
EVER. He wasn’t there when I got home nor were the pieces of the zebra.

So I nodded to acknowledge where I was now, and felt faint and slightly sick with no ease to my love, then made my way out the door. I shut the massiveleadish steele thing and tried to skip unsuccessfully down the stairway to the lot. I sitting there on the bus bench for three hours before I hailed a cab back home.

I remember the way he saw me, and I saw him suspended there in time and space and he still loved me. I drank him all the time he was around me, which was a lot, and I smelled and let him saturate my own suggestion of being near him – I enjoyed enjoying, being enjoyed, enjoying being enjoyed. he had my heart, he mythically stole it, like a slick Incubus, thief as he stole my love and man; I wonder why he didn’t skip class and just fuckin pick me up from serious wisdom tooth surgery.

Oh so earlier …. The dentist, meanwhile was apparently talking to my friends and I occasionally nodded and was probably really druggy, I told the staff I loved them and would see them soon. Then Jeremiah gave my keys to my freshly ex boyfriend and I dozed while he ordered me scripts at the store.

Chasing him down Tennessee in my old Camaro, crying “GODDDD-SSSPEEEEDDD!!!” to symbolize a moment of great length and filled with cheese, I sure as all hell was not getting the message.

I said yes to him that evening as twilight as his eyes were – I was in love, and hell, he knew it would work. He was so intelligent. I didn’t foresee his lack of thought for those years.

I saw him see me later, while I was fake knitting and fake chewing gum. he asked me which was more fun. I said it’s more fun seeing what makes you crack up more.
“What makes YOU crack up?”
“The fake gum because of the Fake TMJ?”
“Fake you!” We both laughed.
I melted. I felt cocky then said, “Fake knitting is stupid.”
“Stupid is faking- stupid faking fakers!”

I want to be more than what I faked and fucked with.

I am gonna take this opportunity to plead sanity and love for myself and psychological esteem and less panic and happiness and unconditional love and have more time to enjoy and learn from it, cheesy perhaps, believe me, I am not selling a story here.

I am just writing one for us.