Bievres

We drove to Bievres with neighbor

and friends, but not friends

Sweet hearts to tolerate my "r"s

Berlin-style late nights

of the "old" Bob Dylan

yogurt

la la la through pursed lips

of cigarettes with tips cool to the touch

Remember the Edelweiss? Görlitzer Park?

But, of course.

I think it's the smoke that is stinging my eyes...

a kind of birthday / X everyday

we celebrated our anniversary in paris

though it should have been berlin

midnight walks in the interim

of gusty drizzly days and nights of grey

we are essentially the same

different packaging but still

wearing our favorite coats

i still hate goodbyes

i saw your everyday paris

peered in your windows

through the cracks

while the curtains were drawn

your white walls

look clean

and unencumbered

from out here

while FNAC bags and cardboard boxes

hide the building materials

of the controlled exposure

of your secrets

Oceanside

today i found myself walking along side the ocean

in a conversation without words

following the breath of the sea

as it exhaled softly onto the shore

and inhaled loudly onto itself

to the crash of white foam

and the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees

i forgot straight lines

the weight of each step

glowing white and light for a few second

before returning to a heavy brown

together we contemplated

vastness

depth

utility

pleasure

and the power of the moon

grateful for my hair

which danced on invisible streams

obstructing my view

these strong gusts of wind carried us along

rushing us toward an inevitable end

that i didn’t want to see

the more and more you come around

i've come to the realization that

you don't sit

but hover

silently vibrating

and stirring the electricity in the small space

between yourself

and the chair

i can tell you've been here

the light dancing off the uneven surface of silver coins

and the slightest of weigh in my outstretched palm

that you left behind

Dream Lab Archive

All recorded and experienced in Berlin, GM

10.20.2009

I'm inside and it is dark. I'm asking friend if they want to go. Liz Albertson is either friend or the other person who’s house it is. There is a delayed online chat during the party, with party people sending messages to voyeurs. I sent a tect message to Lindsay, saying "We can leave whenever". I told her that perhaps the person on the other side of the computer saw my text because somehow the electric signal got diverted and showed on the computer screen. I left the room, embarrassingly talking about how the just farted. Meanwhile, I’m in a dark room, trying to these new creature cats to go with me, but suddenly I encounter a Tabby that will not come. In my hands are two creature cats. Suddenly, baby panther creature with small, long alligator jaws opens slowly to bite my Tabby on the neck. I’m trying to swipe at it with the other cat creatures, but drop them and use my two index fingers to hold the mini jaws open and am calming yelling for Liz, “I need your help. I am not joking.” She finally comes in and helps to get the alligator creature off of me. Both my index fingers are lacerated to the point of needing stitches. I tape them together and try to hold them above my heart.

I'm now inside in highly lit party. As I am trying to get information on how to go to the hospital, I’m on a video chat with friends that mainly like Hip Hop. The screen shows the other side. Sean Paul’s “I’m still love with you” comes on the computer and we’re all laughing, Drew Blood is dancing. He looks like Danger Mouse with a blue collared shirt and brown pants. I see him entering a dark corridor dancing towards camera. “What?! Drew is doing the butterfly?” Lot of laughing. Stepping into the light we see he has an afro, and grabs an aerosol can of something – pretending it’s activator. He dances with it behind his back towards the camera, we notice that it spray fabric softener, and we’re yelling, “No! He’s not going to do it.” He sprays his hair and it actually acts like activator turning his fro into a Jheri curl. We say that he has to put this on DrewTube. I occasionally check my index fingers and the bleeding has stopped, but the tape is understandable falling apart.

I'm leaving the “party” with my busted fingers to go somewhere, presumably to get them fixed. Daylight outside, overcast. I end up walking down the street and cross a bridge where I notice that people are watching the water. I duck between legs and appendages down to watch through the railing. I see a Fabio character, cheesy handsome, no shirt sitting on a branch coming out of the water. My view changes when I realize that it’s a Las Vegas style wedding on the river, Venetian style. The bride is wearing a white dress and sits side saddle on the ledge with a rock-climbing / zip cord attached to her waist and you see that she’s calling something to the man (indistinguishable) and the man waves her over, while attaching her line to one that connects just beyond him in the branch so you can see that she’s going to land in her lap. I have the feeling that it already going to be very melodramatic, when she zips down the line and clumsily lands in him lap. He kisses her to hoots and hollers. Eyes are drawn downwards and a boat the same color of the murky river water, brown / beige, is there with an electric motor. Both get in and he rips the motor and it looks like they are going to skid out and away, but I become only slightly impressed when it capsizes with motor still going and we’re all sure that this is NOT part of the “show” and someone is going to get hacked into pieces, but it turns over again, everyone slightly damp, but in tact. Definitely part of the show and I feel cheated because I feel for it. They peel off and I get up to leave. I help someone pick up their dropped phone and find out that we both need to catch a cab.

It's nighttime. I walk out onto the street with other person (indistinguishable boy or girl) and catch a horse carriage with a big truck bed with a number of different characters, hipsters and one, older man in tux at end of the night and son in nicer clothes (~13 -15 years old). I find out that I’m in somewhere in New York / Berlin combo (vibe of Berlin, grid like New York). Father and son just got out of a show / event, they’re rich, and are trying to find a place to eat. I say I only know the Lower East Side and the East Village in Manhattan – suggest Tuck Shop on First and First. Heading uptown and nearest intersection that I see in we’re in Times Square heading north, with 20th Street running East to West. Somehow, heading to the upper streets = LES area. Completely upside down, but it makes sense. It becomes obvious that Father likes me and is asking where to eat, but son is being a brat. I try to talk to the son, but he’s giving short, smart ass answers and being a snob, in general. He doesn’t want this or that. The cabbie takes a “short cut” through New Jersey, which looks a lot like Central CA countryside , stating that we don’t want to go through Times Square during this time of day because of traffic. Somehow, I say something heartfelt / touching that makes the little boy question his attitude and now we’re best friends. Get the feeling that he is romantically interested / enamored with me, but keep boundaries. End up ditching the father somehow and cut to us together in a big Best Buy / Costco type stop where it’s fast forward / time lapse through our actions: sales person authorizing son to use father’s credit card and “you can decide to change the terms of service,” we buy video games, big dolls… montage of us getting stupid with games / toys, etc. End up feeling for the kid, who’s missing his father, and we try and find the father. Fingers still bandaged.

It's still nighttime. I deposit the kid somewhere safe to wait, and end up walking around where the Tuck Shop is, but it’s a hybrid LES and Compton / ghetto. I end up walking through a backyard. It’s trashy - old, non-working cars in the backyard, muddy, with tables filled with remnants of a party plus kid’s toys. There are wooden structure outside (Outhouses? Sheds? Storage?), and I infer that the family who lives her probably spends a lot of time outside due to lack of space and that they’re not home because they’re back door is wide open and no one is around. I bend down to play with raggedy animal and my eyes are drawn to see something on the table that is significant to helping the boy find his father. When I make to grab it, I see headlights from a van heading towards me. I duck and try to hide behind a car, but they get out of the car all dressed in red and I scoot in the dirt around the car trying to avoid their sights. I notice they are all Bloods, everyone wearing a bandana in various ways with at least one article of clothing that is red (shirts, caps, shoes) and they have weapons. I realize I’m fucked. I get up and state my purpose, stammering I’m trying to help this kid, but they don’t want any explains and back me out into the driveway. I’m backing up to the street with my arms up and I know it’s the end when a car pulls up the driveway, headlights on. I can’t see who gets out of the car, but I notice it’s a gang of Crips, not necessarily to defend me but to get their fight on and I just happen to be in the middle. One of the guys said they should kill me too, and why should they not? I stammer the same thing I said to the Bloods but with more detail trying to buy time, and am interrupted with, “What? You know (name)?” I say I was hanging out with his son all day and I’m trying to help him. It’s about to go down, but they offer to call him and if he doesn’t know who I am, it’s done. His brings the phone to his ears…

10.22.2009

I worked in a restaurant like my father's except it was super high-end that people had to wait outside and there were all these mosquitos out. My co-workers and I didn't get out of the restaurant until 7am and it was still dark. We saw a hugh cement wall in front of the restaurant. I said, "We need to get over that... I don't know why, but this looks like a quarantine." We walked to the other side of the neighborhood and there's the same thing. I said, "Fucking get rid of anything you can't carry because some shit is going down."

Cut to the next day and people are walking around like nothing is wrong, some people are sick looking but we're not. We're at a coffee shop and someone's like, "I think I know why people look sick." and I interrupted with "Mosquitos." And they all turned to me. "You just had to say it didn't you? Always interrupting." I felt really embarrassed and started climbing up the building to get away... then I saw people following me, and I thought that even if they were zombies following me, I'd just rather die than be embarrassed. I got up to the top of the building. People were already up there, they looked tired and on guard, but not sick. Then, they announced over the citywide loudspeaker that they were releasing 2,500 of those people... And everyone who didn't climb up anywhere turned around and looked .... the zombies... were... compact and ravenous.

10.28.2009

I'm waiting for a text confirmation from Lindsay Sharp that the wedding she invited me to was in Long Beach, CA and not some other Long Beach. I had booked a flight for over the phone without specifying. I didn’t realize I was going to be in Los Angeles during that time. I ended up waiting in a library on campus, possibly in Madison, with large windows with lots of light. I'm sitting by the windows on the ground. The DJs from WeFunk are broadcasting their show live from their BlueTooths in the library. I can tell by the way they are dressed and their voices. They sit with their legs sprawled out and their backs on the bookshelf, they look stoned. There’s a young Asian boy / possibly Pilipino that says he’s seen me at various Hip Hop events on campus. I told him that if I stayed for another two years and attended all the events I would probably know everyone that listened to Hip Hop at the school. I wanted to mention that I recognized the WeFunk DJs, but couldn’t find a way to work it into the conversation. He asked me if I liked Seattle’s Best, I corrected him and said Young Blood Brass Band, but meant to say Strange Fruit Project. I said it sounded like a coffee. DJ Static told me I should stop smoking because he overheard me talking and said my voice was getting as scratchy as his. I decided to wait outside and I knew it was the Mid-West because people were loitering outside. I was cleaning my glasses and looked in the sky. There was were dark clouds of circling bugs or birds in the distance, and when I put the glasses back on, I noticed that there was huge Bald Eagle circling. I was pretty much losing it because it was huge and I never saw one in real life. It was circling lower and lower, until I can diving down, head first, like a bullet about 3 feet away from me. It landed straight on its head with a CRASH. Got on it’s feet, shook it’s head, and then waddled away. That’s when I realized that Bald Eagles were descendant from Dinosaurs, specifically the thick skulled Pachycephalosaurus.

12.07.2009

I was in competition with my mom who was my age, but I knew was my mom. For some reason we had to stay up all night driving around, I think we didn’t have a home.

Date Unknown

I am an art student with access to huge studios. I am driving over a huge mountain pass with friends and my mom is in the back seat. There was a flood and it came to to tops of Berlin-style buildings. I wanted to take a picture, but we were driving too fast for me to get a good angle from the passenger side, so I handed my mom the camera and was like, "TAKE IT." I was really exasperated when she couldn't. We cross over the mountain pass and into the heart of the valley where the flood has become a river. We abandon the car and everyone is in the river water. It's not cold and people are floating around and standing on top of houses, but not really bothered by the fact that are in flash flood turned river. I see Jenny Anderson and Brittany Smith and they want me to bring a boat over to them. A plastic boat that floats, but s very, very thin. I fold up the boat, put it under my arm and swim, breast stroke, as hard as I could to bring it to them. As I was swimming, I noticed that there were people swimming next to me and at once I realized I was in a race. Immediately, I stopped trying, but decided, "Eh, I should finish anyway." (I think I lost my motivation for getting the boat to Jenny and Brittany in my efforts). So I did. After the race, I saw that I was ahead of all the boys and girls in the race (they were all in different divisions, but racing at the same time), but 3/4 of the way to the end you could tell when I stopped "trying" and slowed down to make it to the Top 10 (out of 20). At the end of the race, a guy approached me saying, "You could have won, but you just stopped trying 3/4 of the way through."

I was trying to tell him that it was precisely the fact I was not trying that made me go "fast."

Date unknown

Scavenger Hunt - collected everything by myself and with no bike... was going to win when people found out. I was no longer first in line. I dated an actor who was always having performance issues. I remember being very sympathetic.

fahrenhei(gh)t(s)

Early morning silence creeps into my noisy noiseless sleep

the stillness visible through slowly awakening eyes

that saw an alternate existence while closed.

Hazy as it drifts away,

dispersing in the muted sun light.

Fresh wounds from the night before

sting

and beg attention.

And are ignored,

for this morning belongs to the quietness

and the birds

and the rustle of the falling leaves

going about their ante meridiem business.

Clarity of reflection is afforded,

uninterrupted by the sounds of your own voice.

The expanse of the impending day

laid out before you,

taking shape like

slow lemniscate structures swirling

cream against the earth

integrating itself into the whole.

Eyes Wide Shut

The Lilly that I know has three eyes.

When she’s awake and aware,

she rarely keeps more than one eye closed at one time.

Involuntary and voluntary blinks,

opening and closing,

faster that you can imagine.

Letting the light come in,

leaving a lasting image.

If you’re lucky you can see what she sees

when she closes them.

Quote

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

— Mark Twain

HI Observations

A change in climate dictates the amount of layers you can comfortably wear.

Logic dictates that music should be island specific, but it seems that no one minds steel drums between 20 and 21 degrees latitude.

You can climb mountains in flip flops.

The Act of Descending

Paris, France

Walking up the Rue Dancourt as it turns into Rue des Trois Frères, I am transported back in time. I am excited but open the door with familiarity. A tiny door, by standards, and I need to watch the step. Crowded as usual and to my delight I am allowed to forgo the spotlight seat for the tucked away corner table. Deux personnes? Non, une. Thumbs up. I stare at the chalkboards, the same illustrations, slightly more expensive and I whisper my order over my shoulder and the shoulder of the male of the couple sitting next to me. The server corrects my French with a smile, repeating what I want to make sure he and I understand.

First course, fois gras with salad and toast. The foie gras is cold and is a perfect circle of the most perfect color of pink and brown I have ever seen. I stare at an iris from my dreams that looks back at me, a warm earth brown ring fading into a creamy coral center. I almost curse how rich it is and the small pieces of toast and the petit salad offering, but mostly I savor it. Taking breaks to be in transported to India by a woman's words which could have easily been my own, except for you can tell she was not born in the Bay Area. I am too conservative in the beginning and am left with one-fourth of the foie gras which nearly makes me faint because I know what comes next. A sensational assault. My entire sense, my only sense now is taste. It has the texture of silk mousse and a savoriness (is that English?) of all the things I was ever meant to eat. Salty, but not too much, rich... I close my eyes and make a sharp decision to learn more adjectives as I realize I am ignorantly imprecise. No thoughts past through my head for a while, just sensation.

The next course is Tartiflette Maison. A dish introduced to me by Gavyn, my French/Welsh flatmate of study abroad past, it has been the cause of many bathroom trips and a number of pounds. Stomach and body rebelling against Reblochon cheese, but my mind runs the show and it says you will habituated. And habituate, I did. A decent portion sits before me now and I know I'll finish it, but I know it will be a challenge nonetheless. The pieces of bacon, pancetta, pork belly, add the perfect saltiness to an otherwise creamy (again, must expand vocabulary!), soft and firm layers of potatoes and cream and cheese. I try to make the experience last as long as I can letting waves of memories, good and heartbreaking, wash over me. Wales, Steven, New Years, my inexperience, past innocence... and here I am. At the same restaurant, craving the same flavors, content to be alone as long as I can still taste.

I look over at the ignored wine glass of white wine, with it's thin layer of frosty condensation oozing from the inside out. In food drunk state, I make a mental compromise with the wine that I'm allowing it to become more flavorful by staying in the glass. As though through some crude semblance of osmosis, I'm allowing water to escape, but flavor to stay in. Chill, be cool. I think the white wine bought it...

The crème brulée and café crème elevate me from savory to sweet and the mix of sugar and caffeine leave me in heightened state of sense. I don't know how else to explain that I am a series of sounds, smells, and taste. CRACK. Spoon to caramelized crème. INHALE. Roasted earth. CRUNCH. My mouth exploring the bitter brown of brulée, the silky texture of the crème. I realize now, more than ever, why babies always put things in their mouths... Think about it. One of your only goals is to eat and this you do a lot of, this is the sensation that, for lack of better terminology, is exercised the most. You can barely hold your own monstrous head up let alone control your entire body, and you are dying to make sense of this big, bright interactive glob of moving shapes and sounds. So what is your most sensitive tool and skill you have? Your mouth and taste. Both have gotten a work out this afternoon.

I must have been there for one and a half, two hours. The lunch rush, gone, and I'm thankful no one is rushing me out. I am literally floating on air, I don't think I hear my boots click on their stone tile floor as I pay. I'm out the door with a merci beaucoup (I didn't have the wherewithal to say "Miam!"). But before I can reach the tiny opening, the people that leave before me open the doors to brass music.

La Paname sits upon a slight, windy incline on the way up to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, so the view is somewhat obstructed. You don't preside over all of Paris, but you're on your way either up or down. Not a bad place to be. I walk out unto the street to trumpet players flanked on each side of the narrow street blowing some sort of traditional French folksy number, the trumpet player on the other side, the one the westside of the street lugging a cart with the beat. He's got it. Older men, but light and still smiling, taking turns turning their flat caps upside down and right side up, blowing air into music. I donate the contents of my coin purse, ,30€. I would have gladly given more, charged by food experience and my guilt for not donating to the tuba and trumpet player in the Metro on the way over.

I stop at the square at the bottom of the hill, wink at the closed restaurant on the corner that Lindsay and I fled to after the incident in the artist's square / British pub. But I turn my back on it and look up at the incline, at the older men with their backs to me slowly making it up the street with alternating blows, at the smiles and taunting of people they pass, up past them all at the overcast sky.

Throwing on my hood I decide not to leave until those men make it up the street and leave me because I refuse to leave them. The acoustics are amazing and am reminded of the scene in La Môme and how she raced up the stairs to where her voice would carry. As these notes carry - they carry any thought I had out of my head until I am those notes, those feet propelling them up the hill, the smiles on people's faces and the light trickle of rain that has begun to think about falling in earnest. It never really does, but it hovers. The sound begins to mingle with cars over cobblestones, children's razor scooters that sound like train tracks, strong but gathering distance.

The men pause at the top of the street to applause, I hope, but cannot tell as if there is any, it is quiet and private. I only see the scattered, swift coming together of hands . The music continues as I know it will long after I have turned on my heels and begin the slow decent to the Seine.

No pictures, just this memory of Montmarte. I don't know why I am drawn to it as such.

An End of An Experiment (Part 10)

Part 10

As a distraction to this whole sorted ordeal, I found myself in another situation where love was the main course of discussion. To call a spade a spade is only fair, and this was a rebound. That lasted over 3 years. To whom I loved, I was always guarded. Until one day I wasn't and I got what for. A broken heart. Another bright-eyed, wild youth who let me in with no reservations to wreck havoc among his glass hopes with my heavy bull horns. It's not that I couldn't be all that he wanted, in fact it was truly the other way, but in my sentiment I didn't want to let go of love. For a year and half it was passion, private fights, and convenience. This is the first relationship that put into perspective and where I could rightfully admit that I liked being a "girlfriend" and being in "love," and while I had standards, it almost didn't matter who you were. It was more about what you could do for me. The victim comes to terms with being the victor. It was only a matter of time for this episode to come to an end, and subconsciously I put myself in the position to pay a penance for past broken hearts and bruised egos. I was sick with heartache for the better part of a year. It was private battle as pride dictates, by my life was permeated with doubt and realization of the pattern I have come to play out in my interpersonal life.

Part 9

Part 8

Part 7

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Woof. I remember that the original act of putting to paper these words was physically draining... myself hunched over a typewriter with cold finger tips pounding onto the keys and the deep breath I took after it was all said and done... once I finished it, I folded the papers in half and didn't look at them again for a solid couple weeks. Now that I've have time to reflect piece by piece and as a whole, the experience is taxing in different sort of way. Before it was a relief and now it's almost instilled an anticipation ... a little bit of "what comes next?" I told you that sometimes when I write, it's like once it's on the page, I don't recognize myself as the author. Maybe its easier that way because sometimes I am embarrassed that this is what has been longing to come out and is the first thing that appears when given free reign. Sometimes, I'm not. Perhaps, not to long into the future, I will try this experiment again.

Untitled

An Experiment, Part 9

Part 9

Always a goddamn but. It was not enough. How could he love me if he didn't truly understand my past? How can he save me if he's never known heartbreak? He knew what he wanted, me, but what did he have to compare this experience to? How could he have been so sure?! I see now that this was purely my own internal workings vomiting itself onto a situation that most would have given their first born to have, but my first born was already promised to the deity who relieved me of Salmonella some years ago, but that is another story in and of itself. So, I left him. No other explanation other than I had to find myself. Bullshit, and he could see right through that. Bless his heart, he pursued me for almost as long as we had been together, the better half of 6 years. Again, I was in search of what I thought was love, and I knew what was there once before could never be again. Once I was woman enough to admit that, to relieve him of this unjust hold on his tender heart strings, he promptly married the girl with whom he'd been living with. Much to his unknown horror, this act of betrayal to a woman who presumed he had loved her wholeheartedly pleased by sadistic side to no end. It was then I knew that my view of love was still tainted and in need of solace.

Part 8

Part 7

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

An Experiment, Part 8

Part 8

Then it happened. From out of nowhere a soft young delicate thing who knew nothing of the upperhand of love came to me in a whirlwind of the most traditional kind. We wrote each other notes, he asked me to be his girlfriend, wrote songs and sang them inaudibly in his backyard on milk crates. He loved me despite my past, fucked me despite his religion, and all at once I had the upperhand. Believe me, I tried in the beginning and slipped into old ways, instigating fights, and always questioning sincerity. I find that I sometimes still do after all these years, but I jump ahead. It was a fairytale love, proms and parking lots. Notes and dinners with families. Family vacations and confessions of undying love. But...

Part 7

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

An Experiment, Part 7

Part 7

I will say that the next time I encountered love, it was some years later. Between then and then there was a string of failed, weird attempts to excerpt an upperhand as I now knew I had a certain thing that boys wanted. Spending three years distracting people from purple spots and crying fits teaches you a couple of things. Discovering sex appeal and how to manipulate that is another teacher. Of course this was all in the service of trying to find a "healthy" approximation to what I had. I have no shame admitting that I was cruel, I was manipulative, and the harder you were to get, the meaner you were, the I wanted it and the harder I cried. I was a victim and victor in the most adolescent of games.

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

An Experiment, Part 6

Part 6

How it ended was more of a blur than how it began only due to the fact that I was in a constant haze of rearranging all that I knew about how to act in relationships. I switched schools, I remember that. I remember he threatened my father and brought me a dozen roses. I remember that he would call and ask how I was, injecting a feeling of the worse anticipation I have ever imagined, a combination of hatred and desire. I remember that one day I woke up and hadn't thought about him in a number of days. But his marks were clearly felt. And not only by me.

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

An Experiment, Part 5

Part 5

I would have to say that my second experience of love occurred when I was 13. Put in a precarious situation of predictably absent parents and of wanting to find a place to call my own in the social sense led me into the arms of a charismatic playboy with a pension for verbal and physical abuse. I curse the marks that he has put on my body and mind, drawing a path on both that is hard to deviate from. To skip ahead, slowly these well worn grooves are smoothing out, but to go back they run very, very deep. It is here again that I encountered this upperhand. He had what I wanted, and I had what he wanted, myself aware of the power of the female form. What I wanted was this thing called love. For me this love was visceral. It made me sick on more than one occasion and made me contemplate the whole lot with knife in hand. Nothing felt more like love than force, words of the "carefully chosen hurting kind." The strength of what was in my heart was matched only by bruises, blood, and involuntary curses that escaped my lips when contact was made. The more it hurt, the more sure I was that what we had was special. He didn't posture with me, this was real and private.

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Side Note: I haven't significantly altered any of what I've written since I conducted this experiment with the exception of typos and glaring grammar issues, such as missing commas. And it's difficult not to with every entry I post, but every time I do it is a self-inflicted lesson in humility. Goodness, this is tough.

An Experiment, Part 4

Part 4

To which I would like to address the topic of love. My very first experience would have to do with my parents, and what I gleaned from that situation is that love will sometimes make you do things that disappoint the other with the intention of saving them from other major disappointment. Do not get me wrong I have learned the harshness that is unconditional love. The awesome and inspiring unconditional love of two (!) parents and for that I am grateful. I understand now what things were sacrificed and what things were done in the name of love, but it is just like me to remember the hard lessons of love, especially when I have a bellyache. There always seems to be an upperhand in love, where one has collected more experience than the other. Rarely do I see an equality in the tally of love experiences. This upperhand is the scariest and most desirable thing I can imagine. This, I imagine, is powerful and arresting at the same time. Both a boon and a burden. But I jump ahead of myself.

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

An Experiment, Part 3

Part 3

I know there is nothing that interests me that doesn't involve the human condition. It is extremely hard to be impressed with reading something that has nothing to do with you, or that which you can relate to. It may seem bold, but as humans we have an uncanny ability to recognize our own consciousness and to possibly compel me into speaking with you about anything having not to do with this extraordinary gift is to render oneself obsolete.

Part 2

Part 1

Twenty Ten

No Hate in '08 ... Tried my hardest, but I'm a hater by nature. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Gettin' Mine in '09 ... Check, done. DING! Pick it up.

Lessons I've Learned 2009 Edition

• Everything is temporary.
• When you expect nothing, anything can happen.
• People are going to think what they want to think about you regardless, so you might as well say the things you want to say.
• If you say something, you better mean it.
• It is amazing the conditions that human are capable of adapting to.
• Sometimes it o.k. to stay in on sunny days and write. Or sleep.
• Do what you gotta do, boo boo.
• Timing is key.
• You never regret the things you do, but always regret the things you don't do.
• The universe will provide.
• If you want something bad enough, you will make it a priority.

By nature, 2009 will never happen again. Events can be replicated, relationships deepened / weakened, and similar things can be "discovered", but the experience of 2009 was solely unique.

The year began with an personal acknowledgement to a new leader of the nation that I would sacrifice and contribute to a greater good, however that vision would be developed, only to find myself out of employment within a couple months. I always describe being laid off as the equivalent of being dumped, to which we all have experienced, but believe me when I say, I loved my job. The conversation went something like this:

Job: Listen...

Me: Yes, boo? What you need, I got you.

Job: Yeah, about that...

Me: You can tell me.

Job: Well, let me just say, it's not you...

Me: What? WHAT?

Job: It's me. I ...

Me: Are you... Is this for real?

Job: Yeah. I can't afford to have you around anymore. Baby, I've been trying for the past couple weeks to find a way that you fit in, but there's no room. I'm sorry.

Me: Oh HELL no.

And we're still not together. I haven't been seeing anyone since, but we all know what happens after an event like this... I immediately start rollin' for self. I hit the road. Almost instantly. Supplied with a cooler chock full of Gov't cheese and an automobile, I start gettin' mine in earnest. This year alone, I have gotten busy cross country 3 times and have stayed extended periods of time with New York City and Berlin, Germany. I'm not afraid to I became one of Travel's many mistresses because it's always a win-win situation. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Travel has always been my first love. I am and will always be faithful because Travel is always like, "I don't know why you're trippin', it's not like I'm going anywhere. Damn. Get at me when you can."

2009 has shown me multiple lives and countless alternative realities where I may exist. And for that, I am grateful, but I am acutely aware that 2009 has not been without bullshit. Some severe bullshit at that. Without going into the details, let's just say I have a greater appreciation of life, and from now on, I will do my best to be an active participant.

The world has opened itself up to me, shown its most brilliant opportunities, and I vow to cherry pick the best of what I learned from each and every opportunity and create a space - mental, physical, all that - where I fit... and can enjoy them all. Because, real talk, it's been inside me all along and I just needed an opportunity to explore all the possibilities.

So let the filtering process begin. Love, Respect, Responsibility, Friendships, Decisiveness, Knowledge, Power, and Collaborations, you're good. Bullshit? Gets the steppin'.

Love Always.