Genesis, Invisible Touch (Live), The Way We Walk-Vol. 1: The Shorts (Live)
She don't like losing, to her it's all a game
Though she will fuck up your life, you'll want her just the same
Now I know
She has the built in ability
To take everything she sees
Now it seems I've fallen, fallen for her
Goodness Phil, I didn't know you had it in you. Apparently shit gets real at a Genesis concert.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Freedom, Oh Freedom, That's Just Some People Talking
No one listens.
I've told everyone I'm on funky meds, that I'm short tempered, that I'm having a hard time keeping a lid on it.
No one acknowledges, gives credit.
They pride themselves on how careful they are with you, what eggshells they walk on. They have no idea of how much of your life you have spent not saying anything, because you are considered devastating.
No one treats you like you are devastating until they feel guilty.
They don't tread with caution. They don't give credence to your statements. Is it because you are not yelling? Is it because you try to maintain politeness even when being provoked?
And when you do react, when you step away, take a breath, make an emotional statement - it is a set up. You are over reacting by reacting at all.
No one allows you to be angry.
Even if you aren't just angry. Even if you're hurt. Even if your expression of anger is to leave quietly, asking nothing of anyone, apologizing for your state.
Because any reaction equals anger? Because your anger is so terrible it's unfair to visit it on anyone? Because you aren't the only one in this state?
And then your reward comes. It's not just the reward for this moment of adult behavior and repression of homicidal rage. It's the reward for being the wailing wall, being the sin eater. It's your reward for listening, acknowledging being cautious, holding in the modes of expression that would upset others.
And your reward is that you now get to facilitate communciation with the very people you don't want to speak to. You comfort the people that yelled at you, attacked you, caused you discomfort.
That is your lot in ife. This is what you get for being transparent, for trying to share information, for reaching out, for listening.
And on the day wherein they were once again bestowed with the ability to NGAF, there was much mellow.
And of course, everything's fine. Because you make i tthat way.
My relationship with Life:
I've told everyone I'm on funky meds, that I'm short tempered, that I'm having a hard time keeping a lid on it.
No one acknowledges, gives credit.
They pride themselves on how careful they are with you, what eggshells they walk on. They have no idea of how much of your life you have spent not saying anything, because you are considered devastating.
No one treats you like you are devastating until they feel guilty.
They don't tread with caution. They don't give credence to your statements. Is it because you are not yelling? Is it because you try to maintain politeness even when being provoked?
And when you do react, when you step away, take a breath, make an emotional statement - it is a set up. You are over reacting by reacting at all.
No one allows you to be angry.
Even if you aren't just angry. Even if you're hurt. Even if your expression of anger is to leave quietly, asking nothing of anyone, apologizing for your state.
Because any reaction equals anger? Because your anger is so terrible it's unfair to visit it on anyone? Because you aren't the only one in this state?
And then your reward comes. It's not just the reward for this moment of adult behavior and repression of homicidal rage. It's the reward for being the wailing wall, being the sin eater. It's your reward for listening, acknowledging being cautious, holding in the modes of expression that would upset others.
And your reward is that you now get to facilitate communciation with the very people you don't want to speak to. You comfort the people that yelled at you, attacked you, caused you discomfort.
That is your lot in ife. This is what you get for being transparent, for trying to share information, for reaching out, for listening.
And on the day wherein they were once again bestowed with the ability to NGAF, there was much mellow.
And of course, everything's fine. Because you make i tthat way.
My relationship with Life:
 |
| I'm the Universe. |
 |
| Getting real sick of your shit, Cosmos. Sit and spin. |
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Follow This Link & Be Amazed
How can someone go through so much and not only survive, but thrive?
http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/1xt5bb/iama_survivor_of_medical_experiments_performed_on/
http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/1xt5bb/iama_survivor_of_medical_experiments_performed_on/
Friday, February 7, 2014
Freak Out - Sobbing - WTF - OMG - I Don't Even Understand, And You Will Think This Is Silly
Today, while pleasant in aspect, was not my day. Against plans, I decided to roll.
Now, there's only one bowling alley in town, and it suits me just fine, because they are the best. It's old, cracked, well oiled (before league) and familiar.
It's the kind of place I can leave my wallet in the pit and hit the restroom and I never even worry about someone stealing my shit.
Say what you will about the South, but this Just Happened:
I'm rolling with three different balls, trying to find a happy medium. Three beers and five sets in, I'm thinking "I should really get the guy to tell me the weights on these balls, so I'll know what to look for, though it's probably the elusive 10lb ball, talked of in myths and legends.
The owner walks over to me and says, "Girl, how many balls you trying to bowl with?"
I explain my situation, which is: I'm outta shape, I have small hands, and the light balls don't carry enough weight to strike. But the heavy balls kill my hip. (Bowlers know).
I mention I used to bowl with a green house ball, not the yellow letter 12 pounder, but the other one. He knows it: the 9 lb green. Gone the way of the dodo, almost.
"Well, lemme see. Now I have an idea," he says. Disappears into the back (the sacred holy bowling ball space). Halfway through my fifth sixth seventh whatever set, he hands me a ball. Pink, blue, and black, like a livid bruise.
"This is 10lbs, try it."
I have a beer and roll a little more. My hip is killing me. My knees are tired. But I've got a good grip on this 10lb. It's not the final weight I'll bowl with, but I can work with it. Put a wicked spin on it a few times without really trying.
I finish up one game and one beer over my original intent. It's all good. I've been trying to make this a McConauDay, though I have quite been able to pull it off. My hip hurts. My knees ache. I'll probably be done in for sure tomorrow. I still haven't eaten. I still haven't cleaned the room or fridge. I still haven't located the Christmas gift cards that I just realized today were missing.
You might imagine it's hard to get Zen and Bowl Right with a brain like this. You'd be right.
Anyhoo, I bowl my final and break 120, which was my goal. A sad goal, but still. I'm thinking crazy things, like how I should really get my own ball, even though I'm totally broke-ass and didn't even try to do that when I had money.
I carry the ball back up to the front, because it's obviously not a regular house ball: it's all shiny and pretty.
The owner cashes me out, and we talk of California (which everybody wants to dog on) and Zen bowling and the world. He pulls out a box and puts the ball I've been using into it. He slides the box across the counter to me.
"Here ya go. Somebody donated this so go ahead and have it. I know you'll use it."
Dude.
Seriously.
He just *gave* me a bowling ball.
I almost cried.
And then I did when I made it home.
I'm sure it seems silly, but good things never happen to me. I'm never rewarded for my loyalty or patience. The surprises in my life are mostly, almost all, negative. I'm not a lucky person.
But today I got a bowling ball for free. From a guy who remembers me even though I don't live here anymore. At an alley I almost didn't go to today.
Fuck a duck. I'll happily take my small miracles where I can.
Now, there's only one bowling alley in town, and it suits me just fine, because they are the best. It's old, cracked, well oiled (before league) and familiar.
It's the kind of place I can leave my wallet in the pit and hit the restroom and I never even worry about someone stealing my shit.
Say what you will about the South, but this Just Happened:
I'm rolling with three different balls, trying to find a happy medium. Three beers and five sets in, I'm thinking "I should really get the guy to tell me the weights on these balls, so I'll know what to look for, though it's probably the elusive 10lb ball, talked of in myths and legends.
The owner walks over to me and says, "Girl, how many balls you trying to bowl with?"
I explain my situation, which is: I'm outta shape, I have small hands, and the light balls don't carry enough weight to strike. But the heavy balls kill my hip. (Bowlers know).
I mention I used to bowl with a green house ball, not the yellow letter 12 pounder, but the other one. He knows it: the 9 lb green. Gone the way of the dodo, almost.
"Well, lemme see. Now I have an idea," he says. Disappears into the back (the sacred holy bowling ball space). Halfway through my fifth sixth seventh whatever set, he hands me a ball. Pink, blue, and black, like a livid bruise.
"This is 10lbs, try it."
I have a beer and roll a little more. My hip is killing me. My knees are tired. But I've got a good grip on this 10lb. It's not the final weight I'll bowl with, but I can work with it. Put a wicked spin on it a few times without really trying.
I finish up one game and one beer over my original intent. It's all good. I've been trying to make this a McConauDay, though I have quite been able to pull it off. My hip hurts. My knees ache. I'll probably be done in for sure tomorrow. I still haven't eaten. I still haven't cleaned the room or fridge. I still haven't located the Christmas gift cards that I just realized today were missing.
You might imagine it's hard to get Zen and Bowl Right with a brain like this. You'd be right.
Anyhoo, I bowl my final and break 120, which was my goal. A sad goal, but still. I'm thinking crazy things, like how I should really get my own ball, even though I'm totally broke-ass and didn't even try to do that when I had money.
I carry the ball back up to the front, because it's obviously not a regular house ball: it's all shiny and pretty.
The owner cashes me out, and we talk of California (which everybody wants to dog on) and Zen bowling and the world. He pulls out a box and puts the ball I've been using into it. He slides the box across the counter to me.
"Here ya go. Somebody donated this so go ahead and have it. I know you'll use it."
Dude.
Seriously.
He just *gave* me a bowling ball.
I almost cried.
And then I did when I made it home.
I'm sure it seems silly, but good things never happen to me. I'm never rewarded for my loyalty or patience. The surprises in my life are mostly, almost all, negative. I'm not a lucky person.
But today I got a bowling ball for free. From a guy who remembers me even though I don't live here anymore. At an alley I almost didn't go to today.
Fuck a duck. I'll happily take my small miracles where I can.
Monday, February 3, 2014
~golognoe prividenie~
wandering wandering wandering
sometimes it's like no one really sees me
i speak and they don't really hear me
maybe we are all floating through and around each other
but since we've no actual substance
no actual materia
we're not there
so we don't feel each other
trapped in the fever dream of our own selfhood
foolishly chasing beauty
sometimes it's like no one really sees me
i speak and they don't really hear me
maybe we are all floating through and around each other
but since we've no actual substance
no actual materia
we're not there
so we don't feel each other
trapped in the fever dream of our own selfhood
foolishly chasing beauty
Sometimes I Don't Sleep And I Don't Know Why
This is one of those times. My sleep sked is way outta wack.
Today I provided another stunning example of tech support. Someone's new laptop had a black screen with the mouse pointer still active. I assessed the situation and turned the machine off and then back on.
Screen back up (after Windows 8 interminable updates at startup, gah). Problem solved.
Today I provided another stunning example of tech support. Someone's new laptop had a black screen with the mouse pointer still active. I assessed the situation and turned the machine off and then back on.
Screen back up (after Windows 8 interminable updates at startup, gah). Problem solved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)