If one's own opinion is all anyone has to worry about...

why do so many people feel pointless?

Having one of those days. Unfortunately.

Even more unfortunately--it was entirely self-induced.

An unintended insult

Strolling through the viral streets of Facebook, I came upon a startling statement thoroughly entrenched in naivete and lightly dusted with disrespectfulness.

"....this is not 'acting' it is coming from the heart!"

Apart from the fact that it is sorely lacking in correct punctuation, which causes it's meaning to be sloppy at best, it is offensive to those who actually do work to produce a quality performance. Acting (not in quotations, mind) should always be coming from the heart.

Theatre is an art form. Art is around to express the hidden world inside each of us. If it's not coming from the heart, then it's pretty much pointless.

Don't let

anyone or anything discount you.

Other's fears are just that--OTHER'S fears. Do not let them limit you.

Other's limitations apply only to themselves--they do not impact your ability to succeed.

If someone doubts you, overcome the doubt and persevere. The feeling at the top of the mountain supersedes any feeling of cautiousness.

Detox, of sorts

I found it's pretty much impossible not to clear my mind when driving through beauty. On the way out to work and the way home, I get to drive through rolling hillsides that are either swathed in coastal fog or shimmering in sunshine splendor.

No matter how early or late it might be, or how tired or hungry I may be, the 30 minute drive goes a long way towards cleansing my emotional palate.

Hello self-recharge!! Now I'm rip-raring to go.

Fawn accompanyment

I was playing my ukulele this weekend during one of my breaks at work, and thought I heard an autistic person making noise a bit away. It sounded like a gut-reaction, totally sub-conscious note of fear and since it was repetitious, I simply placed it slightly out of my mind and continued playing and singing music.

After a bit of time, I noticed a small fawn walking around one of the lodges. He looked straight at me and bleated, this same guttural sound. I then realized it was always coming from this baby deer. He continued looking around (I presume for his mother, who was nowhere in sight) and making this terribly sad bleating sound, which was oddly in time with the music. I enjoyed playing for him, and he seemed entranced by the occurrence.


Music transcends everything. It transcends language, country, species, world...... Music is magical. And as the fawn disappeared in the underbrush, I was filled with awe and silence.

The other day

I saw a well-situated, large (bigger than a dime without counting legs) spider on a walk. His web reached about 3 or 4 feet across a few trees and bushes.

The interesting part was, as I was staring at this spider's kingdom, I noticed another, much smaller, spider encroaching upon the top bit. The larger spider had his attention gained and skittered away towards the offending party. As he approached and saw, not a harmless bug as surely anticipated, but another, perhaps dangerous spider, he slowed. And stopped, extending his front two legs protectively.

This monolith of an arachnid paused and allowed the smaller offender to approach him, so he could attack when he felt safe. During one such rush, the smaller spider fell off of the web completely, dangling on one small tendril, trying to regain composure. But he crawled up his lifeline, and just went right back to the face-off.

I lost time, standing and waiting for action, but seeing a small glimpse of this other world has granted me a lovely insight.

Even if you have every advantage, it is still in your best interest to play towards security.

There's just something about

having a delicious cup of personally brewed tea in a bone china cup. The flavor difference is perfection.

It'll come around

I so love really listening to a song that I've heard many times.

And on the listen, hearing a connection.

And on the connection, feeling breathless.

And on the feeling, create a cover.

And on the creation, being proud.

WAY TOO LONG,

it's been.

Anyways, I am going to try to update more--my new job is FANTASTIC, but does sufficiently tire me out and make me not want to get on the computer. Which I count as a positive.

Today, I had a day of adventures. First off, I almost hit a buck in my car this morning. I have a little two-door Ford Escort and have never even seen a deer whilst in my car. That is, until 7:15 this morning, on my way into work.

The four-pointer stopped in the road, responding to the presence of my car with a couple of sturdy steps towards me. He appeared to be entranced by my appearance--I felt as though he was looking right through my windshield and into my eyes. My car creeped close and right as I'm about to touch him, he bounds off up the side of an extremely steep cliff. I had the shakes, but he is unscathed.


Later, I'm about to clock off from work and have a half hour to kill, so I go walking along the riverbank. And what do I startle in the underbrush but a four-point buck. I have no way to prove it, but it feels like the same one. Maybe I've a nature-stalker?

Whatever the case, in seeing the being bound away, I was brought to speechlessness by the grace.
Nature sure is gorgeous.

My mutants

I often refer to my little black mutants as such--although they aren't that mutated in all reality. They are two black cats who have *roughly* 7 claws on each front paw. Yes, they are awesome. And yes, they are BEAUTIFUL.

But I now understand how a mother can need to do something and be absolutely terrified of it at the same time. Because of their hidden claws, they are unable to file the extras down themselves. So, I have to catch and hold a wriggling little form as I put really sharp clippers next to the pads of their feet (the claws that don't get shortened just begin to curl around, digging into the pads of their paws if not maintained and clipped).'

I'm always so scared that they will jump or strain to get away just as I'm attempting to trim a claw and the blades with slip and cut them.

So far, so good.

But that hasn't stopped Bagheera from whining like I'm beating her every single time.

I sat

on my break, on a stone under a tree and looking at the hills. I really wanted to observe these two bugs diving and zooming around each other just under the lowest branches, but I couldn't get my mind away from one specific thought--

I wish I had my ocarina.

I am having a love affair

with my life right now.

My very second day on my new job, I had the privilege of meeting an adorable little gopher snake. Still a baby, only about 7 inches long. I met the little creature on my way to learn to tend the goats and sheep.

Then we went off to the magical garden on site and sampled a couple of raspberries while turning on the water to feed the oxygen-giving beings.

Today, we were having work meetings, one of which took place outside in the fire-circle. Yeah, outside in the breeze and sunshine. In the middle of the meeting, a doe and her youngling ventured over to inspect and walked on past, completely unfazed.

After a full day of hard work at the camp, I got to come home, lay on my bed, and fall in love all over again with my two adorable mutant kitties. One meowed at me and followed me around until I settled in and the other, once I lay down on the bed, promptly crawled into a little outcropping of blanket and popped her head back out again, enjoying the time-tested past-time of blanket-fort-dwelling.

My love, my heart, never ceases to look at me with eyes shimmering and proud. His smile still makes my blood rush and his laughter will never cease to make me joyous.

I am thoroughly entrenched and in love with my life.

My last day--

So here is a story from my new-to-be-not-my computer:

I remember the first time I became aware of mirrors.

I read a story, this harmless story, online. Just a few pages long, but with an idea I had never pondered before. Have you ever really looked at yourself in the mirror? Do you look like you, behind those eyes? Your appearance, sometimes terrifying, sometimes breathtaking, sometimes perfect, always looks a bit like a stranger.

Well, this story explained the perfect way to catch your own reflection - grab a single hair while looking in a mirror. Don't let go of it. Measure it. Then, measure the hair in the mirror. They won't be the same. But be careful, the story warned: your reflection isn't stupid. They will know, forever after this, that you know about them. You may, and probably will forget, but they won't. It's not a secret anymore. And knowledge is power. It's probably not safe, the author states, to turn your back on a mirror after they know.

A shiver ran through me, the idea frightening, but not scary enough that I actually cared. Until I got in my car.

Have you ever noticed how many reflections of yourself are in a vehicle? There are at least 5 mirrors in the
average car. One on each side, outside. One behind each visor in the front, and one smack-dab in the middle of the front of the car. The one that can see the back seat of the car. That doesn't even count all of the windows, which are reflective when it's dark outside. What does that bring the count up to? Ten? Twelve? You are surrounded by yourself. A terrifying thought. Especially when you're alone in your car, hurtling down back roads in the dead of night, the only light a distant illumination from the stars far overhead. And when you look around, the light from your headlights illuminates your face, reflecting in the window beside you.

Of course you've never seen the imperceptible grin on the face that isn't your face and the shimmer in the eyes that aren't your eyes. But they damn sure look like yours. These are small differences. Harmless differences. It's when your reflection doesn't care if you see it change that the situation isn't as harmless anymore.

I can't erase the day from my mind. The memory. The first time that the other me responded to me. She didn't mimic, she didn't copy, she responded. Backstage of a show, in the dressing room, the walls are mirrors. For makeup, and costuming purposes, everyone staring at themselves, studying their reflections. As everyone leaves to go on stage, I turned for one last check on myself. My expression was worried, but my makeup was done well; I remember thinking that I couldn't even see the worry lines I felt on my forehead and between my eyes. I put on a bit more lipstick, puckered, and straightened up.

Then she winked at me.

I froze. I knew I had to be on stage. But I froze. Staring into the deep blue puddles that I have grown so used to. And yet, there is a coldness behind them, a steel I've never seen before. My breathing was shaky as I brought my hand up to my face, straightening hair that is perfect. She followed me. I convinced myself, heading over to the stage. I shouldn't've turned the last time. I should have walked away and let her think that I was stupid. That I convinced myself of my own insanity. That I convinced myself I was tired, or stressed, or simply scaring myself. But I had to double-check. I had to be certain. So I turned to look at myself once more.

She was staring back at me with those same steely, cold eyes. Then, one corner of her mouth turned up, a cock-eyed grin, and she raised the opposite hand, waving slowly at me, one finger at a time, the movement eerily sensual.

I felt my eyes widen, my heart racing, my throat suddenly dry. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers wiggling, still up in greeting. Stumbling backwards, away from the mirror, I tripped, falling onto my ass, breaking eye contact with my twin. And when I stood up, it was me again. My face, white as a sheet, worry lines above my brow, and lips in a thin, nervous line. I did that show on auto-pilot.

I debated sharing. Telling someone. Anyone. As a warning, or an argument, or even just in my own consternation. But if I made others aware, they would no longer be safe. I didn't know what she had in store for me, but it couldn't've been good. I had seen those eyes. I had seen the expression burning in her gaze, blazing hot through the glass. She was angry and I had no idea why, or what I could do about it. She didn't move of her own accord again for a while. But her eyes. Her eyes stayed angry. Steely. Violent. No matter what mirror I looked in, I could see myself. Or her. And I couldn't escape her eyes. They pinned me as firmly as a stake, plunged through a body and into the ground.

I recall her growing more active. When I changed, she would laugh, quietly at first, slowly gaining malice,
pointing at her own pale legs, or her bare tummy, pushing it out farther and laughing at my fatness. When I would start my makeup, she would miss her own eye, marking her cheek with mascara. And I would rub furiously at my own skin, rubbing it red and raw. In places where mirrors were facing each other, creating so many duplicates of myself, they would wait until they knew I was paying attention, and then turn and attack just one of myself, beating this other me savagely as I could only watch on, helpless and disturbed.

The only reflection I could trust was my shadow, or the rare times I caught myself in a fountain, or a puddle.

I grew more haggard. Became unkempt, messy. The bags which were always below my eyes grew worse as my sleeping began to suffer. I took all the mirrors from my house, and covered the windows, but at night, when they reflected, she would tear down the curtains. And I would awaken to see her staring at me, standing up where I was laying down.I used to try to stay awake, used to be vigilant, arguing with her, trying to understand or help her through her anger. She either couldn't hear me, or wouldn't. I started sleeping in the kitchen, curled up in front of the fridge.

And then she found the oven door. I couldn't get away. She started to hit me. Or I started to hit me. It wasn't my choice, but it was definitely my hand. I didn't know how to make peace with her. I kept it a habit to keep things out of my hands, out of my reach, when a mirror was in sight. I began awaking with bruises, scabs, and blood stains on my pajamas. My lips had bite marks, my palms had fingernail marks, and my toenails looked as if they were going to come off at any minute. Every morning, they were more and more ginger, more and more loose, torn from the nail-bed a bit more.

Then I woke with a black eye and a broken nose. Nothing else was bleeding, but my knuckles were covered in a mixture of blood and snot. I guess you could say that was the point at which I had had enough. I made a decision. I had to get away from my reflection. Had to go somewhere that she couldn't get me. A place without windows, without any kind of glass. A safe place.

I pulled out my phone to call someone - anyone - to tell them where I was going. What was happening, vaguely, and what I was going to do about it. She saw me before I dialed the number, the touch screen black and reflecting back her eyes and mouth in a grotesque snarl. Next thing I knew, my other hand was around my throat, squeezing, cutting off my air supply. I dropped the phone, and to my terrible luck, or maybe it was all her handiwork, it landed so I could still see her eyes, glaring up at me. As my vision grew black, closing in around me, I kicked the phone away.

Finally, I could pull my hand away from my throat. Finally, I took a deep breath. What must've been simply a few seconds felt like days, and the air revived me, steeling me for the decision I was making. I ignored the bruises, the dull ache which filled every inch of me for the last few weeks of my life, I grabbed my keys and pulled open the door. I walked my carefully planned path, avoiding reflective surfaces as I approached my car.

I've lost my job by this point, but I had sheets and pillowcases that I used to cover up the windows in my car from the early stages of my torment. When I still tried to go out. I slid in the seat and turned my rearview mirror away from me, sliding the key home and cranking up my little car. The late afternoon sun kept me safe, allowing me to see outside of my car, without reflecting myself, or her, back at me. I drove.

I drove until I saw the sun dipping in the sky, tinging the clouds with vivid orange and red. I only wish I had
stopped. Taken time to look at it. Remember the colors, the breeze that tickled the leaves around me. Instead, I rushed. Away from cars, away from buildings, away from people. I found a hill as the sun began it's descent to the horizon, seeming to kiss the ground tenderly. I pulled over, getting out of the car and sitting on the ground, watching the sunset distractedly, pulling bark off of a stick in my hands, trying to imagine a permanent plan.

The beach. I always thought best at the beach, surrounded by sand and surf. The fresh, salty air, the noise of waves crashing, the sound of gulls cawing, the sight of jagged cliffs with a disbursement of scraggly bushes. I decided I was going to go to the beach. I stood, thinking loudly. I snapped out of it at a sudden, searing pain under my sternum. Finding it hard to breathe, I looked down, falling backwards onto the hood of my car in shock as I notice the half-smooth stick firmly lodged in my chest, my hand still holding onto the other end. As I collapsed further onto my car, I turned to my side, trying to pull the stick out, but it seemed to be stuck. My vision began to blur and I looked to my side, catching sight of my windshield. In the growing dark, she became more visible and smiled in genuine glee, reaching for me, forcing me to reach for her. My blood made the car slick, the loss of it making me increasingly woozy, and yet I still fought against the tunnel-vision which began enveloping me. As I touched the window, my fuzzy brain noticed the glass wasn't cold. I couldn't see anything, but it felt warm and soft against my hand, as if I were holding my own hands together. And then the world went dark.

My next sight is her. Standing, calmly, happier than she had ever looked before. The twinkle in her eye almost friendly and the smile on her face excited, if entirely smug. She reached for the mirror and I still felt compelled to follow. Her smile forced my face to smile. But my eyes? My eyes were pools of hatred. Of anger. Of resentment. Blue orbs made of hard steel. I know I could rebel. Could fight against her. But I'll wait. Wait for her to be unprepared. Wait for my time. For, I have time. When she isn't in the mirror, the only thing I do have is time. Time waiting in blank, white space. Space filled with nothing but my thoughts. And they have grown dark. So I'll wait, and think. And plan. I make my own choices and follow her as long as I wish. But when she figures out the danger I pose, I will make my decision. I will choose myself.

Because truly, we are you. And don't you have the free will to choose?

Soon

I start yet another new chapter of my life. Moving from a "grown-up" job of 9-5, Mon-Fri, staring at a couple of screens for 8 hours into an employment opportunity which keeps me outside, interacting with nature constantly.

Sure, I gotta deal with ticks.

And yeah, there will be other icky factors.

But I like to mature in my own way and since it's worked so well up until now... I'm gonna go with what feels right. And being outdoors feels right to me.

I'm so excited. Can't wait to turn the page!

I rarely

match my two socks to each other.

I simply don't understand the need to wear matching undergarments. Most people don't even see them, and so what if they do, anyways.

They're my socks. I like both of them, and didn't want to limit myself, so there you are. They're my feet, my toe-sies, my socks. If I want to wear one blue sock with snowflakes and one halloween sock in the middle of July, I will.

(now, I don't get all crazy and wear different styles... that would weird my feet out. I can't handle socks fitting my feet differently all day long)

But colors? Designs? Heck yes! Mix and match. Why limit myself on that most basic of decisions?

It bodes ill for limiting myself elsewhere.



FREEDOM!!!!

negative reinforcement

Even if we are joking, it is important to be aware of the words and tone that we are using with ourselves. Obviously, people cannot have an opinion that matters of how someone takes care of themselves, since their opinion doesn't end up mattering at all to a singular person. And since this "dealing with ourselves" issue only involves the one person, it's difficult to argue for or against anything, being a third-person-observer.

However, how a person talks to themselves is how they think. Everyone is active in the way they think about the world and this activity takes place in how they refer to themselves when no one else is involved. Happiness and excitement bring about contentment, sadness and negative energy brings depression and self-loathing.

So think about what you're thinking about.

Yo dawg, I heard you liked thinking.So I put some thoughts in your thoughts, so you could think about your thoughts while you think.

I do not want

to protect the world from everyone.

I want to live in a world that doesn't need protecting from everyone.


There are ways to use without overusing. There are ways to appreciate without destroying. There are ways to gain without selfishness.

The trick is in that balance.
In finding that moderate level.
To replace as much as we use.
To keep this place livable
and magical.

Not much to say here today

But, here is my nugget of wisdom:
Beauty is in happiness.

Curled up tight

back in knots
stomach the same
assume this is natural

after some years
investigation of pain
ask the doctor's advice

doctor is silent
and seems thoughtful
quiet murmurs and sputters

"it looks like
a living organism
in your abdominal area

it's growing more
and more everyday
feeding like an infant

on your nutrients
and yet, terrifyingly,
the thing isn't human"

the news settles
now I'm silent
"what do I do?"

"I don't know"
his only response
"I can't help you"

Humans

are an astonishing, impressive thing to be.

As so eloquently put by the creators of Spiderman (cite comic: Amazing Fantasy #15), "with great power there must also come--great responsibility".

We are arguably the most intelligent living creatures on the planet Earth. Because of this power, we are granted not only the responsibility to take care of our planet, but to make sure we are being the best we can. It is our task.

I fear we have a long way to go after reading a recently circulated letter from a self-stated "pissed off mother" about how a neighbor's autistic child shouldn't be allowed in the neighborhood due to the "DREADFUL" noises the boy makes. She even goes so far as to strongly suggest euthanizing the child and donating any "non-retarded body parts he possesses" to "science," further exclaiming "What the hell else good is he to anyone!!!!".  View Article (and letter) here

But I digress. We have made much progress, as a race of beings: agriculture, domestication, settlements, governments, medicine....

But we have very far to go in the qualities that actually are supposed to be specifically human (hence the word "humane"): equality, acceptance, common sense, kindness, love.....



Just a bug for your ear today. Something to think about.
Thanks for taking the time.

The world kept spinning

and as she sat, alone and heaving breaths, she became lost in memories. Regrets surround her mind and sadness grows upon her heart like a fungus. She imagines a life-force pouring out of her fingertips, and she hastily uprights them, staring hard at her fingerprints, hoping to see the glimmer she pretended.

There was no glimmer.

She convinces herself this is because she was imagining her loss of life-force. It was an entirely internal manifestation, with no outward physical signs. But a small voice in the back of her brain, a tingling tinker she has never been able to silence, an irritating spark she can't ignore, tells her there is no glimmer because it is all gone. All of the shine from her soul is poured out and dissipated into the uncaring world.

And this little niggling secret caused her to cry. Great big crocodile tears, sliding down her face. She mentally traces each drop as it leaves a shining trail down her face, collecting on her chin before dripping off. She continues to cry, silently, letting everyone forget her.Wishing she could erase herself and everything she's left behind. All facets of her humanity, all creations from her imagination, all thoughts and ideas birthed from her mind.
If she has made herself this sad,

she doesn't deserve a life.
She doesn't deserve a legacy.
She doesn't deserve to be happy.

As she assaults herself with her harsh mental tones, her tears grow in intensity and she closes her eyes, succumbing to and drowning in her thoughts. Her mood deteriorates and she is left, no longer sitting, curled up in a ball, unable (or unwanting) to move.

And in this numbness, this intentional irrational rigor mortis, a pinprick of light appears in the pit of her being. The darkness and grey nothingness trembles noticeably as the light blossoms. A tiny melody begins, starting as only one instrument, a couple of weak notes. The light grows and with it, the song is strengthened, more sounds joining the uproarious gleefulness, the light now a star, then a sun.

She keeps her eyes closed, terrified of losing this paradise inside. She feels as though she wants to join in the celebration, dance and hum to the music, but she doesn't know what it is. What the next note is. How to dance with it. So she remains motionless, breathlessly desiring the feeling of her inner music.

The sun within explodes, glitter and magic everywhere.

And she has to open her eyes to let the brightness out.
And she has to sing, smiling, magic giving her the words of the song.
And she has to leap, arms outstretched, to let the glitter free from her fingers.

In this explosion, she begins to feel again. And she remembers-- her inner light never was for her. But to be given away freely.

For she can make her own light. And will, when trapped in the dark.

just start

I don't know what to write today
and I don't know what I'd like to say.

So I guess I'll just continue to jabber;
hope that I'll think of something that matters.

Take a deep breath and enjoy your now,
smile and applaud and take a bow
even if things are going all wrong,
the situation won't last all that long.
And this time and place won't ever repeat,
all memories in your heart to keep,
the happy ones are a constant light,
and the bad are to increase your might.
Learn from them all, and hold it close,
and remember to dote upon yourself the most.
(unless you're selfish, then that's a different note:
make sure to give others your care the most).

This blog repeated my main living points,
the creaky and aching human race joints.
To learn from mistakes, and care for others,
treat all people like sisters and brothers.

We can turn around and make things better.
The key is light and love through to every letter.

Live in zen

because it's the only thing that makes sense. We as thinking beings are most successful when we are calmly able to anticipate the circumstances and avoid problems.

And we cannot be calm if we are anxious about the future, or fearful about the past.

Live in acceptance and truth, and there will be inner calm.


Living happily in the now is peace.

Allergy Relief

All I do to relieve my allergies is a teaspoon (ish) of local, wild honey and a hot cup of tea daily.
Works like a dream, is homeopathic, and pretty darn cheap to boot.
Also delicious. Did I mention delicious? Cause it is that.

Over the weekend, I sometimes forget my process. My nose congeals and my chest freezes, my head explodes and my eyes water.

Then Monday comes 'round again. And by Tuesday, I'm right as rain.



Today's Tuesday, so I'm feeling pretty damn good.

It's been a long weekend

and I find myself unable to focus at work on this Monday.

Tired. And tired, and tired.

I don't hold grudges,
but I do remember.
And my extended family now means little to nothing to me.

As I age, I find that I create my own family. Friends who care about me. My parents. My brothers.

The woman that calls me ignorant, without even listening to my speech? Definitely not my aunt.
The woman who speaks hatefully to her youngest son because he wants to feel close to her? Or she speaks hatefully of people due to their race? Definitely not my grandmother.
The man who sold the family house to a friend of his, because it wasn't allowed to stay "in the family"? Or was invited countless times to share a meal and declined every time so he could eat alone? Definitely not my uncle.

My aunts are the women I act with, who are proud of me. Of what I've accomplished.
My uncles are all the men who have felt paternal towards me during a show. They care about my well-being and opinion.
My family are the people who love me for me.

It's refreshing to loosen the coils of society and feel like I'm wanted.

you get what you draw

Karma to me is simple:

if you see good things and think in a good way, then you will see the good things about a situation.
if you see bad things and think in a negative way, then you will only see the negative aspects of a situation.

it's not about what the world gives you, it's about how you want to see the world. it's all about perception and attitude.

I don't believe it's easy. but I do believe it's worth it.

Constant improvement

is key to not feeling stale. The choice to continue "doing" is one of the hardest in this world where laziness is envied.

Laziness is a terrible excuse and a blatant acceptance of average.

Today is the first day

that I have not had pain in at least a few months.

I took yesterday off of work to do some cleaning and settling and nesting in my house. Making it a home and preparing for the influx of my boyfriend's grandmother (and possibly 10-year-old niece).

Nesting is one of the best, most calming things in my opinion. And the extensive physical labor made me stretch. And work. And fight.

I love when my activities of the day allow me to expend the full amount of physical movement. It gets out excess energy--burns off calories comfortably--stretches tension spots--and is so productive.

Hence why I feel pointless at my desk job.



But no worries. I'm off to an adventure of merit and matter.
And it will be wild.

Wish me luck!

lost

She stared into the abyss and lost herself.

All feeling, every sensation, dulled and depressed to a flatness which an iron would envy. And what created this plateau was simply nothing.

Or everything.



An abyss is rarely empty.

There is this rumour

going around that Costa Rica is planning to close it's zoos.

In addition to this rumor, it has been made known that India has already declared dolphins to be "non-human persons", thereby making it illegal to keep them captive and force them to perform.

I approve of these forward movements. We have been disrespecting the quality of animal life for far too long, because we can.

Let's get rid of the zoos. And the captivity.

If you want to see a lion, REALLY want to see a lion, go to their natural habitat. Respect them in their world. They are amazing--I'm not debating that. But they are more amazing in the open than they are kept all penned up in a zoo with the incorrect climate for their bodies.

Dolphins swimming in the world, playing games with swimmers and boaters alike, are more staggering and impressive than any dolphin "show" I've ever experienced.

Do not we as humans thrive when we are happy and comfortable? Why don't we wish that for all living things?



I think we need to ask ourselves: why don't we care about the well-being of other living things when equality amongst humans is so prevalent?

Equality is important--don't misunderstand.
I just request equality for all.


Please fight to respect life and love.

My picky little system

I am in the process of learning what I can eat and what I should eat. I feel as though it's on-going for the rest of my life...

This is due to my interesting and sensitive gastrointestinal tract (jeez... I'm talking about a lot of gross stuff this month....)

Anyways, my gluten intolerance already leads my eating habits to be a bit different from other peoples. I will typically have fruits and veggies whilst at my desk for work and then eat a "real" full meal for dinner when I get home. I have recently discovered, however, that I am not varying my diet enough.

Here I am thinking that 2 servings of veggies is 2 servings of veggies. A fruit is a fruit is a fruit. All nuts are created equal.

NOPE.

Make sure you are changing things up. Eating all your veggies. I guess 1950's housemothers were onto something! Eat different kinds of fruits--they all help in completely different ways. Go figure--looks like everything is cyclical and similar.

Different foods are necessary for positive health-growth and different people are necessary for positive Earth-growth.

Good things do come

to those who wait.

Keep your goals and maintain your positive mood. As soon as you allow it to affect you negatively, you severely decrease your chances of success. When you feel defeated, you are defeated.

Don't let other people's standards affect you poorly. You are your own person for a reason.

Know your value and keep it safe.
Know your goals and continuously strive to them.
Know your limits and just keep on going, past their furthest point.

Because you have a mind that is over matter. And if you think it, then it is.
And if you doubt it, then it isn't.

So make up your mind. And stand by it.

diddling with rhymes and an eco-friendly message

I wanna make a difference and change the world

but I feel so small and in my bed, I'm curled, 

hoping things get better, with my help or without;

I'd like to think I'm a part, but I'm riddled with doubt.

And it's one of those things that you keep persevering,

knowing your tasks and over challenges, domineering.

Take control and change what's needling,

cause if we don't, who will stop the bleeding?

The blood of our formers, 

and oceans and trees

lies on all our hands

and covers our feets.

If we don't maintain, 

they'll be lost from time, 

along with ourselves--

reach the end of our line.

make sure

you don't burn bridges from your end. leave your end intact.

then, when those you care about who care about you decide to recover your relationship--

you're still there.

it feels good to rekindle. I love my brothers.

thoroughly frightened

I've been searching for terrifying stories all day long.

I love to be scared.

I feel I am rarely scared in life. I don't have the 'flight' response. I don't get nervous and the desire to leave.

That's why I like horror movies and stories. They force a 'flight' response because it's not possible to 'fight' something that doesn't exist.

my "time"

Warning-- if you don't like to think about nature as it pertains to a woman's ability to create life, do NOT continue reading. If you don't like thinking about a lot of blood, you really should navigate away.

That being said, here is my world once a month.


When I go to the bathroom during my natural cycle (I'm running out of classy ways to refer to this hellacious idea), the first thing evident is pain. LOTS of pain. It feels like my whole stomach is trying to take a dump while my actual stomach is trying to take a dump. So just imagine being all constipated, but also having diarrhea at the same time. Yup.

The next thing I notice, in the cleaning up afterwards, is a bowl full of blood. It reminds me of Titus. I feel as though I am making a sacrifice to the feminine gods. Of porcelain. It's like I've killed and drained a little being and am using the essence of it's life to recharge myself.


I feel both disgusting and utterly magickal.

It's very confusing and uncomfortable.


Hooray for being a lady!!! Here's to hoping I don't ruin any clothes this month....

life-long songs

A sister of mine showed me this website today:

http://traubeck.com/years/

This artist has created a record player that has the capability to play wooden records. Which means that this player can literally vocalize the rings of wood that symbolize a tree's life.

The sound is haunting and melodic--inspirational and timely--slow and steady.

It sounds like a tree. It sounds like a tree growing and the years passing through the branches. It sounds like what I would imagine a tree's voice sounds like, if a tree were to speak in piano.

But that's all we as humans can appreciate. The music is created by the years of wear and tear on the living being--the years of storms and wind and drought. We cannot begin to understand the life-long musical arrangements that happen with everyone and everything alive. We create our own stories and albums in our lives, but cannot record a whole life.

This is such a beautiful way to sense a life without viewing or smelling it. or touching it. It is the most complete way I have ever heard life explained-- long parts of sturdy quiet and short bursts of activity.

If you're a "reader" of mine, you already know how I adore nature. Trees are the penultimate nature force to me. I love the ocean and the seas and the rivers, for water is life, but trees...

Well, trees are magical. Have been around since magic was rampant and will be around until it is rampant again.

I love listening to trees. And this tree-music is no exception.

it hurts us

stabbing shooting pain
doubled over
it feels like i'm trying to turn inside out

dizzy
drinking water
lots of liquid
i wish i could eat everything
if my stomach is digesting, it hurts less
but i shouldn't
i'm not even hungry

curl up in the fetal position and go to sleep
not today

well


not until late tonight


ugh. being a lady sucks sometimes.

care for others and edit

words, once out, are never retrieved

cannot be returned
cannot be forgotten

something, once created, must exist
even if destroyed
exists in it's destruction




editing is important
make sure what is said is MEANT, not FELT
for emotions can be fleeting

Do not choose

to push people while they are down.

If someone is sad, help them up.

Build them tall.

Make them strong.

Do not talk to them about how "life is hard" and "everyone is sad".



You have no idea what they are going through.

Or how "hard" their life is.

Or how "sad" they may be.


And don't make it about your problems. For goodness' sake, don't make the mistake of assuming that your issues are worse than theirs. Even if that is true, it just makes them feel all the more pathetic

Do not compare. Simply try to uplift.

darkness is a gift

I was watching television yesterday and one of my favorite shows is an alcohol-tasting/touring show. They were going around to wineries, in this episode, and they brought to mind something that I had heard of but had never really resonated with me before. 

The stress which a grape vine is put through is directly equivalent to the value and taste of the wine. If there is a lot of stress, the wine is diverse and robust. If the plant grows simply, the flavor is simple.

All the struggles we are given are not to test us-- they are to be seen as a challenge instead of a wall.

If you never accomplish, you never succeed. 

Regardless of money.

Or title. 

If you don't work, you will not be anyone of merit. 

Or value.

You'll be a rich little lump on a log.

Simple. Boring. And average.

But struggle. Really pick something hard to work through, and you will find out a lot about yourself. A lot about the world. 

You'll build character. 

Become interesting. 

Become diverse and robust. 

Choose the hard way out. Choose the darkness. 

The key is to revel in the darkness. See it as a gift.There is just so much to find.

adages

"life is hard"

a cliche little saying that people use often.

but does life actually have to be hard? or do we ourselves make it hard?

by failing to assist those who need help

or not asking.


I feel like the adage should be "life is exciting" and we should all do our part to make that true.

I AM AN ARTIST

The one statement that resounds truthfully inside my little body.

I don't care about money.
Or time.
Or effort.
I care about results.

I don't care about politics.
Or religion.
Or humans.
I care about truth.

I don't care about society.
Or stereotypes.
Or differences.
I care about love.

I CARE ABOUT ART. Art is truth. Because truth is different to everyone. Because we are different from anyone else. Because we are all perfect how we are and contribute perfectly.

I AM AN ARTIST.

Time

Life is short. And we don't discover this until we are nearing the end, if we are lucky. For some, the end just sneaks right up on them, cutting their already-moments-in-the-frame-of-existence into mere heartbeats.

And yet so much time is wasted on meaningless ventures. Or pointless hopes. Or tasks which we assign ourselves that don't further anything but the imagined value-ers created by humans (money, age, technology....)

So yes, I would like to imagine that reincarnation is a thing.

I would like to think that we are able to continue existing and learning throughout forever.

I want to continue growing and improving for the rest of everdom and if I'm sitting around in the afterlife, I find that impossible to do. Everyone says that heaven is perfection---how utterly boring.

Perfection means there is nothing to accomplish.
Nothing to work towards.
Everything has been created and attained and now it's all about just enjoying that "perfection".

I say nay.

I love creating and making and growing and being. I never want to exist in a state of stasis, even if that pause is supposed to be perfect. I didn't work to attain that perfection, so I can't even be proud of it.

Heaven for me would be an endless and all-incorporating task of improvement and creation with no stress about money or deadlines.

So, basically, art without the added stressors.

I am an odd one

I think about the world as related to me, but consider problems as though I never was.

As though mentality is overall good-natured and has no skewed interpretations of humanity about it.

I wish I could make the changes I see are needed. I wish I could inspire the love I know is necessary

for our growth
for our recovery
for our survival

And yet the way I hope to do that is by living my life, continuing to love and attempting to take care of the beings in my surroundings. I don't attack the grand problems. I don't feed all the hungry, or peace all the wars. I don't clothe all the freezing, or comfort all the depressed.

However, the few I do show care for are that many less.

I will continue to pour out what I think should be given to the world.

If enough of us do this, we will eventually off-set the imbalance and force a time of happi-and-healthiness.

viva la revolution.

Personal pride

comes when a person has performed to an extent which they believe to be impressive--either by their own standards or by society's.

Therefore, pride means many different things to many different people.

To me, I grow better and smarter every day. I know I will never reach perfect (and probably won't even get close), but through improving, I am proud.

I am happy to judge myself by my own strict standards and find myself succeeding.

I am proud of who I am and who I am working to become.

I am proud of who I leave behind, daily, because she is what made me the person I become, daily.

I am proud.


It feels very good to say that.

Water: A lifeforce

I enjoy thinking about the importance of water.

Firstly, it is my favorite element. Versatile, beautiful, and magical.
Secondly, it makes me feel better.

And this second point inspires my writing today: a car cannot be expected to perform it's necessary actions without proper maintenance. Without gas, the car cannot start or move. Without oil, the engine burns itself up quickly.

Water seems to me to be like the oil of our body-machines. It is the miracle-cure for achey joints, and cramped muscles. It smooths a headache and soothes a stomachache. It eases hunger and digestion. If I don't drink enough water, my body-machine doesn't perform correctly.


Gimme that H20.

craving

I'd like to go and disappear into the dark.

Ignore the chores
Forget my foes

Pretend to have no worries or cares
or concerns or expectations
or perceptions or stereotypes

To exist just for existing's sake.
To enjoy myself for the sheer joy of being myself.

i crave that darkness.

companion

I love living things. All living things.

Except mosquitos. I really hate those evil beings.

Aside from that, I adore (or at least appreciate/respect) all other living things.

There are a lot of dogs in our house right now. An old man-dog (completely salt and peppered coat), a skittish middle-age-crisis man-dog (a hound dog who's nose is a detriment to his indoor life), a beautiful young man-dog (the prettiest eyes I ever did see on a chocolate lab), and a very young girl-puppy (the little pitt-australian shepherd is a lover). There are also a lot of cats. An old man-cat (balding on his tail), a grumpy young-adult kitty (a beautiful mixed-Russian Blue, too smart for her own good), and two little black mutant lady-kitties (one a little tubmeister and the other plays fetch with yarn).

And I playfully push for a snake. Looking at different kinds today, browsing through pictures, I can't kick the shivers that run down my spine. Their sheer beauty takes my breath away. The way they glide as though they're always in water. The way they lay, motionless, never a wasted movement.

The way they crawl up on my chest and fall delightfully asleep against the heat escaping my body.

Other animals don't connect the way a snake does. I think it's because not everyone likes snakes.
And snakes know that. And they like/respect whoever chooses to like/respect them.

I love snakes.

I also think a piglet would be adorable.
Or a frog.
Or a lizard.

I guess I'm really not picky. Just want awesome friends.

Appetite

Appetite is a descriptive word for
what we need in life.

Appetite for food. for company. for sleep. for art. for sex.

Or appetite suppression. People feel the need to deny themselves things that they crave.

But maybe it's not crave. Maybe it's need.

Appetite implies that there is a stopping point. This is where I believe people confuse "want" and "need". We want a bite of chocolate (which means our body is craving and needing something that is inside of that chocolate) and we satisfy this by eating an entire quarter of chocolate cake. The key is to find where we are satiated.

Where we feel satisfied.

a journey to a dream

cold. so cold. for so long.

i can't remember anything besides the cold. there was once wind and sunshine. and something else. something magical for which i can't remember the name. floating specks of glimmer in the sky. they looked like gently falling stars and would settle like a blanket upon the ground. i remember that magic. i remember wanting nothing more than to swirl through the air, dancing in all the lights, a white faerie on the black curtain of nights.

i vaguely remember lights. everything is pale blue. glowing. not dark. well, not all the time dark. but never pinpricks or warm globes of light.

layers above me are sloughed off. the glowing gets brighter. i feel a kiss of breeze. a burst of cold wind greets me for the first time in i can't remember how long. and the sun. i feel it's rays reach into me and wrap around, filling me with the brilliant gold light.

and then i begin to slide. my fall gains momentum and i round a curve to see a massive expanse of blue and glitter. not quite as magical as the falling stars, but the sun dances small magic upon the surface. i slide down the surface, my back chilly against my frozen others, my front warm as it's blessed by the sun, and the expanse of blue becomes my whole vision as i reach closer to it and slip below it's surface.

i float. i've never had this experience. or, if i have, i do not remember. the ease of doing nothing and floating along the surface. i move not at all, and yet i am pulled, turned, twisted, and pushed by some imaginary strength. i can't withstand the force if i wanted to, but i am off for an adventure so i flow.  beings below me live out dramas and comedies, murders and births, families and predators, a world of bubbles and breath. sometimes the beings are huge. i am swept through some of them, through flaps in their skin, or right in the mouth of the giant ones, before being burst out into the sky.

that's my favorite time. when i can fly in the air, touching nothing and no one else. but i fall again so quickly.

i try to stay around the big animals. i try to grasp my time in the sky. it's too dark and cold in the bottom, i have no urge to explore the depths. i've had enough dark and cold. i stay close to the surface and bask in the sunshine i can't get enough of.

and something begins to happen. i feel a pull, a tug, again, one that i cannot control or resist. this time i feel as though i am leaving what i am to be something else. i feel changed. i feel myself grow lighter and buoyant. then i begin to soar. i warm up considerably, separate and fly upwards, reveling in the change i've gone through, not sure where my next stop is.

and it grows cold again.others are gathered around, huddled closer for warmth. i pull myself together and listlessly float through the mist, kept so far aloft by a heavy grey cushion. i gaze around at my fellows, all beginning to crystallize.

as i observe, i also grow crystals. and grow heavy. and, with a whoosh of a gust of wind, the cushion opens up and my glimmering brethren are released into the dark night sky, stars seeming to twinkle all the way around us and off of us. slight breezes lift me high before letting me drop straight before picking me up and letting me swirl down.

i embrace my deepest desire and dance in the starlights.

endless boundless universe

that just keeps growing.

Will it reach a cyclical moment and start to retract again?

Or will the world never return to a zero, because time will never return to a zero?

Although, time often circles around to zero again to start a new revolution of numbers. So if that is the case, why is it so hard to believe that the universe and galaxies will grow until they get to a point where they need to start over again?

Perhaps the big bang began not with a random explosion, but with the explosion of our last universe and galaxies. Maybe all life expanded into nothingness and something had to grow from the small nothings that are growing into existence. Or maybe all life expanded until it had reached it's elastic stopping point and then began retracting, the far-off stars becoming numerous close-up suns in the sky of a single planet until everything destroys itself on the other things closing in around it, causing a big bang of creation out of the destruction.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

What's your process?

Do you create for a purpose?
an intention in mind
with every step,
toeing the line.

Or do you let breathe your creation?
take on a life of it's own
go where it will,
even if alone.

This will be short

Firstly-- sorry to the loyal readers--I didn't blog yesterday. I'm running around crazy right now trying to get a craft ready for opening night tonight.

Secondly-- since I don't have much time, this will be a concise little entry.

I was reading an article a couple of days ago about how short most people's attention spans are, the writer claiming that less than 5% of the people who begin reading something online navigate away before the end of the article. While I do agree with this, I couldn't help but analyze this article itself. It tried to be funny by attempting to "call back" the readers who had left, but it was poorly written and executed.

I couldn't help but think-- ya know, if you wrote better (and in a more precise fashion) people would be more inclined to read the rest of your article.

Maybe our attention spans aren't getting worse--maybe most things on the internet are becoming less worthy of our attention.

Just some food for thought.

Sooooo much

has been going through my head today.

First off, I saw this internet thingy-ma-jig that was a posted twitter from a self-proclaimed feminist about the lack of strong female protagonists in any soon-to-be-released video games. She was commenting at E3 2013 and released her comment into the twit-o-sphere. (Sorry, twitters ((or whatever)), I don't tweet, so I'm not familiar with your terminology).

A huge negative response then ensued, comprised mostly of douche-y gamers calling this feminist horrible names, including and sadly not limited to "cunt". Berating her for not being satisfied with the masculine protagonists released. Suggesting that not enough women game for there to possibly be a strong lady hero.

To begin, whatever one's opinion, it doesn't give them the right to attack another person of opposing opinion. Period. There is no reason to verbally assault this person because they are speaking their mind. It is their personal page, and they have the right to put anything there. Granted, anyone else has the right to comment however they so choose, but why would ANYONE choose to berate and tear down a fellow human being?

On a deeper level, the fact that a bevy of men descended upon this woman and abused her for her opinion is disgusting. People wonder why women were downtrodden for so long---and still are, hugely---- when if a woman goes to stand up for herself and her believed rights, a group of men will call her names and attack her intelligence instead of the issue she introduced.

Virtually or not, bullying has the same effect.

Personally, I don't care one whit what gender the protagonist of a game is. Not. At. All. I love zombie video games, I love RPG's, I love good games. But, I do think that women can be just as badass as men. And hey, I have yet to hear a dude complain about a strong, smart and sexy female hero.... Even if they don't exist.... Strong, smart, and sexy male heroes don't either.

One of my favorite games---Castle Crashers.

I challenge those men who think girls don't game to play a game of that with me. Granted, I'm not amazing. But I kick serious ass. And I'll kick your butt with my green poison knight just the same as I'd kick it with my pink heart-arrow-shooting rainbow-and-stuffed-penguin-magicking knight.


((The link to the article I refer to is: http://femfreq.tumblr.com/post/52673540142/twitter-vs-female-protagonists-in-video-games in case you'd like to see specific examples. One I would like to highlight is "As soon as women are as capable as men, then mabye" (yeah.... typo and all)))

overcast

I lay in my hammock, a grizzened black kitty on my lap, purring away and staring at me with green eyes, swinging away under the sky of grey and murk.

The feline slowly closes his eyes in ecstasy as I groom him with elongated nails, gentle scratches and pressure, which sends him promptly off to a catnap. I cease the petting. After all, I don't want to wake the cute little bugger. I fold my hands upon my chest and stare up at the sky, my normally too-sensitive eyes able to appreciate the overcast glory.

As I stare and dream, I feel the breeze dance across my naked arms and watch the salt-and-pepper ears of the sleeping one twitch back and forth, listening to the chickens around the side of the house and flickering back to pick up the sounds of chittering songbirds. He awakens, seeming to realize that I haven't been touching him for the last little bit, and re-situates, pushing his head against my hands and I crumble to his will.

His eyes, now open, engulf me, and I feel myself intrigued by the dark flecks on a base of light sage, his black pupil steadily meeting my gaze. As he gets comfortable again, settling down and laying his head over one side of the hammock, the wind playing games with his fur, his eyes begin to close slowly. I withdraw my hands again.

I again check the sky.

At a time, there is one or two patches of cloudlessness. Bits of pure blue peek through, small enough that I could cover them with my palm if I wanted a faultless grey day. The clouds dance and sway, covering the holes and finding new ones only to smooth those out as well.

One of my feet has fallen asleep and the other leg has been resting straight too long. I move to shift and the kitty falls between my legs. He looks at me with no reproach and simply moves again. His head upon my hand, I lazily draw my fingernails through his fur.

A half hour passed as such is paradise.

an effort to be real

Never have I felt that what I am inside is to be who I am, what I am, where I am, when I am, how I am outside. In this being. Or form. I've felt extremely uncomfortable as a human in my skin. When I read (or act), I feel as nothing and everything, no one and everyone, and this is comforting.

But recently, I've been attempting to be a real person, which forces me to connect with others and see things as though I am a part of it. Understand as a human does. Interact as a human does. Empathize as a human does.

And I've read a desperate need for attachment in most every human I encounter. 

Perhaps this is the world in which we live now, and I can't say with confidence I'm above the need, but it seems as though no one is happy enough with themselves to not seek constant approval from those around them. As though the secret to being happy is creating a relationship with other people and trying to prove yourself to them. Or, in creating that friendship, one has proven themselves as worthy. 

I don't believe I have that worry. I do want others to think well of me, but that is simply because I don't want them speaking ill of me. I don't really care whether or not they are impressed with me. 

And yet, to approve of a person, to laugh at their joke or nod enthusiastically with their opinion, brightens their whole face. Makes them feel supported, wanted, intelligent.

If humans could learn to bottle that feeling and give it to themselves, the need for connection with other physical beings becomes optional, and people would choose to get to know other people for the sake of getting to know another person.

And we would learn so much, being open to the world and every inhabitant.

giving

and receiving is like a dance with the universe.

Its all about finding the balance within oneself and the surrounding situation. Finding where we can take, and where we can push. And interaction with others spurs us on to change the steps. To make a new 8-count where we weren't expecting. A collaboration that creates a living, breathing, canvas that envelopes the whole wide world.

We need to feel brave enough to give of ourselves, and proud enough to receive for ourselves.

For a cycle can't continue if one step is skipped. It becomes a "C" rather than an "O".

Connect the circles in which we are all included. Connection brings peace.

scheduling

I've begun to schedule.

It's just that I already get reminded of all of my facebook events/birthdays on my new phone and since I'm already being reminded about things I don't care about, I might as well also be reminded about things that are actually important in my life.

So, I went through and scheduled all of my rehearsals that I have as of yet.

But I've begun to schedule my crafts. Which is good, for me, I think. Well, it should be anyways. If I specifically slot time to work towards a certain craft, then it is much more likely that I will spend said time as I've scheduled, instead of getting tired and wasting my precious recreational time by getting on the internet and trolling around, being stupid.

Today, my scheduled crafts are: 

#1--fixing my sunvisor in my car (it has holes in it) and also embroidering a message that reads: "Traffic? TUNES!" or something similar

#2--crocheting adorable little buggers. 

And these are both after my rehearsal. 

Hooray for productivity!!!!

Comments

You can't take back the things you say. Due to the very airy nature of spoken language, it is impossible to forget or delete from the world and what happened. A mere moment of arrogance carries great potential to create a facade for a terrible opinion of an ordinarily meek individual.

An attack of opinion, waged in anger and fear, causes insults and pain that was never intended. A feeling of a needing to defend causes backlash and biting comments that, once uttered, always exist.

Words spoke in haste and anger are rarely remembered by the speaker and rarely forgotten by the audience.

I wait

And I sat, waiting, pondering on the feeling of water cascading down my insides to puddle in an empty stomach.
I waited, with a sense of anticipation and desire for release. I waited, with words building up in my mind and a song stuck on three lines playing over and over in my head.

I waited for my eyes to settle and my thoughts to become real. I straightened up, consciously cleaning my posture and reminding myself of improvement.

and still I waited.

I flitted away, contenting myself with various tiny activities. I tried to push, to work hard, with the numbers that echo around me here. I ignore the subnotes drifting through the stagnant air.

I waited and tried a smile. My lip cracks down the middle, quick and unbelievably searing pain, before my tongue moistens the wound. I put on chapstick as I wonder how much longer til it heals and wonder if it ever will.

I thought of dinner, the stalks of celery and cuts of lunch meat, lacking any bread of any kind, and how I feel about it. Happy to not be in pain any more, disappointed I can't eat sweets, happy my diet was forced to become so wonderfully natural.

I waited, and I fixed my schedule to reflect my rehearsals, feeling little bubbles of excitement for life itself.


and still I wait for inspiration.

what a wide thing

the world is. 

Such an expanse of beauty and difference. 

Colors exist naturally that we cannot perceive. 

Our common world changes as we grow taller or cease to grow as tall as others. Different points of view show different strains of gorgeousity. 

Maybe a tower surrounded by fluffy clouds connected by slender columns from a ladybug's perspective.

Perhaps a fluffy bit of dinner to a rabbit's eye.

Simply a blown-open dandelion to the untrained human.

A tiny world perhaps containing things akin to Dr. Suess' "Who"s in Whoville to an imaginer.

Our world is everything and can be anything.

Just dream it up.

Motivation

is self sustained.

Motivation, determination, inspiration.

All of these things are inside our hearts and can only grow through our own effort to encourage growth.

Every day that you have lived is a day under your belt.
Is an achievement that you have accomplished.
Is a battle that you have survived.

Even if the battle was purely within.

Especially if the battle was purely within.

Search for what makes you proud of yourself.
Find it and do it.
And be proud of what you've done. Even if it fails, you've correctly learned how not to do it.

No one can change the world in a day, but if you're working towards making it better--you're already ahead of most people.

Depression is a vicious villain who will steal your hope.
Be proud that you fight to overcome it.
Be proud that you have days where it can't touch you.
And be proud that you continue to live.

reconnect from disconnect

A choice to be happy is a choice to be Happy.

I often marvel at the human mind. The most amazing part to me is that whatever we completely and successfully convince ourselves to believe is true in our world. Those with mental instabilities usually end up seeing the world in their own completely different way. Seeing things that don't physically exist, but definitely exist within the realms of the world in which it was created.

So happiness, then, is a construct of our own minds. Sometimes, its easier to simply be happy and sometimes we have to actively participate in convincing ourselves of happiness.

Reconnecting feels good and allows that happiness to be effortless.

And next month is ab/core month.

Working out feels good too. Run from the zombies. Makes me too tired to be mad about silly things.

Life is good and happiness is always there, an Easter egg hunt that never ends.

fond paradise memories

I remember starting high school.

The uniforms that made us look like Sailor Moon rejects.
The open-aired three-story building, shaped almost like an 8-bit snake.
The below-ground library that I read so much from that the librarians began *giving* me books.
The birth of my love of theatre and intelligence.

The butt-tree, and the whole weird group beneath it.

Hawai'i holds such beautiful memories for me, and I've been so desirous to return that it makes me homesick.
Silly--I'm more homesick for the islands than I am for Georgia, the state in which I was actually born.

But my family of ladies helped make me into the odd, hilarious, smart-assed woman I am now and if I could attend our high school reunion just for the sake of re-kindling that friendship, I would.

One friend that I still keep in contact with--a gorgeous woman with a handsome husband and an absolutely precious little boy-- inspires me daily and makes me proud to call her a friend. From the first day I met her, I remember her huge heart. Her ability to listen. And her amazing advice. I'm blessed to have a friend who still inspires me so.

Someday, I'll get back to Oahu. And when I do, I'm hitting that chick up.

the Return of my Voice

On my drive in to work this morning, I was singing at the top of my lungs, rocking out to my radio as I am wont to do.

And this morning I've had more range and strength than I've had in at least a couple of years.
Which made me so happy I began to cry.

Goodbye, cigarettes. On the way to cleansing my body entirely of ya.
Goodbye, excess amount of garbage and waste.
Goodbye, chemicals in my food.

Hello to an Alexis who is as natural and green as possible.

GREEN!!

Water

is the key to absolutely everything.

It is the key to all life, it is the key to all destruction (if taken down to the very core of it). After all, we, as humans are *supposed* to be about 50-60% water. Which is either half or more than half.

Most plants are up to 75% water. I don't believe I need to go into how much water is naturally occuring on practically every surface of the planet Earth, even if terribly far below ground.

My horoscope is Cancer (yes, I do follow the horoscope pre-Ophiuchus. if that works for you, great. it doesn't work for me--I am absolutely Cancer to the r), which is often referred to as the cardinal water sign. I always love being in water. Swimming is one of my favorite pasttimes. Or, floating more like. Or diving. I love showering. And recently, I've begun to truly appreciate the joy of a big glass of water. It's rejuvenating. A little disorienting, if the gulp is particularly large, but in a good way.

Kind of like standing up once you've had a biteen too much champagne in your seat. A heady rush of blood and oxygen. Almost like too many good things at once flooding your senses.

Water is controlled by the moon, tying the very element into the stars and everlasting space.

It is just so truly astonishing how much water heals. Head aches? Water. Stomach hurts? Water. Sore muscles, menstrual cramps, hangover? WATER.

And recently, an idea called the "Water Diet."
It seems to basically consist of drinking a large amount of water in addition to your meals and at particular peak times of the day. Not only does this help to lose weight, the diet claims, but some also claim to cure an absurd list of diseases.

What an altogether simple healing process.

What an idea. and not at all surprising to me.

making every moment count

It feels good to be constructive. 

It's almost like I've forgotten how to do so. 

When I have a spare second of free time, I want to rest and relax. Let the weight of my world off of my chest for mere moments before the time is gone before I have to rush onward to the next activity. 

I think I'm going to work on limiting the amount of relaxation time. 

I just have so much to accomplish

before this coil is done.

And not a moment to spare.

My cut-off

Every day at around 2:30 pm, my self confidence is shot.

I can't explain why, or how that relative time correlates to my feelings of insecurity and pointlessness.
I beg for this feeling to be tied only to my occupation. That this daily dip in emotion will cease when this data-processing hell is over.

But I fear
more.
I fear that this urge is tied to a unique intelligence which I have tirelessly fought to create. I choose my mental building materials very carefully and my art even more so. But this makes me wonder if I don't feel pointless as me, but I feel everything else is pointless and why do I even fight for a point? Why should I fight for one single thing when it seems nothing else does?

Everything else moves by money--is it stupid and pointless of me to hate money? Is it stupid and pointless of me to fight for a spiritual world of wholeness while trapped in a physical realm of greed? Is it stupid and pointless of me to struggle and hurt and cry for my art?

Doses of deep thought.

Perhaps that's what makes me feel unimportant.'Cause, once I go to think about everything, I seem like a pretty small nothing.

.....hm. I personally prefer thoughts with valleys and mountains over stability with shallow thinking.
So I will learn how to constructively pass through the valleys.

working for money

Sitting here
dazing out
and disappearing inside my mind.

Eyes unfocused
ears muffled
and my sense of touch is cloaked.

Doing something
that doesn't matter
for money.

Money.

It's imaginary. A fake ideal placed upon the "civilized" world to symbolize the physical wealth of a person. Do any of us have the gold/jewels/valuables to back up the paper money we have been so strenuous to collect?
NO.

Not even the country has the gold to back up all the paper money they continue to print.

Money is a fictitious idea created by human beings because we are unable to find wealth without placing a variable number upon it.

The best things in life are free for a reason.

support

Can you support another person
(emotionally, physically, spiritually, whathaveyou)
while feeling unsupported and ungrounded yourself?

I don't believe my own placement of my own being has anything to do with whether or not I can support another person in an efficient and effective way. I do believe that with a stronger base, one can give stronger support, but simply in lacking a strong base for oneself doesn't negate their ability to provide a strong support system.


To be supportive is to be strong. Perhaps people come by a strong base by being a strong support for others.

Humanity is far different from the rules and expectations that society has dictated.

Allergies--

the body's way of saying "let's move elsewhere"?

Just a thought.

You do yours, I'll do mine

I've had a bit of time to cool off.
I should say "work" off.

Today, my workout/squat challenge of 100 squats was demeaned by a co-worker who viewed my challenge. He made mention that I happened to follow quite a different technique to my squats and was going more straight up-and-down than he usually does. Less deep, too.


Okay. Working out is everyone's own thing. I have recently had two people who are not regularly working out individuals advise me about my work-out routine. I know I look out of shape, and I know that this whole working-out thing is pretty new for me,

but

how's about you keeping your comparisons to yourself.

I have a person I will ask questions of if I have questions.
I work out at my pace doing what I do.
You do the same.

I'll do mine.
You do yours.

And, by the way-- I did 200 hundred squats today. The second hundred were perfect form.

HEY THANKS!!

I've reached 1,000 pageviews! Whaaaaat?! I seriously didn't think that would happen so soon. I knew that I liked to write, and trying to get it out is wonderfully exhilarating. I also believe this is improving my writing skills...

Anyways, I've a good base of fans around the world, actually (believe it or not). And I want to say that the fact that you read and return at a later date, or even just read and it causes you to think a little bit more about humanity or yourself or your friends or your enemies.... whatever. The fact that my brain is appreciated by all you guys who choose to spend a bit of time with me via my blog is truly flattering.

You guys... D'awwwww. ^-^ You're simply the best!!

Workouts

On day 7 of the 30-day squat challenge. 80 squats today. An effort to tighten the tush.

As well as my squats, I am putting a crossfit workout in there. Needless to say...

I'm very sore.

I've also found that I create hellacious workouts for myself. They don't sound like much when you read them in words, but I can tell you right now that the work multiplies in the middle of the reps.

Today, I'm doing a workout I didn't make for myself, but it is a benchmark workout, so lets see how strong I am.

Helen, here I come.

The trick

to surviving is to want to continue living.

You have to remember that, no matter how bad things get, they will swing on the up and up. That the simple and pure desire to laugh again (as humans, anyways) is stronger than the need to be done with the drama and shit.

The want to spend happy time overcomes the want to not have to deal with sad times

The need for further interaction and love supersedes the need for rest

I gave myself a beard--

for this video. Can you spy me at the end? :)

Also, donate money, if you can. PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE.

Help make art happen, even if you yourself aren't an artist, per se.

LONESOME WEST--Kickstarter

Only 15 days left and we need all the help we can get. Every donation helps.
THANKS from every facet of my heart.

while listening to instrumentals

A moment to let my mind rest
and sleep

Instruments are, arguably, the greatest invention humankind has ever created.
Fire is natural, so I don't count it.

And wheels? I'd rather have a couple bongo drums than a wheel.
Technology? Nah, give me my uke.

Books....Ah. Now that is different... But again, mostly natural. So does it count? I mean, storytelling is somehow built into humanity as it is--can we really consider the simple act of storing these pieces of human mind as a creation by humans? The stories are a creation, obviously, and books are beautiful in and of themselves. But is that because they are pretty? Or because their insides are gorgeous?

And, after all, aren't stories told through music, too?

Instruments, therefore, help us to keep our most human quality--the need to connect.

...what a stunning thing the brain is...

Show; don't tell

Show people they matter by doing things for them.
By doing things with them. By appreciating and reciprocating.

Speech matters not at all if actions don't support the words. Touching phrases and perfectly executed poems are just scribbles in the air if the intent behind them isn't solid.

Mean what you say, but that's not enough. DO what you say.

So either say what you want and then back it up with your actions,
or don't let your mouth run away with itself.

my words

all day
i've been struggling for something to say
writing doesn't usually come to me
this difficult-ly

so i won't force
or prod
or poke the words out

instead i'll wander
and meander
and let them find their way out

for they'll fall where they might
and they'll fall where they will
and every single sound
has lost all it's ill

on the up and up
at least it's not sad
so maybe it means almost nothing
but at least it's something

like a star

Don't let the fear of outshining others cause you to dim your shine.

^
my lesson today.

Onward and upward

It's a daily struggle, being alive.

Everyone knows what I mean, for we all have our own issues and difficulties, trials and tribulations. However, the hardest of all these challenges is staying happy and positive despite and in spite of all poor circumstances. But push upward. Push onward. Push higher.

Be better.

Sounds like a lofty goal, but when you get right down to it, it's the only thing that will matter tomorrow,
or the next day,

or the next day,


or the next day.

To quote a wise, old, green man--"Do or do not. There is no try."

Day in after a day out

Spent hours upon hours yesterday at the river, in the sunshine.

Got a pretty red coat for my efforts, too. Interesting how being sunburnt causes shivers as well as sweats. It's almost like having a fever, but it only affects the uppermost layers of skin...
Skin fever. How accurate.

The sky was all blue with nary a cloud in sight and the sun shone bright on us all, gallivanting in the green current up to our waists. The water was breathtakingly chilly, but once our body parts were numb, it mattered but little. The sun inspiring music and dance, drinking and smoke, dragonfruit and strawberries.

Banged a knee and carried lbs of ice back to the car before relaxing at home with the other half of my heart.

What a beautiful day it was, and I have the soreness as proof.

my work

I work hard.

I work extremely hard for the things in which I believe. 

I refuse to give up. I refuse to accept mediocre. What is the point of creating something new if I'm just going to settle on middle-of-the-road?

Any payback would be nice. Any pay-forward would be nice.

Hell, recognition would be nice.

I won't hold my breath.

I'll keep arting.

trusting and loss

I've always had friends. Before I had human friends, I had my darling puppies. And books. I've always had books.

Recently, I've not the time to indulge in the delicious practice of reading. I also have cats--which are beautiful creatures that I love, to be certain, but I feel more like their maid than their friend. And human friends.....

Well, I don't see any of them anymore. I'm sure it's my fault, cause I don't call people enough and I don't have a lot of free time now or whatnot. But I feel... not abandoned, but like I'm not valuable. Like who I am doesn't matter.

I find myself not wanting friends because I am not afraid of not being supported by friendship. I find myself seeking any way out of the relationship, so that I don't start trusting and depending on a person. People are fallible. If in the end of it all, I'm the only one that I can be sure will help me..... Well, I guess that's it, isn't it? I've got it in my head that I'm the only one I can depend on.

Jeez. I hope the world (and I) can change that opinion instead of cementing it further.

A way with words

I have a way with words.

When I say 'way'
I mean more a relationship
and less like I control them.

Thats why I love
to act
to sing
to speak
and to write.

I enjoy the way the words twist and pull
the pick-ups
and let-downs
of letters and sounds.

Written or audible,
words mean much to me;
the pauses just as critical
as the words they're between.

So I keep spinning my verbal yarns
til my brain is kaput
and my breath is all gone.
With a bit of return,
maybe pride will I don,
and feel truly accomplished,
proving to all (and myself) of my charm.

holding my breath

I find myself holding my breath and hoping HARD today.

Which is odd, because I thought I was separating from this... at least for a little while.

But in speaking to my helping-half, I noticed I don't need to take a break from acting/arting/theatre, but I do need a break from projects that don't speak to my heart.

I'm done doing things for other people. And done working with just anyone for anything.

I have other things in my life--if I don't get into shows, I have plenty to keep my time full.

If I do get into shows.... Well, hit me, because I'm ready to continue growing.

Stop apologizing

happiness is a tenuous goal.

it's a hard thing for which to strive
and it is a hard thing for whom to describe.

do you know what makes you happy?
do you look for it and charge towards it
and not let anything stand in your way?
do you apologize for your journey?

STAND UP.
Time is passing quickly and quicker. And you'll never get a single moment back.
So strive for your life-goals. Make the world a better place.
Choose to be happy and let none stand in your way.

but if you feel down, that's okay too.
and let no one put you down further for that.

homeless' affinity for theatre

I have the great opportunity to play Juliet alongside the Romeo of one of my very good friends. Falling in love with her every night and being able to die (almost) in her arms is tangible and breathtaking. 

Throughout this rehearsal process, we have been entertaining various homeless gentlemen. 

The first of which found himself in our space because he wished to use the facilities. He was engaged in our story and didn't leave when he was done. Proceeding to take out a couple of mini-can beverages from god-knows-where and mutter to himself while rocking to and fro, he sat and enjoyed the extent of our production. 

And he was welcome. Well, until he began to pick at his toenails. But at least he moved to the back of the room to do that.

Second, a gentleman approached me right before I went onstage and questioned me about "donations". I responded, quickly, that I was not the person to ask and this was a private event. That we were rehearsing a play. Then, I hear my cue and had to run onstage. The man was visibly a bit ashamed of distracting me while I was obviously busy and began to leave. When I looked next, he had taken a seat and was watching with rapt attention. He stayed for a long while, and then exited just as quietly as he came in.

Last night was the epitome of homelessness entertainment. At a certain area of the "stage", there is a glass wall that separates us (the actors) from the street, and therefore the outside world. The homeless convene in this little alcove, with it's little bushes and shelter. It just so happens that they are now entertained for the next couple of weeks in their very own home. Mostly, they stay pretty quiet, content to just watch and listen to our story.

At our final dress, last night, as Romeo and I lay dead in the tomb, we begin to hear discontented mumbling between a couple of men. The words are impossible to decipher in the beginning, but the tone grows more and more angry, volatile. Once all the other characters discovered our bodies, almost the very end of the play and certainly one of the most heartfelt, the outside conversation reaches a climax-- below is verbatim what we hear onstage.

"Stop being such an ass!"

"DON'T TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY GODDAMN LIFE!!!"

In asking our director afterwards, these two gentlemen were also watching our proceedings with great attention and interest. 

All of this goes to show me that everyone really does like theatre. Obviously, most homeless people are unable to watch productions, due to the whole it-costs-money thing. I've felt fulfilled, in a certain way, by sharing my love of things with people who rarely see it. And maybe they began to be intrigued because Romeo and Juliet are both women. 

But they stayed because they are people in love. 

A story one-upper

There are these people called story one-uppers
and they like to top your tale.
They want to make sure they are more lauded
or their story contains more fail.

The arrogant tone that follows them 'round
produces bile in my mouth.
If I could, I would curbstomp them and the
situation would quickly go south.


If a person is telling a story, they want you to LISTEN and CONTRIBUTE. Not take away their shine by trying to shine brighter.

If you were a brighter star, you would have thought to tell your story first, or in a less "I'm always better than you" tone.

DON'T BREAK OTHERS DOWN TO BUILD YOURSELF UP.

My wardrobe

I run hot.

Now, I don't mean that I can't chill in the sun for too long, or that I don't like getting things out of the oven--these are both true, but I'm far beyond it.

I run hot enough to wear a tank top, mini skirt, and pumps at eight in the morning. (In sixty degree weather with my windows rolled down in my car...)

I run hot enough to get woozy and faint in a "seventy-two" degree workplace. (The quotes are because it most definitely gets above the stated temperature on the thermostat....)

I run hot enough to sweat through three layers of clothing on a spring day. (Don't even ask about the summer....)

If I could, I would be naked in the ocean, in the snow, in the wind, in the moonlight.

I like being cold. It makes me feel heightened-aware-alive.

I can't stand being hot.

Kurt Vonnegut wanderings

I recently finished a collection of one of my favorite writer's *previously* unpublished works: Sucker's Portfolio. Kurt Vonnegut's mind works in such a brilliantly different way, but he is so exact and fact-finding in his different way of thinking.

It reminds me of the comic stylings of Louis C.K. I mean, this comedian comes on stage to talk about how ugly some children are and how people who are mis-raising their children are simply unable to talk to them. He says it in a funny way, but he's never really joking about the matter in which he speaks.

Vonnegut is the same way. He mentioned in this book that humanity is disgusting and history is just a remembrance of all the terrible things that humans have done to each other and the world connected to us. But he speaks, at the end of this observation, to the point that most of us are OK. With all the terrible happenings and murders and inequalities and mutilations and hatred and wars and bombs that were built to destroy the other horizon as though there were more than two on this planet.

With all of the terrible, most humans have turned out OK.

I guess we aren't so bad after all.

Just gotta keep on keeping on.

Escapes

I like to post my eureka moments on here. Helps me keep track of 'em.

I've found which possessions truly matter to me--those that give me an escape of some sort.

I realized in thinking about my car. Then about my bed. Then about how both of those things are important to me. I was all amped up to write about just those two things, but that led me to ponder on my books, and my music-makers. I couldn't bring myself to write that these didn't matter. But on furthering the thought, they just cement my point.

The things I like-- the things I've always liked all my life-- were escapes from this everything.

It was/is literally an escape from the body in which I am encased.

I've never heard a more solid argument for the existence of souls.

Why do you like what you like? Maybe it's for the same reason and maybe it's not.

Maybe we all go to the same heaven, and maybe our heaven is our own heaven.

Maybe we are all uniquely similar and perfectly distinct.

Engulfed in the happy-ness journey

Irish Breakfast Tea. Sent from the heavens.
Solid, sturdy, honest music. Poultice for my aches.
An orange and some m&m pairing. Choco-citrus is delicious.


Mmmmm, love me some self-therapy.


It's hard to be happy when you're hurt. It's hard to be joyful when you're sad. It's hard to choose to be a good person when it feels like the world tries to shit on you harder for it.
But I'm finding it's worth every second. Because I can choose to be happier. And to make myself happier.
And that makes life worth every second.

I just hope that I'll be able to make every next second count.
Get in this journey with me.
Let's be happy
!

my mind wanders

My mind travels to ends and flies there so fast that I don't know where I'm headed until I'm there.

Today, my mind wanders outside of my head, outside of this building, outside of the state, the country, the world... My mind is distracted by stars and all the possibilites.

There is no wrong. No right. No all, or none. No always, or never.

There is What Happens. And there are Possibilities.

My mind tugs on the end of it's leash, trying in vain to escape the coil by which it's bound. My imagination hears a song, a sound, and I want to use it and make it. I want to be a part of everything. I want to experience everything. I want everyone to be happy.

I want to worry of nothing other than my smile, so I can smile for everyone always.

So everyone can be happy.

Now.

My inspiration spoke to me today of a topic that I've been toying with for quite a long time-- taking a break.

I regret the announcement, for I do love what I do and I enjoy making things that are worth my time.

But I guess that's where the problem occurs--
I'm feeling less and less as though what I do makes a difference. So, I need to do something that I feel does make a difference. I'm going to focus harder on some of my other arts. I want to learn how to play my violin, I want to make a few different crochet-ing projects, I want to write a play (no matter how short or how qualitative, I just want to write a script from beginning to end), I want to get in shape, I want to be able to enjoy my busy time with my love, I want to help my love achieve his highest goals, I want to be able to reconnect with my family, I want to be able to feel fulfilled and happy without the help of anyone else.

I know how to do this.
I grew up with the skill.
But
I grew up very much alone and wanting to be with another person constantly takes away that somewhat-lonely-but-very-productive self-time.

Now, I'll be able to go to Tall Toads. Now, I'll be able to change/fix clothes that I have to get rid of/change and keep the things I should. Now, I'll be able to sit down and really donate some time to everything.

Now, I continue to become a better person.