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balance (2): scribble

Friday, October 8, 2010

scribble

what can i write about. that is the perpetual question right now. i could write about the writing course i was gonna take to hopefully jangle up my writing chops. but it was too expensive. & i don't feel like i should have to go to a course before i can write. i am a defiant autodidact, right? i just need a topic...and as much focus as i can muster in my shy pothead way.... sigh.

hmmm. now is a topic.... now i am sitting at my desk in my tiny little alice in wonderland office, which hangs like an afterthought off the side of my apartment. it is just after smoking a post-work bowl. through my window i am watching the leaves and the evening fall over bedford avenue. there is a long slow siren down at the navy yard by the brooklyn waterfront, wailing like the children of hasids (& probably doing so for some kind of jewish holiday). the bus roars past on schedule. my window rattles as a girl shrieks and giggles with a spanish accent below. i'm realizing again i have social anxiety, as i peer out at young, fresh, gorgeous, rich, people i feel inferior to, walking briskly past in the fall air - whistling, digging in their purses, holding hands and preening prettily. looking confident or busy or sad. smelling like sex. talking to their families on the phone. who are these abundant dream people of this hipster land? (so different from t's area of brooklyn with it's shopping cart street vendors). i prefer to watch them from safely inside, hunched over my laptop in the quiet warmth.... gotta hit up t's voodoo medicine man (his psychiatrist is from haiti).

t (otherwise known as "bf-of-sorts") i have forced onto his regular schedule of zoloft, which makes him less of a blabbering madman grasping for other substances (and me) to fill his holes, and more of someone who can carry his own weight of late. we are getting closer to having a normal sex life too (sigh... why me?!). we are planning future travels together, pouring over our laminated world map. we play racquetball in the park. we sit rocking and talking to each other for hours most nights, and scooting our bodies into each other as closely as possible. i adore him. purr.... but i feel myself moving on a bit, back to the licking clean of my own fur. can't believe any (dramatic) word he says. gotta remember that!

the writing class was going to be either on the topic of inventing one's own religion... or writing a memoir of one's life. i nose dived in my head towards the memoir, being self-obsessed. i have a hell of one brewing, whenever i decide to erupt and spew.... but the religion topic, gasp! challenging!... i shirk from religion normally, am pretty much anti-religion. anti- any kind of dogma or zealousness. no fanaticism for me thanks. no sales pitch. no literature taken as law spit out in long meetings at my broken and punished, prostrate figure, blech. i completely avoid thinking about religion as it reminds me of years of my life and people i knew, that engender misery and puking sessions.... but i guess i would want to adore life with my religion. not attribute it to anyone/thing but chance just yet. i would encourage people to forge their own paths with the idea in mind there is some purpose, like a guiding light, but the creator might not think or exist like we can comprehend with our language and science and senses, and it is futile to attempt it. a waste of time! and we may never learn that purpose of ours before we have expired.... so the goal is placing oneself only in the moment. now. make now good. enjoy it. be selfish enough to get what you want, but try not to hurt people. be honest. be positive. expect good things. plan and work for them. open up, and don't reject what comes in, but learn from it. remember that with the bad stuff comes lessons. and most of them are just you gritting your teeth and bearing them. or standing up for yourself. or recognizing errors. and love is important. love everything and everyone for being special. love your enemies but make sure they know exactly who you are. hate and love are the same, you can only begin to understand something by seeing both sides of the coin. but if everyone loves each other then everyone is loved....

yep. i should have been born a hippie, somewhere near hunter s. thompson and his motorcycle (watched a documentary on him and have a crush).

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