Friday, April 24, 2009

Kill it with fire.

Twitter = Twatter and I'm not sleepy at all. Kill it with fire.

Also I want to see NIN/JA on 5/16 at the Cricket Amphitheater.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Thank you, Flintstones

The moon looked like a giant stone brushing the treetops as I drove home tonight. Craters across its surface seemed magnified, prominent against the dijon yellow hue the moon gets when viewed at that angle through our ozone layer, so low in the horizon. If I had pulled over, I may have been able to count the depressions, mapped this natural mandala. I could not help but think of the Flintstones because it seemed too large to be real and the craters were so clear, they looked artificial, drawn as backdrop to animation.

Ancient, cosmic beauty? Ridiculous cartoon? Why would my uncensored thoughts juxtapose the two? Is it profound? Does it mean something? My left hemisphere has just barged to the forefront and informed me it's my way of staying awake at high speed while travelling down the freeway. Sweet.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Dismemberment dreams

There was a girl in a locked room of the large house. I tugged and pulled with all my might but the door wouldn't budge. I could see her face through a window panel in the door itself. Her face distorted from a combination of being forced against the glass and agony. She was being attacked by an invisible force.

I remember how urgent I acted but inside feeling quite calm from time to time - like I had run out of emotion or perhaps there was a part of me that realized this had to be dream. Somehow I ended up on the other side of the door with her. I, too, was dismembered. The lighting would disappear and flicker back on to reveal us in stages of varous dismemberment. We were both still alive and I kept wondering why it wasn't as painful as I would imagine. Legless, just a body from the waist up and I dragged myself to the window through which I had seen the other girl with such horror on her face. Outside, instead of the other room I saw a beach, warm ocean water.

The mother who isn't really my mom at all stepped into the field of vision. The other girl and I had our bloody hands spread against the window toward her. She couldn't see us or sense us but we could hear her speak. She was leaving the house, moving. At first we didn't realize but she said it had beenm 10 years since she'd heard from us, 10 years since I somehow made it into that room. I wanted to tell her to stay but she could not hear me.

Flash back to when the house was freshly moved into. A room opens up to the beachfront/ocean. Every time we walk by it though, the room changes on its own. First we walk through it to the ocean. We dash into the water, swimming, playing until the giant waves scoop us further out to be attacked by piranhas. More dismemberment dreams. After the piranhas have had their fill, we are swept back to shore. Rush through the door and it shuts behind us.

We run to tell others in the household about the ocean and that room, yanking arms practically out of their sockets. By the time we reach the room, it had frustratingly transformed into an innocent, regular room without the door outside to the beach. Just a few windows, plain square room. It's laughing at us.

There's more dream but I can't hold on to it all right now. I think right about now I have woken up too much to remember.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Irony is a big, old, honking bitch

Lately, certainties seem to slip through my fingers. I can grasp all I want, set all the clever little traps to get that "extra edge" but all for naught. I swear that the truth is lurking right before me, so close I can physically feel it. Vague but as tactile as breath scraping across my skin. The big April Fool's joke is that Certainty does not exist - and that's the only certainty! Irony is a big, old, honking bitch.

Today, I vented about work and hopefully didn't get anyone in trouble in the process - I want to retract it all and fling it down the garbage disposal where it belongs. Desperation is sticky and I can feel its slime trickle down all over me. I think when my office nameplate launched into a suicide dive to my feet while Kelcey talked about her earring flying out of its place was an omen.

I am flawed, imperfect, terrible. I think that's what I'm supposed to learn from this. Not that it's "OK" but that I should know better by now. Now, that I am lifting this thin veil of ignorance to what I have allowed to happen inside of me. My heart endures but I've been treating it like an enemy and wrenched it from its natural partnership with mind. Speaking of which, this self/soul mutilation has fostered a bloated mess that clogs clear vision. I picture some grotesque alien with a flabby head so large its prone to drag limply behind me as I trudge along.

It needs to stop now.