Wednesday, November 18, 2009

This is why ART exists.

There is a profound, sensual reaction that occurs inside of me when it comes to the littlest things, ideas, moments. Muscle fibers vibrate so finely, I imagine it being visually imperceptible even under the penetrating eye of an electron microscope. Rubbing against each other, these fibers generate a friction translated into a fiery energy pulsing through hands, arms, chest, throat, face and, sometimes all the way down to my toes. Goosebumps rise all over and I almost feel like I extend further than my body or that I'm going to explode. My body's response is why I think, secretly, the little things ARE the "big" things that truly matter.

Us humans are so ridiculously small when it comes to infinities and the cosmos. Maybe my body is just naturally mirroring my insignificance, a sort of validation to petition my sanity, my importance, my worth, my existence. Yes, as small and insignificant as you are, Chance, you do exist. Which leads to do any of us matter? Does anyone care? Why does it matter if they care? How can I/we define worth? Why the hell is that in important? More questions than answers. The body translates it into a sensation that is understood beyond the intellectual but rather difficult to bring back up to the mental realm for assessment, analysis. This is why art exists.

Friday, November 13, 2009

"You're in my way, sir."

I finally fell asleep after chatting bullshit with a friend. Woke up from a dream in which I was joking around with two guys I knew from high school. There was a lot of dream but the only part I remember is right before I woke up where I heard one of them guffaw behind me and we started doing the "You're in my way, sir!" bit.

Thanks Noah Antwiler, for somehow making it into one of my dreams. Also hilarious.


Sleep is a bastard. An elusive bastard.

It hurts inside and I try to fill it up with everything I can to seal this wound. Why does it not just heal? The ache pulses and its energy pours out of my palms like a freaking hemorrhage. I press them to my chest instinctively, maybe to hold some of it in, squeeze my eyes closed and re-adjust my positioning but I just lay there like an idiot instead. So now I'm up typing in this stupid box and listening to music in attempt to refocus the energy I seem to be bleeding out all over the place.

Mother effer.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Today Jessie returns to work for at least half the day after being out of commission and driving to and from doctor's appointments for check ups. I have spent the past few weeks with her almost every day. I got to liking it again. It's been a long while since I felt that way. I still got weary and had to excuse myself home fairly often. But her guilting me as reduced dramatically. 

I am so scared it's all for naught. But. Baby steps. 

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

I am a dream bellydancer

"We must remove the skin and burn it all for fuel," he sings. Later, "I don't feel like ever getting well, tell me the lie you're taking your time, over and over."

I dreamt last night I was a belly dancer. I felt free, beautiful, sensual, goddess incarnate. It was divine. I don't think anyone was watching. I was dancing near the ocean, then suddenly transported to a forest opening that led to a waterfall feeding into a beautiful expanse of trickling water. I was surrounded by rocky formations and the sun warmed me before setting heavy behind....then the sky was moon and stars only and still I danced, undulated beneath silvery lights. Movements were graceful, sinuous and almost snakey, a fluid mirror of the waterfall. I pulsed and released it all up into the sky and into the ground with arched back until I was empty of it and then I welcomed the good to fill the emptiness I had made. Wishing with all my might that I do right by it.

When I was a teenager, I went through a very short phase of breaking through my skin when I was in emotional pain, which back then, seared through me. I think teens react so strongly to the pain because they are new to life, and it's a fresh experience. Like an animal, we lash out from the gut so sometimes the resulting behavior following the alien emotions don't make any sense or have any root in a logical mind.

I stopped breaking my skin on my own after a month. I am weird that way. Habits die hard sometime but with me, sometimes they die abruptly with no warning, like smoking did. I remember it pretty well, not completely understanding why I was doing what I was doing and once I did, I stopped and began to paint (which unfortunately I allowed to die when mom died). Something like emotion is so abstract. We cannot see it, touch it, taste it, hear it directly. Something about not being able to express it, see it, examine it, handle it literally... made me feel like I had no control over it, that it had control over me. To regain control, I tried to make the abstract something visible to my naked eye, something I felt on a simple, physical level that I could cope with somehow more easily than on the complex level I had brought it down from. I still have one faint scar, like a whisper from the past. No one would notice it except me. I don't even think I have ever told Jessie where it is.

I think I yearn still to draw the emotions and thoughts that are building up inside of me to the surface, translate it into simple language, something more visible. There is comfort in witnessing a representation of the abstract. Somehow it assures that I exist. That I am real. I very much want to be real. Obviously I have this body with which I can express and experience myself sensually. I yearn to bring the beauty, the important stuff that MAKES me feel alive to the outside somehow. I think being unemployed I have turned to stupid outlets like Facebook which is entertaining and fine. But it's not what I really want or crave. I am reacting but not necessarily in the best way - it's not cutting or harming my physical body like breaking my skin from teenage years but....I see the parallel.

Maybe the dream was my mind/soul's way of expressing another way to release what's inside into more visible form that would satisfy my desire without harming. I am not sure if the end result should be bellydance but I think that is an good starting outlet for me.

And now I get ready to pick Jessie up for an early morning doctor's appointment.

Monday, November 9, 2009


Ayla by DJ Tiesto draws out goosebumps of nostalgia. I feel like the ghost of who I was is watching me, wondering, maybe admiring although she could be disappointed. I don't know. 

I had tidal wave dreams the other night. Ocean poured in through the bottom of an open window in my room. At first I was scared and doing everything I could to avoid being touched. But then I went outside, climbed onto the roof and up into a nearby tree. I watched the tidal waves roll up on the land, tickling my dangling legs. A male passerby asked if I needed assistance and I told him I was just fine. The fear had subsided and I eventually jumped down to play in the water. 

I had other dreams of being involved with people I don't know in real life. It was like an odd history book of me that was inaccurate as far as reality goes. I can't remember much but I wish I did.