salivating over Your freedom…

Mykael texted me at ten am. I had been feeling dull, which is strange, because the day is anything BUTT! The day is absolutely bleeding with bright light, which automatically should make it come more alive, right? Unless it had the opposite effect~ washing it all out~ I believe the word that would serve this situation would be “homogenize”. But the light is NOT having a homogenizing effect. Maybe it is my lack of sleep that is causing the dull, low level fear and distance from the profound beauty. I have not been sleeping well at all. I used to be perturbed when I’d wake up at four am. Now two seems to be my first stop on the isomniac’s line. By the time five rolls in, I am done with this stupid concept called bed, called sleep. But then waking life becomes as much of a chore, because I feel strained and dingy from lack of sleep. Will I be able to nap this afternoon? I guess I won’t be publishing this entry… I guess it won’t make me $$$ the money that’ll rip me ridiculously dangerous, like a hairy band aide from my current poverty level status. Oh, well. At least I can afford coffee and kombucha. I should feel rich in that case. I should feel. That sure is a sentence stem lined with happy razor blades. The only question, is are they dull, or are they sharp? Dull ones are more painful, right? Then I’d have to vote for dull. Yeah, the kind of razor blade that will slice you the fuck open, before you even know what the fuck hit you. Suddenly, an entire specific segment of your body is warm… and oh!, wet, too… very dark red. That’s the way shoulds work. They sure get a bad-assed rap… but heck, maybe they even have their place.

I should engage in activities that create happiness. I should eat hecka veggies and whole grains. Come-on, I fuckin should. Because I feel better when I do, and I like to feel better, even if I seem to be addicted to feeling like shit. Because I do. And I have been a lot these days. I just remember Eric telling me about Amma’s biography. How she had the hardest fucking life, and the whole while, all she gave a flying fuck about was God realization, communion. Could that be ME? Could all these troubles be just the push I need to remember? I don’t even want to put any other words after the word “remember”, because I forgot what I’m supposed to remember. But the only thing I DO have going for me in the face of this conundrum, is that I remember that I forgot. I suppose I have a few more things going for me than that… like great friends. And new style mother lode dance studio.

Nathan and Max wanted to watch dance class last night, bless their warm and hecka fuzzy little innovative souls. So, just like old times, we wandered in off the street and settled in to watch the undercover ecstatic expression of soul pour thru the room full of Rockridgey dancers. Of course, Corey was leading the pack, with all the rhythm and funky soul in the whole world. And as I let the rolling splendor wash over me, I felt into how much I’m gonna miss the little microcosmic pocket called NewStlyleMotherlode. Fuck. I wanted to fall apart. I might as well have considered losing an arm and a leg. That is life at it’s best. What a stupid thing to say. “That is life at it’s best”. Come on Athena, pick up the slack. You have an imagination, USE IT! (you wouldn’t believe what a fucking relief it is to let that cold, hardened voice out of the prison of my lonely head. I want everyone to know. I am coming out of the closet as a masochistic, ironfisted, self-hater! I guess, if you didn’t have all your attention on yourself, that would be pretty obvious… but since most of the world is ego-centric, it’s possible that that one could have escaped you.

I feel so sad. I feel so lonely. I feel so tired. It seems, from my light-drenched seat here at Hudson Bay, that a blended mocha would really help.

ANNOUNCEMENT!!!~ I’ve just undergone a massive gear shift! I gave myself the blended mocha with a mountain of whipped cream! Then I switched to my favorite seat~ the little table closest to the windows. And the final touch, the cherry on the top was the music switch from tori amos to Leonard cohen’s newer stuff. Currently streaming in my ear is “Waiting for the Miracle”. Mister Cohen is profoundly dark and light at the same time. It befuddles me. I can’t believe that the word “befuddle” is in the dictionary (it’s not underlined in RED… but some of the other words I love to use are not… too bad I can’t come up with any examples on the fly, because that would certainly empower my writing. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow, or a minute from now, or…)

On another subject, WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY THAT I’M GONNA MOVE TO FLAGSTAFF, ARIZONA WITH???? I think I must be absolutely insane. I’d be better off in Hawaii alone. I am feeling so let down in relationship right now. Totally abandoned. My feelings are perpetually hurt. I know that Mykael did not do a fucking thing, but this little three year old is screaming and starving and insatiable inside me, and I don’t know who I am in the face of her blinding need and pain. When I get to the other side of it, I could be in fucking Flagstaff with a man that it seems I fell in love with… back in the olden days when epic-fairytale romances were the new black. But inside me, the trend seems to be misery and islolation now, more than love. God, I hope it slides out of fashion quick enough. Do I? That’s debatable. It’s so familiar here, alone on this day washed in illegal amounts of sunshine.

My blended mocha is over. I miss it. It is always so devastating when a good thing ends. Especially food and drinks. Drinks. Then food. It’s gone, and I was happy for a moment, but not long enough. I still feel exhausted, even after two shots of espresso. And I still feel hungry, even after all those cursed empty calories. Why does everything feel so right, even in the face of all these potentially detrimental circumstances? I can’t explain it, but I am aware of a deeper strength. Perhaps it’s what some people dig calling “the Eternal” …But I feel so aware of the fleeting, temporary nature of everything right now. And I believe that all these questions and struggles are seasoning my heart and soul for the ultimate romance. For the most intoxicating and sustainable love. Let it thrash me, because who I am is undestructable. Who I am is pure, unarguable magic and beauty. There is an awareness in me that is surfacing, from such depths.

I just got sick of Leonard Cohen, and I switched to that Kate Bush song, “This woman’s work”. Now I want to cry again. But not just a casual sprinkle of tears, I mean like full throttle sobbing. That’s a good name for a band, “Full Throttle Sob”… don’t you think?

I somehow feel like all the random, flighty revelations of my mind are somehow an offering. That somehow, they are an access point to freedom. To YOUR freedom. Not just mine. The way that I must let go, to let my life, my Self FLY across this page… somehow I believe in these frivolous words. I want to set you free. My heart actually ACHES to set you free. My nose burns, my tear ducts spit wet salt onto skin. It feels so good to stand here. True, I’m really sitting, but metaphorically standing, I mean. I feel a million feet tall when I stand for your freedom.

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