Tuesday, February 28, 2006
|It's Mardi Gras my freaky darlings!|
You know what that means!
It's time to gobble up all your favorite lovely sins so you can give them up for lent.
Time to light a candle and debauch. Oh my little yummies, take a walk with me down debauchery lane tonight.
Of course you know I don't have any wicked habits! How could I? I'm just a girl in the world.
That doesn't mean I don't like to window shop with a teensy glance of lechery though. So tonight I'm posting a few of my dark and lovelies I'd most like to commit some Carnivale revels with.
I mean, in some places in the bad old days...you put on your costume and your mask and you let your freak flag fly. Consequences were not an issue. Wedding bands were left safely home. No questions were asked. Babies born 9 months later were not an issue. (Although I think they flooded the orphanages.)
So my freaky darlings lets take a little drool and pretend we're nice too!
A little Laudinum & Absinthe?
Went out tonight with some friends for the traditional pancake dinner. Not much of a comparison to the thought of consequence-less, anonymous sex with a lovely stranger. (Of course there is no such thing in the real world. But this is the virtual playground puppies....We can have the thought!)
Come upstairs my little darling. I'll show what else I've got that's Prince Albert style besides this suit.
Come on freakers. You all remember some magnificent obsession with someone. Remember that dizzy-soaring-unquestioning-concentrated passion that made your mind drift into ecstacy at the first touch?
Like the song "Lost Mind" that describes a long gone love as "Sweet and cruel. Cruel and sweet as homemade sin."
Remember homemade sin? That wonderful concoction you brewed up in your own mind instead of acquired from the TV or radio?
Remember when your passion horizon included all sorts of images, thoughts, fantasies? Remember when it was more than one fixed image from a magazine or a movieor one anything that someone else had to sell you on?
Remember there are still a lot of wholesome AND exciting doors you haven't opened and that nobody else will make a profit from.
I'm still listening to Depeche Mode tonight. Saving the DVD, watching the performance of each song like Charlie unwrapping a Wonka bar. Oh baby Dave Gahan is my Golden Ticket. At least for this week he is.
I'm always on the look out for new yummy things. More posh passions to keep the bloggie fingers flying. (One way or the other?!?) Just to keep these bright eyes gleaming at the wonder of the world.
Like I said last night, dark hair and eyes, close trimmed goatee, and that lithe lean body topped with a good sized nose have always pushed my buttons. (All into the "ON" position.)
When I see the little cookie cutter critters that TV is burping out for my predelection, I am unenthused. The media idea of blond and sculpted is akin to going to Ben & Jerrys and getting a cup of water!
Oh there's no telling what's liable to catch my fancy. Viva la' diference!
Wishing you a fantastic Mardi Gras my little freaky darlings. You deservie it.
Monday, February 27, 2006
|It's here my freakly little darlings! The Amazon parcel has arrived. Tucked inside is a copy of Depeche Mode's "Devotional" tour video. Yummy yummy.|
This is one of those concert videos where I actually do wish I had been there in the audience. From the thundering boom and flash at the open to that wonderful base and synth magic the music weaves....it makes me want to be in the venue feeling the base thunder through my bones.
There's nothing quite like being at a concert when the energy spikes and the performance is dead on. Electric. An acceptable form of group sex.
Yummy! Those moments when you throw your hands in the air and give over to the music....let it take over everything. Let yourself sway, forget anything but the sound coming in thorugh every pore of your body. There is nothing else but that moment....that wonderful "presentness" of the moment.
Oh my freaky darlings, I saved up my pennies for this video and it does not disappoint. I took a huge bag of pennies to the grocery store and put them through the Coinstar counter. I could get an Amazon gift certificate instead of bills for them without paying the counting fee. (A hefty 8 cents on the dollar.) So, this is my big indulgence. I could never quite get around spending the bucks for the DVD...so this was my yummy selection. (I had a LOT of pennies.)
The concert is playing again in the background as I write. They've made it to "Drive". Gahan is hitting stride. He's confident, laughing, having fun, and dead on the mark with vocals. He struts and mocks himself and is having the time of a lifetime.
Yum. Dark hair and eyes, short goatee, skinny with a big nose. He hits the sexy trifecta in my book.
Dave Gahan hits the triffecta. From 'Devotional - World Through My Eyes'.
He's wearing skin tight jeans and a black ribbon choker with a cross and pearl on it. When he pushes in tight to the microphone, his teeth look ferral, almost vampiric. Perhaps that's the appeal...he's like Lestat but a real musician too.
Nah...I've always found the combo appealing, vampiric or not. I remember Barry Gibb as my teenage poster boy. What a wolf!
But tonight belongs to David Gahan.
I can't wait for the downstairs neighbors to go out Wednesday night. While they are at church meeting. I will be doing my own devotions of a sort. This DVD will be in the big player and the Bose system will be cranked up to window rattling volume.
It will be a snake around the living room in my own private concert night!
My! The night is slipping along. It's 9:30 already. I still need to switch around the laundry and pack lunch for tomorrow. A major system is down and will need recovery in the morning...oh well. Tonight I have Dave Gahan.
I've done my daughterly duty and requested a new medicare card for mom.
I even got the chance to chitty chat with Cuzin Tuesday on the phone. Yes cuz, I do sit down with my hands on the keyboard and free form this. I type as fast as I come up with it and I usually slap the thing into "post" before I have the chance to change my mind.
Sometimes I'll come back and reread and fix the spelling and gramatical mistakes. Sumtimes....I doesn't.
Kissy kissy my freaky darlings. It's time for a little dancing!
Saturday, February 25, 2006
That's Quite Enough
These women are trying to please someone besides themselves.
Look at them, my freaky darlings, look at them. They are half naked, perilously perched on horses for the delectation of spectators. They are in the stance of trying to please their employers, the men staring at them, the world at large.
They are also in the typical stance of those daughters trying to please their mothers. Don't kid yourself darlings, pleasing your mother and your family is a circus act all its own.
I'm back from this afternoon's nap and as darkness descends I light the candles, start this evenings music, and begin once again to speak my truth.
Tonight's music is the soundtrack from "Queen of the Damned". I feel very akin to Lestat tonight. Hedonistic and very much against my family. Lestat railed against his mortal and immortal families. He even went on to take a potshot at the world at large.
Of Freaky Darlings! Lestat spoke his truth. It took him several centuries to do it, but he did it.
Since I don't have a single century, let alone two...I'm getting busy now.
Let's see what shall I declare my independence from? Guilt? That makes a good start?
What next? Oh let's see, what has been rattling around at the back of my brain lately? Oh yes, I declare my independence from ever having to do anything I don't want to do with a lover again. That's it. Kaput. The hell with, "Do it for me babe." There is mutual pleasure, there is "give and take" to be indelicate....but that's it for the crap I never wanted to do in the first place. No more actions I hate. Whether it makes anyone else ecstatic or not.
Men moan and wail about how they just don't want to "send cards", "remember dates", "show up on time", or "put the toilet seat down". If they can't be bothered to do things that will cost them almost no money, no time, and not a drop of sweat off their sweet little testicles.....well then I can't be bothered to do things that make me feel like a throw-away-whore-robot.
Why should I give up my identity, my self-respect, any respect lugnuts might have for me, when he can't even manage to keep the piss of the toilet seat?
Oh darlings, if they can't cope, if getting their little wee wee's wonked is paramount....well they don't light my incense anyway.
There that's been said. Huge declaration...a lot of weight off the shoulders. Nice to think I won't be performing like a circus artist....like the women in the pic.
I guess the same goes for my blog. Expect it to get bumpier. Expect it to get a little farther round the bend. It's time to speak my truth. Even here.
I keep thinking of a song Lestat sings on stage right before the young vamps come to shred him.
its plain to see
that you want me to
its killing me
you've got the gall
come take it all
The jury is coming
coming to tear me apart
all this bitching and moaning
come on its art.
---- Excerpt From "Not Meant For Me" by Korn
in the movie "Queen of the Damned"
Oh my freaky darlings, I have always had an attraction for stunning vampires. Lestat as played by Stuart Townsend is the sexiest thing biting.
My ex was a vampire that I found sexy for some reason. He could suck all the energy, all the joy, all the life out of anything. I'm glad he's gone.
It's time for me to enjoy, to feed on the energy of life without harming others. It's my time to become alive. I have been "dead" so long. Like Lestat I am coming out of the crypt, finding my place, and finding my voice.
|Hello my freaky darlings, there's so much I want to write about today. I may have to try several sittings to spit out all these thoughts.|
A quick shout out to Spongebob D, if they've tuned in.
Today was a thrash day. A day of thrashing through yesterday's adventures with mom. Thrashing through trying to find a footing to keep my sanity, my individualtiy, and my life. D said she needed to find a "surgical removal" procedure to get this guilt out of me.
We talked about it this morning.
I was so ready for a little frolic after discussing the situation that I took myself to Sam's Club, the video store, and the dollar store. I came home with bags of practical things I did need, a wacky video, and 27 dollars worth of dollar store goodies. (Granted some of the dollar store things are for gifty bags for mom.)
(If all else fails I want to drop off little gift bags for mom to receive after I leave. It seemed yesterday that as long as I was around mom had to be miserable. She canceled her plans to go out on the daily shopping trip. She refused to go and enjoy activites.
What I heard from the staff was she was partying down. What she told me was she was in hell.
When I recounted the restaurant run to my friend D, she laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. It made me sad. I had forgotten to laugh. The situation was awful and I was too close to it. It was a replay of a lot of other fights and a lot of other temper tantrums. It was a replay but this time..THIS TIME...I held my own. I kept my boundaries, I got what I needed and wanted. This time it was a Victory for me and I forgot to laugh and see it. I was too busy feeling bad & guilty toxic empathy.
In true fashion of finding exactly what I need when I need it. (Thanks to God.) I got home from my dollar store frenzy and turned on the tv. On the screen was Dr. Christine Northrup...and the next thing out of her mouth was "Now I'm going to share with you an affirmation of forgiveness that I want you to say to yourself frequently..."
It was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it. This affirmation is the surgical tool to snip off the guilt. I've looked it up on the internet and here it is:
Christine Northrup's Forgiveness Affirmation
Mom, I forgive you. I release you and let you go. I now go free into greater and greater joy and fulfillment. I release you to do the same. I know that your spirit is strong and that you have everything you need to connect with your spirit directly. I release you to do what you need to do next in your own life. Only you know what that is. Whatever your choice, I support that choice. I honor myself enough to create healthy boundaries between you and me. As I connect with my Source energy, I release you to do the same. I now connect with the Divine Mother who is always there for me. I trust that the Divine Mother, working through me, will show me what I need to do in my life now. I know she will do the same for you. I entrust you to her care. I entrust myself to her care.
That my freaky darlings...has left me exhausted. I'm going to take a nap now and check in again later.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Oh that mirror!
Hello my freaky darlings.
Today was the first day spending a lot of time with mom since she moved into Sunrise. We met the new gerontologist, the dog groomer came and fluffed up Missy, I got to hear the "care plan" for mom, we went to Target to pick up a few things, and we finished off by going out to dinner.
Finished off is a pretty good term for it to. By the time we drove from the Target to the restaurant mom had started on her tirade about going back to Florida and driving again. I finally reminded her that isn't going to happen. She had her little hissy-henny fit.
We arrived at the Texas Road House for our steak dinner and she refused to get out of the car. I told her she could sit her ass in the car and freeze but I was going in to get dinner. I'd been all day long trying to iron her crap out....nothing since breakfast and it was 5 p.m.
So little miss beligerent sat there puffed up like a blowfish and refused to eat anything. I had a lovely steak dinner. During bites, I ignored her sour yipper staring at me.
At one point I caught myself humming "Brazil" complete with a remix on the chorus.
She continued to stare like she could get me to choke to death.
I'm tired of the drama. Her ass can sit in her room at Sunrise until it grows grass. I'm not taking another day off from work to get worked over by that little bully bullshit artist.
She had scheduled a trip out with the gang at the apt but she wouldn't go because I was there and she couldn't let me see her having some fun.
Well hucklebuck all that crap.
Me and the mirror are going to be better friends as this goes on. And unlike the chick in the picture above...nobody has airbrushed off my vulva.
So freaky darlings, even though I am worn to a frazzle from all the scenery chewing today...I'm going to stay awake and go play with my crafty stuff.
An envelope arrived today from "Stamp Francisco" and I'm jonesin' for a little creativity.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Hello my freaky darlings!
Shall we have a chitty chat? Just let me take off my stockings and shoes and loosen up this corset!
Ok, now that I'm comfy....let's just chat away.
First off, where is Cuzin Tuesday? Has he been eaten by roving lesbians? Has he finally runn off to find that little cozy spot under the boardwalk? It's far too cold yet for "on the sand living"!
I've heard it through the grape vine that Mom has been coming out of her apartment and joining a "dude from Texas" to read the paper in the lobby in the mornings! I also got a scoop that they went out with the "lunch bunch" for a lunch date today.
So I'll have to scope this out. She's so good at giving the guilt trips...it's nice to catch her fibbing about her "Alcatraz like" confinement.
Let's see, a dreadful day at work, got things backwards and upside down again. Hell, I don't even expect to be competent these days. My brains and my body have pretty much shorted out.
Received the video "Breakfast with Hunter" in the mail today. I've been watching it. I've stopped at the point where Johnny Depp is reading form "Fear and Loathing". Depp is a bundle of nervers, twitching his feet, smoking, chewing gum, and alight and aquiver all over.
I had given up on finding anyone writing in America today that I could empathize with until I stumbled over Hunter S. Thompson's work. Fear & Loathing took me by storm. From then on I've sipped, slurped, and delectated over Thompson's prose.
Monday marked the first aniversary since Thompson kicked open the fire exit door and leapt off the planet. I'm still stunned and saddened. It's so hard to accept that he found himself at the end of the road so soon.
There is a memorial pic of him on a web site run by his wife at: http://www.gonzostore.com/
If you don't feel up to reading "Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas", then rent the DVD with Johnny Depp and Benecio Del Torro. Watch it by yourself. Foe heaven's sake don't watch it around children. This is a grown up treat. If the wild visuals make you confused, close your eyes and listen to the narrative running along over top the movie. Depp is reading straight from the origianl manuscript. That lovely monologue is the scrumptuous prose, juicy and ripe for your ears. Take it in and let it soak through your madison avenue bleached brain.
Oh, my freaky darlings, I think I'm going to try and pry myself away from this keyboard. Staring at an irradiated screen 8 hours a day at work is bad for me. Coming home and staring at another screen for another 3 or 4 hours is worse.
But oh my freaky darlings, how could I pass up the chance to give you a little shout out?
By the way.....if any of you are actually reading this...please drop me a line.
Monday, February 20, 2006
What shall we chat about?
Hello my freaky darlings.
What shall we chat about tonight? Sex lubes? Popcorn varieties? The Spanish Inquisition? The life and times of Judas?
Perhaps how sulky and awful I feel today? That's more like it. Oh my freaky darlings, I took mom out for lunch today. I went to visit and gave the dog her heart worm pills. We all went out for lunch and ice cream.
I'm having awful second thoughts about the whole business.
That place is lovely and awful. The hallways are full of people in wheelchairs and walkers. It is a dismal moving momento mori tableau.
Today she was almost lucid. She made sense, she didn't skip around, she didn't repeat herself endlessly. Maybe the aricept is working. Somehow.
She wants out. I would want out.
I don't think they've done her laundry. She doesn't have a laundry hamper. I have to call and find out tomorrow. I think they cleaned her room while we were out to lunch. They at least dusted the tv.
I want to send her back to Florida. I want her to go back to being herself. The best parts of herself. Not the bitter, shriveled, mean abusive parts that are clawing their way to the surface now.
This is even more for her than it is for me. Three months of constant contact and three weeks of long distance worry did me in.
I really had to lay low this weekend and try to gain my strength back.
For all the work I've done I'm still fragile. I didn't buckle under the strain but I wore down. I kept my boundaries and I kept my head up. But the damage is done. it was done years ago by a decade or so of abuse. I just can't take the strain. And now I have sense enough to know it.
So keep us in your prayers my darlings. We need it.
Like the vampire Lestat (pictured above) said "We vampires don't settle old scores, we harbor them." That my freaky darlings is the cleansing point of all this strife now. Move ahead and rise above or sink and live forever destroyed by the past.
How can I be different from my abuser now that I have power? That's the tricky fine line and it's keeping me awake at night. I am making her live where she doesn't want to live just like she did to me. I don't see any way around it just like she didn't with me.
But maybe, I have more resources, maybe I have a clearer and calmer picture. Maybe I just can't help it.
But I will go down on record as saying "I tried."
Goodnight my darlings, the idiot box and sweet distraction await.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Here's to AFO
Hello my freaky darlings! It's Saturday night and I'm back from a long day of art class.
Today was faux rust and verdigris patina. We created a coffee table box that looks like an ancient rusted metal box then we created a chap book to go in it. The kit included mostly a bucket full of pre-Raphaelite clip art, mostly Holman-Hunt. So I kept a few pages blank to put some of my fave pre-raph art in. The box needs the cover decorations attached, but I'm leaving it till later. I'd like to let the paint get dry.
Actually I'd like to wait until I have a little more energy.
The bug that flattened yours truly a two weeks ago is back for another round. Actually I don't think it left! Also ye' olde' blood tests show that the royal "we" is anemic again.
So I am deliriously tired and out of breath. Oh joy!
The last time I felt good about being this exhausted was from a fabulous case of being "AFO". You can just figure out what that is if you don't know.
But it sure beats being flat in bed exhausted, trembling, and short of breath without all the fun and frolic that ought to occur first!
Tomorrow is another art class. We'll be doing book binding. Which is a primo good time for me.
It's 24 degrees outside tonight and I've got the electric radiator helping out the furnace. It's jus too stupid cold to move!
The battery charger arrived Friday. Luckily the battery for the equipment had enough current to take a charge. Right now the expected charging time is 3 days of constant current. Since I can only run the charger during the day...it'll take a lot longer.
Why run the charger only during the day? Welllll you can't charge the battery in the house so it has to sit on the porch.....but the porch doesn't have any grounded elelctric outlets.....so the cord for the charger has to come in the front door. So the whole time it's charging...the front door is propped closed with the cable slipping underneath.
The flinking gap under the door is big enough that the cable fits! But it doesn't fit flat enough to throw the deadbolt.
So....patience.....is all there is.
Well my freaky darlings...here's hoping that you get your Sunday morning fatigue from a good old fashioned Saturday night AFO!
Friday, February 17, 2006
OH! My freaky darlings!
I remember reading that some famous author in the Victorian era came to his bridal chamber on his wedding night, caught one glimpse of his bride's pubic hair, and fled never to return.
Apparently the poor dear was shocked by the site of vulgar body hair on his delicate flower.
Think about this. Would anything short of barbed wire keep most bridegrooms away on their wedding night?
What kind of idea must this guy have had about what women looked like under all that bizarre garb they draped on themselves? "Naughty" post cards of the time often air brushed out the pubic area of their naked nymphettes. We're aren't talking "shaving", we are talking about complete removal of the female genitals!
How outlandish is that? It ranks right up there with today's obsession with "Brazillian Bikini Waxes". I mean really, who thinks it's a sexy idea to have their crotch coated in hot wax and have thier pubic hair ripped out? Especially how crazy is it to pay for this and tip the sadist who gets a pop at your backside?
Adult females have body hair. Crotches included. If a man is so squeamish that he can't stand the site of a little hair, he's entirely too squeamish to step up to the plate and take a swing in the park!
Doesn't it seem pervy to want a full grown woman to shave all her hair off so she looks like an underage child?
Isn't it even more pervy to want them to be hairless and emaciated so they look as much like little boys as possible? Well as much as they can look like little boys with their scrawny legs, visible ribs, and big plastic balloon boobs.
Oh my freaky darlings! Why can't women be shaped like women? God designed us and put us together....isn't that good enough?
Why can't we have nice furry vulvas? Why can't we have hips and thighs and all the yummy bits we were born with?
Oh, let's do my freaky darlings. Let's just be ourselves.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Oh Let's! My Freaky Darlings!
----- Susan Jane Gilman in Kiss My Tiara
Let's my freaky darlings! Let's what? Oh, let's talk about penises!
Oh, let's do.
I mean they are lovely little things. But they aren't the center of the universe.
You can get a lot of pleasure from one. Or you can wonder why most of the world thinks you need to have one attached to preach the word of God or even to be loved by God.
Then again look at the insane things woman have done and continue to do to attract a being who posses a penis. Like our picture of Anxious Annie above, women have stiffled their bodies, bent their ribs, and twisted themselves into all sorts of bizarre configurations to "appear attractive".
We may laugh at old time corsets, native tribes with disks in their lips, and foot binding. They all seem pretty self-destructive and a far removed from out modern world of "beauty science".
How can you compare the 19th century practice of "corset training" a waistline into a caved in strangulated 24 inches with the modern day practice of inserting balloons of toxic goo under the skin to make unnaturally round oversized breast structures.
We certainly can't compare the 19th century weight loss regimen of eating tape worm segments with our throughly scientific procedure of having a huge chunk or our stomachs and intestines removed to we are physically incapable of breaking our diet. (It makes us physically incapable of normal digestion necessary for survival too. But what use is being alive if you aren't skinny?)
And women do this for what? To attract something with a penis? Look around ladies, most men will share their penis if you ask! Most men cluck and coo about wanting a looker, but they don't seem to correlate their worthiness of an attractive partner with thier own personal appearance. Why should we?
Men like the hot dogs sold from mystery carts outside of hardware marts! They even take great joy in giving themselves gastric distress by piling the scary-dogs with chili and plasti-cheese.
Now if they can get that into a 2 buck hot dog....how interested in a freely offered slice of paradise will they get?
I think they'll take it even if you don't have plastic boobies, chopstick thighs, and vampircally white teeth.
And come on ladies, if what we want is to share their penis for a little joyride....why don't we admit it to ourselves.
Quit looking at men as meal tickets, trophy husbands, and "completers" to your soul. Earn your own living, be your own trophy, and do the work to complete your own self. Come one, how can any mere mortal live up to all that crap husband hunters throw on them?
I don't intend to be Donna Reed, Paris Hilton, and Martha Stuart all rolled into one. I shouldn't be expecting my frolicsome buddy to be Alton Brown, Johnny Depp, and Donald Trump melded.
Have a good time. Show respect. Demand respect.
Quit crawling on your hands and knees across your on tongue on broken glass to "get" some guy who isn't going to change a damn thing in your life except maybe your HIV status.
Have a little fun with a penis now and then. (If that's your predilection.) Live your own life. Don't put up with a penis with an idiot attached no matter how big either one of them is.
Oh let's talk about penises. Let's do! I like them I really do. But they have their place.
And their place is not hanging out in the night air waggling at strangers. The last time I was "flashed" was in the parking log of a local restaurant. A 20 something was standing on the hood of his BMW with his package catching the breeze. He wiggled it at some ladies going into the venue.
As I got into my car, parked in front of his, he waggled it at me. He had that sort of swashbuckling smokey look that Johnny Depp does well on the big screen with his pants on. This guy, however was not Johnny Depp clothed or otherwise, and he had a pinky and twibbly little pucker.
By the time I started the car, I was laughing so hard I could hardly drive.
Mr. Flasher intensified his waggling and I had to break out a kleenex and wipe the tears from my eyes. His proud display fell to half mast. The police prowl car pulled up and the officers offered Flasher Boy a night in the klink.
The things people do just because of penises!
Freaky Darlings! It's Friday and since I'm not visiting any penises tonight, I will go about my housework and give this blog a rest.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Hello my freaky darlings!
Hello my freaky darlings. Are we all beautiful and radiant this evening? Oh, you, the pretty one, you know who you are...yes you...now smile. Much better.
It's Valentine's Day but who really gives a fuzzy rats ass? Unless you are in kindergarten or your anticipating a world class lay....this isn't a day loaded with significance.
Finally acquired the nerve to phone the adversary. They still think they will be winging back to solo prowling in Florida in a few weeks. Not possible I'm afraid.
If you haven't read the F. Scott Fitzgerald short story "Crazy Sunday"....READ IT!
What's happening now reminds me of that story. That story I read years ago when I had no idea that I'd wind up socking someone away for their own good.
It's pushing that "Give me liberty or give me death." button. It's the worst nightmare with a big pink bow on it.
I'm having trouble living with it. After a few nights of good sleep, I'm back to feeling like a monster.
I have this horrible suspicion that all the amenities and nice decor at the assisted living are really just paint and candy coating on a 19th century insane asylum. The "posh" is just a way to help those of us who are paying for it, feel less guilty for being low grade jailers.
There is that suspicion that I am in freefall into hell. I'm sailing along whistling button hole tunes and telling myself pretty lies. Shielded by the false sense of security brought on by popular opinion and the idea "there is no choice"....I am hurtling without a parachute to ruin.
But I know there is a choice. Choosing to do nothing is a choice. Choosing to give up my life and spend all my time caring for them is a choice. Going mad is a choice. I've made a choice...there was one to be made.
The trick now is not to second guess and not to waffle. Do I even really know if there are any circumstances under which I would reverse my decision? I have decided to put everything on hold for 2 months. Then I can reassess the situation.
That is if I can sleep between now and then. That is if I don't catapult myself into a lunatic asylum before then.
Oh wait, they sold the asylum to greedy land developers. Guess I'm safe from the asylum.....for now.
Goodnight and all my love....my freaky little darlings...
Saturday, February 11, 2006
|Wow, it's been a week since I've been able to get anything down on the old bloggerooney. Did you miss me boys?|
Have no fear, your little girl is back and sassy as ever.
Now which one of you boys is gonna come over here and take me for a spin on the dance floor? Justine's been playing "momma", nursemaid, wicked witch, and doormat this week and she's more than ready to get back to being her red hot woman self.
You know that I've been taking care of a family member who has been quite abusive. Well I've moved them out of my apartment and into a little place of their own. Now they have someone on call around the clock to make sure they eat and bathe and take all their good drugs.
Duty done, now it's time to get back to being myself!
So where to start?
Let's see. I had a nice nap this afternoon. Spent some time with the electronic collage pallette. Picked up the laundry from the cleaners. Washed the dishes and got all the dog food out of the fridge.
Hmmm...... I think the next thing to do is dance!
It's snowing outside and the roads are iced over. But the Club Scene is coming on the XM radio and there's a big hardwood floor in the room my houseguest just vacated. Oh Later Darlings! It's time for Justine to dance.
Take A Nibble
Saturday, February 04, 2006
You Are Here
|Tonight kiddies, it's a digital collage. |
Words are failing me. I'm in a landscape phase. Only the lay of the land can explain anything I'm feeling tonight.
Moved furniture into Sunrise today. Signed the papers.
Feel worn out. The bug is still ripping me apart. The antibiotic is working but it leaves a taste that just won't go away.
Nauseating circumstances, nauseating illness, nauseating stage of life.
So, without further ado...here is tonight's message entitled "You Are Here".
|It's half past midnight. In the corner of my living room is a pile of furniture that tomorrow will be carried off to create a room in assisted living for my mother. I tried to pick things that matched, things she likes, things that will make a warm cozy home.|
It reminds me of packing to go to college. It reminds me of packing to fill the dorm room, or the dinky first apartment, or packratting to go off to summer camp.
But then it strikes me, this is a camp from which she will never return. This is the camp where she goes to await death. It's the dormroom for the final university.
She's lost her will anyway. Her memory is fading. I see glimpses of the woman I used to know and then I see a little demon whose sole purpose is to rip me to shreds.
This is the final parental lesson...how to die. The final parental admonishment, "Life is short and fast. When you stop wanting to live it, it leaves you."
It leaves me lonely, forlorn, and feeling that my life on earth has been a spectacular struggle and complete waste.
Perhaps this is only a camp where we go from another world. Perhaps when we die we go home again to some happy place where we are loved and we never feel alone again.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Venice By Night
|Pictures of Venice at night take my breath away. I found an album of study trip snapshots on the web a few nights ago. Don't know what led me there, but the photographs took my breath away.|
It's been a long time since anything made my jaded body and spirit rustle with joy. The light on the buildings, the water everywhere aginst the archetecture, the old stone, all of it captured me.
I thought of an art exhibit of Whistler paintings I saw years ago. After he painted his mother in "Symphony in Greay and White Number 1" he painted symphony number two, a portrait of Thomas Carlyle.
Thomas Carlisle led me to Venice to begin with. At least a long time ago he did. At an exhibit of Pre-Raphelite Victorian paintings I rounded a corner to the larger than life portrait of Carlisle. He was turned in three quarter view, seated in a straight back chair, knees crossed,hands on his lap....The world weary look, the large hands laying useless looking in the center of the picture, fascinated me.
For my love of the huge portrait of The Lady of Shalot tangled in the whirlwind of her loom lashing apart, it was the portrain of Carlisle that I came back to over and over.
It was that portrait which convinced me, two months later, to come back to the gallery for a showing of Whistler's paintings. Thomas Carlyle was there, on a different gallery wall this time, but still as resigned. Great world weariness, still overtook Carlyle.
Since our first meeting, I'd read up on Carlyle and his philosophies. A reformer and philosopher or that terrible time as the English speaking world was moving from farms to factories. I'd tried to read "Sartour Resartouris", his novel still in print. As a meager 20th century student, raised on quick cut journalism and microwave ovens...I struggled with the complex thoughts and thick rambling style. The books still sits on my office shelf and taunts me.
Perhaps I'll try it again, if I ever regrow an attention span.
But back to Carlyle and I staring each other in the face at the National Gallery of Art. When I'd paid him my respects and I'd taken the obligatory look at "The White Girl" and "Madame X", I found the section of Venice at Night.
Whistler likened painting to music. He created symphonies in grey and white. For Venice he created nocturnes.
He had a gondolier punt him around Venice all night so that he could make sketches and take in the colors. In the day he painted with his canvases flat on the floor so that his thin color washes wouldn't run off.
He tried new colors and new paint techniques to capture the night, the loaming of dusk, and the light on the water.
What's so great about painting the dark? Well, think about it. Nighttime isn't pitch black through and through.
Think of being a kid again sitting on the porch watching for fireflies to start blinking in the grass. Think about being on vacation and walking on the beach in the reflected light from the amusement pier. Think of a time when night wasn't just a time to do dishes, pack lunches, and watch inane television.
Remember the shades of blue and grey? Remember the misty blue hour just after sunset? "L'heur Bleu" in all it's glory.
Guerlain of Paris makes a perfume named "L'heur Bleu". There's a bottle of it on the dresser in my bedroom.
The light in Venice is mythical by day or night. Perhaps those photographs I found on the web the other night gave me just a tiny smidgen of hope that there is still someplace wonderful and beautiful in the world. Perhaps there will be a time in my life when the night is peaceful again. Perhaps a time when night will mean going out onto the deck and watching the moon the river and feeling safe and at peace.
Peace, soft darkness, the gentle rest of night. All those things seem like mysteries to me now. I've been awake almost all night the last week running. I've had a virus, bronchitus, and sinus infection. I've spent the nights struggling to breath and staring the reflected glow of the tv on the cieling of the bedroom. I've layed in bed, letting "Deuce Bigelow" play over and over on the DVD player just for the soft glowing light.
The dark hasn't offered my any rest lately. When I've taken enough sudafed, and prescription lung drugs to get enough breath to sleep, the reality of my life has crashed through and yelled in my face.
This morning I woke up with the words "What the hell am I doing?!" thundering in my head. Good God, I woke up second and third guessing myself on the arrangements I made for mom. It's like a six year old version of myself woke up this morning and started freaking out. There was a horrible moment of realizing just how alone I am followed by a worse moment of realizing how short life really is. The icing on the cake was the smacking realization that I live a life so small that it doesn't include the possibilty of seeing Venice by night. My life is so small, it doesn't hardly include the possibility of completing a novel, or kyaking, or having season tickets to the opera. My life has shrunk down to a day in and day out struggle to keep housed and fed and employed and the heartbreak seems never ending.
Perhaps the beauty of Venice at night for me is in possibility. The beautiful possibility that somewhere in the world there is a beautiful garden of stone on the banks of a moonlight canal where the night is soft and embracing. The beautiful possibility that perhaps I might find that place and stretch my world enough to include it.
All this because I found someone else's travel pictures while I was looking for an out of print rubber stamp named after the "Rialto Bridge"
Sort of sad, bizarre, and hopeful all at once isn't it?
A time worn lion on a haunted staircase in Venice.