Say What?

The caffeine is buzzing in my chest, or is it just massive amounts of inhaled dense smoke? 

I spent the evening in someone's backyard. There was a fire pit/instrument. The ashes flaked into the breeze like a delicate snowfall. It looked pretty, but it's hard on the lungs. My lungs.  

I left early: A group of writers and actors going through two scripts. They seemed real nice. Too soon to make any hard-line thoughts. 

But the snowflakes killed it for me. My chest feels like it's on fire.

I hope this fire burns elsewhere. To refresh a parched land. To strengthen a new crop. To start anew. 

Don't

It did creep upon us, didn't it? So sly and slithery, well intended for all of mankind. But who still hides behind the gated curtain? Pulling the strings, creating chaos, inciting the drumbeats of war.

War is on us. It's been pumping through the airwaves, crash landing in living rooms, spurred around water coolers, and plaguing the already over-headed streets.

Look! Up in the sky. The plane. The plane. 

What great angles you have dear brother. How timely your gaze. Just like your father, aren't you? It's always about you and no one else. Instruct everyone else to obey your still heart. Reverse every truth into a lie. 

I see your game.

All great mountains will self-destruct in time. The watcher watches all, and armies can be summoned in a single beat. The invisible is not invisible to all. A handful can see beyond the naked eye. But you already know that. You know who YOU are. 

It began with a lie, and the branches of such repercussions have reached us all. Every single one of us. None can escape such a fate. 

side note: We all need a good friend to tell us "don't". She needed a friend in that moment. I wish I was there for her. 

The world now requires an endless lens. It has endless ears too. And Pinocchio is dead. Dumbo is dead too. The strip search has whittled us to the bone, actually slivers of us remain. But I'm not dead, yet.

The lens will take everything we hold dear. Take a deep breath, right now. How precious is that?  

The transition will feel just as free, to start. The burden of baggage, gone. What a relief. But the King wants more, his invisible numbers will replace all that is real. Empty pockets will burn, just like an empty stomach. But don't worry about it. It won't hurt a bit. It's so small. You won't even now it's there. I just need your hand of consent. 

No hand? Fine. Nothing for you.   

btw. There's more of us. 

Freedom Refine

There's a massive break happening right in the middle of where life begins. The crack feels so deep it devastates me to think of how much deeper it can go. So many have slipped through it already... is it possible for them to see the hand that's reaching out to them, begging them "grab on". 

You see, many will instead watch hours of television, like Dancing with the Stars, cheering on a complete stranger, feeling better for a split second when their choice gets the highest mark. It means something to them, which is fine, but to be brutally honest with those in teleDOOM, life truly beings beyond the box.

The lies are getting strong and many are too lazy, or just have no idea anymore how to discern fact from fiction. The script is too good, or perhaps people are more stupid... I truly have no idea. Or maybe it's a dulling of the senses. A suppressing of instinct that has collapsed due to the mind-numbing avalanche deemed political correctness. 

Why not choose to be a pineapple? Or a coconut. Why are sooo many choosing to be strawberries? Bruised so easily. Emotionally stunted, which impairs discernment. 

Why?

Are we all just unhappy because deep down inside, in the inner part of our being, we know, truthfully, there in the stillness of the night when everything is turned off that something in this world is terribly wrong? Terribly. 

Can we even feel that? Or has the mindset of option and having choice as a living, breathing, human being changed so much that we're just happy the way it is? 

What with the lying box and lying print media constantly convincing you that everything is a-okay, more than okay. It must be okay. In fact, if you see something wrong, there must be something terribly wrong with you. You're ignorant. You're not like us. Scram. 

We're not allowed to think for ourselves anymore. Like, truly have independent thought, that makes us individuals. No, no. We must be a collective. Unite. Be as one. We represent love in doing so. It sounds so right, doesn't it? It does. I'd buy into in, if I was 13 years old, never having known free speech, never having lived my formative years encouraged to think for myself and strive to be myself, as was cheered on by awesome teachers and friends alike. 

It's different now. 

It's easy for my generation to see this, though many see it and are still fine with losing their speech, because life is still easy for them. Their inner world has not changed just yet. But it will very soon.

Which pill did Neo take again... Red pill?  

Sorry, I don't mean to generalize by using such a cultural image, but in taking the red pill (going down the rabbit hole) one does truly wake up. And truthfully, as awakening as it is, it's also heartbreaking. More heartbreaking cause so many choose to remain asleep. Waking up takes effort, research, weeding out disinformation and coming to grips that the system has been in place for so long and you (me) in this system can feel very helpless.

I'll leave with this: martial law, biometrics, Ai technology, elimination of physical money.

It's what is almost never spoken about with clarity or in fullness for the layman to comprehend. Truths that the lying box will never speak of.

Comfort breeds chaos. False fear strips true freedom. In essence, we're fucked.

But we're growing.  

Turn the page. Quick

I've been so freaking blah lately. It feels freaking awful. There's this certain percentage of blah running about my life right now. It feels like a crazy, sometimes useless feeling. Or more a dreadfully alone and at times blank and endless state.

I have no definition of what this blah pertains to... possibly extreme boredom of some kind. I've been in this non-existent routine of blah for what feels like far too long. 

Must I venture elsewhere to eradicate this perpetual feeling of blah?

Possibly.

Or possibly not.

But what can it be...

It's not writer's block.
Or the sudden death of a friendship.
Or the need to buy something pretty.
Or eat something yummy.
Or watch something funny.

But it's something. 

I think I need a nice day at the beach. To sit by the water. Under the sun. Read something funny. Maybe the Knocked Up script. Could I be vitamin D deficient...? 

I'm grasping.

Is this the slow start to a crisis or the slow beginning of new chapter? 

Though painful, with bleak visibility, I'm gonna will it to be a new chapter. 

Next is Blank

I finished my script. It feels awesome in this sad, lonely, exciting, totally freaked out way. The characters took some time to envision, what with working almost till the tail end of 2015, then the injury and surgery. But, nonetheless, they were chatting in my brain, and I was getting to know them.

Tiny side note: So far I have applied to one job, and that's it. I don't know what else to do? It's freaking upsetting, in this way, when you get to a point in your life when settling becomes a dire word. I refuse to settle in life, in every sense of the word. Beyond stubborn. Yeah, that's me.

I'm not gonna touch the script for a week, maybe two. Sit back for a while. Rest my eyes from the glaring screen. 

Regular side note: I recently met two men of a certain age and persuasion. From what I could surmise it was clear that they weren't very socialized around modern women, which sounds crazy "modern women", but everyone has come across this type of man. We met at a gathering, conversing about film, and when opinions started to clash I was called out - reprimanded. Like, "calm down," one said. 

Well, my voice never changed, I just wasn't swayed by their opinion. Like, for some reason, my observation was shut down. Why? Because I'm a woman? Because I appear much younger than I am? It's a strange truth that many women experience, especially when they look much younger. 

I don't know where this script will go? Complete mystery. I'll do the rounds, and leave it to God. I did my part, which is write. I really enjoyed seeing how these characters evolved. I feel close to them in this way. Like, they're my friends. Sounds crazy.

Only time will tell.

Selfish me VS the World

I was sharing with a friend early this month that I wanted to do something "unselfish". To give back, which I used to do when I younger - when time felt limitless. Unlike now. The cruel hand of the "life-clock" feels like it's on a mission to terminate. Termination date unknown.

side note: Did you see that scrolling yahoo article about being able to know how or when you will die... Yeah, like why would anyone want to upset the years they got left with that stressful suggestion? 

So, my friend was asking what kind of work I was looking for, having been out of work due to heal and repair time.

I'd like to. Hope to. Get out of this selfish mode, a way of being that comes much too naturally. To fulfill thy self. And I got this puppy down in spades: no kids, no companion, no dependents. Just me to fill the ticking days of this life-clock. My friends are all the same, which doesn't help this inner-focused mindset, where marriage is an out there fantasy, due to the lack of options, and the maternal clock also has yet to start ticking. Yes, birds of a feather. 

Find someone good enough to be the father of your child, and perhaps the ticking will spark. Than again, my friends and I are very aware of the world we're living in. We're afraid to bring children into this fucking mess.

But yeah, this job thing. Freak, it's utterly, freaking terrible. Do I even try getting back to the min 15hr day??? Though, it is where I most feel at home... Urrggg!!!

Like, I see it, on the street. I don't drive. I walk, take the bus, and I'm not hooked to a device that sucks away my attention. I see what's out there. So many lost, sad and lonely faces. There's a lot of need out there. Sure, it's out there globally, but start in the city you live in first.    

My hands are wringing, and I'm getting tired.

But I am writing. That's the highlight. Going good so far. Large ensemble, female driven (no whores, hookers, rape victims, super heroes). I hope to finish it (knock on forehead X 3).

haven't written in so long. if anyone read this - cool. 

I screamed,

Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Behind a closed door. The blood and scale of it all done behind my back. Each pin prick, cut and dull scissor snip a total mystery, all for my vivid imagination to fill.  

"Ow, ow, ow," I screamed countless times as my doctor was numbing the area to be operated on. It was so much more than a minor prick of a needle. The blasted benign clump that had been resting on a nerve on my spine had been with me all my life. It only brought pain, especially when friends would embrace me. It was gosh darn awful to get a hug, and I love hugs. But I'll hug through the pain, any day.

The pain. I describe it as if stabbing a starfish in the gut. All the pain shoots out the legs (across my back, everywhere). I stop breathing for a few seconds, hold, gather myself, and then proceed on like nothing happened.  

I yelped to the doctor, "barn yard animals," because in the past she would squawk a myriad of barn yard animals to distract from the needle/pain. But this time it didn't work, the pain had enwrapped me like a fiend, hellbent on revenge, outraged that it was losing its home. And as I felt the dull, but most probably sharp blades tear away the clump from my body, I listened quietly to the scissors, it sounded like scissors, cutting away the past.

How much was I bleeding... I don't know? Not too much?

And as she stitching me up, I hadn't a single thought to contemplate. I only looked around the room as far as my eyes could search, looking for anything familiar to ease the bits of anxiety within me. 

I asked her if she had a patient after me.

"Yes," she replied, still stitching away.

I laughed, imaging what someone or anyone could be thinking as they hard me cry "Ow, ow, ow," outside the door. A door that faces a long hallway where many people travel across. And, man, I was loud. I couldn't stifle it in little weeps. I actually intercut the OWs with laughter, struck at how much it actually hurt.

Laugh or cry... Laugh I always say. Laugh. 

After it was over, out of the operating room, and back out onto the street with chocolate milk in hand, chocolate milk to cure the wooziness of it all, I sat for some minutes. The wind was chilly, but not cold, and the back entrance of the hospital alive as ever with the rush of people, many sharing a battle with illness. Life must go on, despite of it all. Despite the twisted road and the unseen challenges we, as people, collectively face. Battles and challenges never seem to discriminate, just like stray bullets. Stray bullets don't have a name attached to them.

So now back to healing. Healing and writing.

Gosh, these stitches are itchy.     

Freakin' Pain

Been taking it super easy. Walking like a snail, if snails could walk. Upping my pace for a few seconds, then easing down. That dull awesome pain that creeps up the back, the stabby pinch under the right buttock, the other stabby pinch in the right hip, all reminders that I am not a super hero, and that the invincible delusion of youth does flutter away when seasons are coming to an end.

Freakin tragic.

Thus I write and watch/listen to hours of people sputtering of the times we're living in. It's kinda gross right now, what's out there. I think it's always been gross, but with the advent of cyberville (which sounds so ancient), this communal vast space we all share, whether silent observers, world criers, or the angry lunatic, we just have more access to the ugliness, and thus the ugly have a more difficult time hiding.

The only good thing, the only silver lining, is that I'm writing. It's starting slow. The characters are pretty much formed, but they also grow and reveal more about themselves as the pages mount. I need to streamline more, not go off track, keep motives in tact, and not lose sight of the main story.

And given this lack of mobility, which confines me in this tragic way, not feeling free to go about for fears of sudden unbearable pain whilst in a very populated area, I keep my tracks close to home and spend less hours outdoors. Believe me, my jeans are getting snug. A girls' worst nightmare realized. Vanity sucks.

I've been trying to fill time watching films with a large ensemble cast, one with many storylines running through. Just watched August Osage. It was great, performance wise, but story wise...what was the story about truly? I may stick to a few favs like: Hanna and her Sisters, and Parenthood. I'm watching and re-watching because my script also has many storylines. One family, many storylines, but the family is the glue.

And there isn't much on television and in film these days, been avoiding it for a while. Like, why so much bloodletting? When I was younger it wasn't an issue, or maybe there wasn't so much then, maybe now the options are growing slim.  

So until my back procedure, and until this pain decreases by 40% I will reroute and continue to restore.

Pain pain go away. Come back never.

For Now

It's been very, super-very long since I last posted.

I've been working like the devil without a clue. A man without a mission. A hitchhiker with no where to go. I've been feeling like this for a gosh darn long time, almost like a light switch where some days I'm off (no idea, just going with the flow), and others days on (very brief moments of clarity where loss and semi-depression settles from lack of light).  

side note: I'm leaving my work for a time: Back injury and surgery.

Oh the trails of being a mere human and not a super hero with infinite capabilities. Than again, who wants all that responsibility? Not me.  

So what will I do in these months of recovery and forced relaxation...

Write.

Something completely new. Like, a timeline of a person's life...must not give too much away. I want it to be brutal, gritty, honest, forgiving, painful, artful, and beautiful. Also laden with dark humor.

That's the plan, for now.

Time flashes by, feels like I blinked twice and it's October. Time flashes fast yet feels slow at the same time. I think the last time I posted might be a few weeks before I went to L.A. Los Angeles was great, I went there only to visit family. They're all doing well, that's as much as I can share. I love them so much, and they all live so far away. I would love to see them as much as I can. 

I stayed in KTown, went to this Starbucks on Pico and Rimpau every morning for coffee and to write. I felt human again (what was I before), like pieces of my old self that I had completely forgotten about stared to cling back to me. It made me sad yet joyful.

I more or less still feel sad'ish these days. I know why in a few definites, but then I'm numb or lost in others thoughts. This fog will soon lift, I hope.

I was speaking with someone from my writing group yesterday about how being a creative person is hard. She agrees. There's never a true fit for us, unless surrounded by other creative types doing what you love, but that's never easy to find. Like, find and be paid.

Can't fake it for too long. I think the more you fake, the more of yourself gets lost. But this making money thing...kills everything. It truly is dirty. We need it to survive: eat, sleep, procreate. But then the thought of no money, paper money, a tangible currency... that's way more terrifying.

Sorry, went off track a bit.

Lift fog, lift.

Killer Time

Is it possible to get so busy that Time becomes nothing? "Nothing" to the point that you can't address it, look at it, schedule it, or think of it?

TIME has been killing me lately. A fully self-aware choke hold, it took me down. Work took me down. And in the next few months I'm afraid (not even gonna think it) TIME could become more of a ghost.

When I tell people what I do for paying the bills, it sounds interesting, kinda fun. The brands I work with are "cool". Too bad it wasn't bands, like an awesome rock band. Like Jack White or something. Go on our with Jack White and be a apart of his wardrobe team. I have no issue with shining shoes. Yeah, but my real job... it is the equivalent of shining shoes, accompanied by a revolving door of verbal interruptions, lifting heavy things, and taking glamour shots of clothes.

And as Time has been bullying me, pushing me around, causing me to go through mini rambling fits; like, have you ever done that... rambled a mini rant to yourself, just to get the crap out of your head? I do it often. I sometimes have to look around, totally forgetting I'm in public view. A true Blue Jasmine moment. The stress of TIME can feel crushing.

Solution...

A plane ride away, somewhere, somewhere far away. Where nothing 'here' exists over there. I haven't had a vacay in years.  

And I am going someplace, far, but not too far away. I don't have any expectations other than for my eyes to see something new, to hug and hold family, write in a coffee shop (zero time to do it here, at home), and see what God has in mind. I like surprises, especially the good kind.

I need to laugh, like a lot. I do, here, kinda, pending the company around me. Some people are hard to laugh with. Just too serious. See, I think Seriousity (let's pretend it's a word) killed the cat. Curiosity is awesome. It's nice when someone is curious about your life, that is within healthy boundaries. Like, just recently, this beanstalk of a young bird, very cute, but he was just too up close and personal.

I'm just days away. Days away from take off.