So far the points of awareness I have focused on have been
Day 2: Meditation
Day 3: Patience
Day 4: Not Interrupting (which I believe is rooted in something greater, perhaps "Value of Others?")
Day 5: Gratitude
I have to run to yoga, but I will post these experiences once I have a second. They have been incredibly eye-opening (heart opening?)
Side story - My cell phone doubles as my alarm clock and I was woken up at 3 am by some girl calling. She left a message, knew my name, everything, and rambled on about wanting to find out if I am sleeping with her fiance. I don't know this lady, nor do I know this guy in question, nor am I sleeping with anyone who is engaged. Or otherwise. It was quite long and fabulous..." So, woman to woman..." "Because, I mean, no woman wants to be with a cheater, right???" and frankly, she did use a lot of "woman" in that message (I'll count later.) Is this a prank call, or truly some sad and confused lady? And should I call her back? Perhaps at 5am tomorrow morning before I have my 6o clock yoga class so she knows what a 3am call feels like para mi?
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fact.
Fact: I am going to a bunch of shows all week so my "Journey Blogs" are going to be delayed in posting by a couple of days.
Fact: If men were the one's who had to buy birth control, it wouldn't cost so fucking much. Sexist Sexist Insurance.
Fact: I didn't watch the Oscars.
Am I the only one in LA who can say that?
Fact: If men were the one's who had to buy birth control, it wouldn't cost so fucking much. Sexist Sexist Insurance.
Fact: I didn't watch the Oscars.
Am I the only one in LA who can say that?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
process
at times it comes barreling along
with the high speeds of a flying machine
with the pressure
of a diver in a wind tunnel
sometimes it pummels ahead like a shiny new tractor in an open field.
or, it's slow / steady / stubborn
like a beaten downtrodden mule.
sometimes you have to speak to it in order to even see it's there.
incite it!
argue with it!
inflate it!
grapple with it!
struggle with it!
engage with it!
the creative process is
one that hinges on the realm of the paranormal
when you are at a loss
for articulation
for description
of what being a vessel / a voice / a conduit - can feel like
an indescribable existence
those rare moments when you catch a glimpse
when you come upon a portal
and can share it
with others
a sighting of the DIVINE.
some greater existence...
is it any wonder
with such incredible weight
on the backs
from the pens
through the mouths
off the dance of the artist -
why so many feel resigned to a life
inexorably connected
to some bullshit
Renaissance
belief
that in order to create
the artist must suffer.
all the time.
that the personal life
must be overflowing with angst and anxiety
for work to ever dare to touch brilliance.
to even attempt to achieve
the outline of genius?
can we just release our modern egos - warped and swollen
our twisted concept of the individual
and bring back
the deamons and the genius
of the greeks and the romans.
lets give our fragile
psyches
a fucking break
a break they deserve after about 500 contemporary years
of losing friends and those whose work has inspired us
to
alcoholic tendencies
suicidal tendencies
drug dependency tendencies
relentless emotional instabilities
and instead
share our work with the genius who lives in the walls
and have every act every moment every verse and every melody
be this divine mutual effort
built from a place
of joy
the joy of
enough distance
enough distance to shatter cheap oscars
enough distance
to not feel the necessity of drinking
smoking - shooting up
just to share
what the creative muse
is blowing through you.
because you have this partner for life
who is co-creator for all that is great you have done,
and co-creator for every failure and public bombing as well.
that sounds like some joy to me
or at the very least
a much better place to be creating from
where the artist
celebrates life
through the process
and doesn't allow for the process
to merely be an entry way
to an early and tragic death...
with the high speeds of a flying machine
with the pressure
of a diver in a wind tunnel
sometimes it pummels ahead like a shiny new tractor in an open field.
or, it's slow / steady / stubborn
like a beaten downtrodden mule.
sometimes you have to speak to it in order to even see it's there.
incite it!
argue with it!
inflate it!
grapple with it!
struggle with it!
engage with it!
the creative process is
one that hinges on the realm of the paranormal
when you are at a loss
for articulation
for description
of what being a vessel / a voice / a conduit - can feel like
an indescribable existence
those rare moments when you catch a glimpse
when you come upon a portal
and can share it
with others
a sighting of the DIVINE.
some greater existence...
is it any wonder
with such incredible weight
on the backs
from the pens
through the mouths
off the dance of the artist -
why so many feel resigned to a life
inexorably connected
to some bullshit
Renaissance
belief
that in order to create
the artist must suffer.
all the time.
that the personal life
must be overflowing with angst and anxiety
for work to ever dare to touch brilliance.
to even attempt to achieve
the outline of genius?
can we just release our modern egos - warped and swollen
our twisted concept of the individual
and bring back
the deamons and the genius
of the greeks and the romans.
lets give our fragile
psyches
a fucking break
a break they deserve after about 500 contemporary years
of losing friends and those whose work has inspired us
to
alcoholic tendencies
suicidal tendencies
drug dependency tendencies
relentless emotional instabilities
and instead
share our work with the genius who lives in the walls
and have every act every moment every verse and every melody
be this divine mutual effort
built from a place
of joy
the joy of
enough distance
enough distance to shatter cheap oscars
enough distance
to not feel the necessity of drinking
smoking - shooting up
just to share
what the creative muse
is blowing through you.
because you have this partner for life
who is co-creator for all that is great you have done,
and co-creator for every failure and public bombing as well.
that sounds like some joy to me
or at the very least
a much better place to be creating from
where the artist
celebrates life
through the process
and doesn't allow for the process
to merely be an entry way
to an early and tragic death...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
tmi???
All day today I was walking around and I kept smelling wet dog. Everywhere I went it reeked of wet dog. Checklist: It was not raining. My dog was not wet...I was even sniffing her hair throughout the day for inspection. WTF was that smell?
I was at the office, and I assumed it was the carpets - hey, we have dogs running around in here all day long. They get dirty, they run outside, no one has cleaned the place since we've had all these storm rains going on... Must be the carpets!
I told my boss I was going to vacuum and steam them when I work late this Friday night - because, fuck! it totally smelled like dawg.
So, this evening, I get off the phone with my girlfriend, and I look down and see something on the short one inch heel of my gorgeous white vintage boots I rarely ever wear. Because I am so flexibly endowed, I lift my heel right in front of my nose, and fucking christ, there is, like, some dog poo dried up on my heel. IT'S THE SAME DAMN SMELL I'VE BEEN SMELLING!!!
My shoe is soaking in hot water and I am wearing my moccasins now. But awesome, so, clearly, it was ME who was walking around THE ENTIRE DAY smelling like doggie poo.
The funniest thing about this, is that this afternoon there was this really well known musician over at our office who walked in while I was talking to one of my employers about the carpets. He comes in, and says, "well, you've got a lot of dogs here." And, because I am soooo funny, I say, "Oh, it's not the dogs. It's just me..."
Enjoy....
I was at the office, and I assumed it was the carpets - hey, we have dogs running around in here all day long. They get dirty, they run outside, no one has cleaned the place since we've had all these storm rains going on... Must be the carpets!
I told my boss I was going to vacuum and steam them when I work late this Friday night - because, fuck! it totally smelled like dawg.
So, this evening, I get off the phone with my girlfriend, and I look down and see something on the short one inch heel of my gorgeous white vintage boots I rarely ever wear. Because I am so flexibly endowed, I lift my heel right in front of my nose, and fucking christ, there is, like, some dog poo dried up on my heel. IT'S THE SAME DAMN SMELL I'VE BEEN SMELLING!!!
My shoe is soaking in hot water and I am wearing my moccasins now. But awesome, so, clearly, it was ME who was walking around THE ENTIRE DAY smelling like doggie poo.
The funniest thing about this, is that this afternoon there was this really well known musician over at our office who walked in while I was talking to one of my employers about the carpets. He comes in, and says, "well, you've got a lot of dogs here." And, because I am soooo funny, I say, "Oh, it's not the dogs. It's just me..."
Enjoy....
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
jesus died for somebodys sins....but not mine
i tell my mother i've had a hard week
and she lets me know
that if i think ive had a hard week
maybe i should give my uncle steven a call
and i laugh
because man
i may have had a hard week
but that guys had a hard couple of decades
so hard
that its almost too easy
to get why he got into the caffeine
to get why he got into that whole religion thing...
there's this woman i met on pico/robertson
who told me yes it was a wig she was wearing
her children had never once seen her hair
and i would have been left contemplating that one all night long
had she not followed that up
with this world, this physical world given to use for the pure
purpose of experiencing pleasure
would be ending in approximately 3hundred 60 some odd years
and that all problems, as we know them
would be over
but until then
if every mother and father
told their children every night
that god loved them
that god loved them more than anything
no one would have bad self-esteem
and i wonder if my mother and father
had sat me down every night
to tell me just how much god loved me
if, well, maybe then i wouldn't be so cold when i felt vulnerable
or bitchy, when, maybe when, i am doubting myself
maybe i would say "god loves me
and i am a reflection of all that i am supposed to be"
and all would be good.
so i start to wonder if i should pray
like the way, chana, told me i should pray. for a husband
but its difficult enough to find anyone i would even date
so why would i jump to husband hunting at this juncture?
and she says i should pray for self-realization
and i wonder if there isn't another path
and i hope, fuck, i'll pray that there's another way of getting there
because quit frankly
if there is a god
i dont see why he would be so concerned about women covering their heads from their own children,children who, after all, came into this world through an obsence display of hair, blood, shit, sweat. who then suckled on their mothers breast.
i mean, did she wear her wig while giving birth?
these are the questions running through my mind
and i feel
and i know
that perhaps they might be innapropriate to ask her
and i respect her modesty
but from a safe distance
its a world i dont know
afterall, i am a vegas girl.
and nothing
not my week
or this decade
or that life
or the god
could be so simple
as to just be
god loves you
and thats it.
move on.
next question plz
i have to assume
that it takes more
than statement
than rote
than routine / tradition
and i wanted to be angry
like, "god loves us all
but you voted for prop 8. fuck you."
god love us all
but you judge me
as i, in return, judge you?
and i dont want to do that anymore
i dont want to be judged by anyone
and if god wants to do that
well, i guess there ain't a damn thing
pun intended
i could do about it
my yogi tells me
that life isn't supposed to be easy
and i think "no shit man..."
it wasn't easy for me to look into the eyes of my friend
as he told me his father just shot himself
that wasn't easy
and my nervous energy
of what i knew was coming
made that look so difficult
for me
bc the first funeral i ever went to
i started to laugh
and was too young too scared too unable to explain myself
that hey
life is complicated
and i laugh when i get nervous
and im real glad this religion thing is working out for you
but im afraid
but im confident
but i am assured
with my own wavering self esteem
that i can find another way....
and she lets me know
that if i think ive had a hard week
maybe i should give my uncle steven a call
and i laugh
because man
i may have had a hard week
but that guys had a hard couple of decades
so hard
that its almost too easy
to get why he got into the caffeine
to get why he got into that whole religion thing...
there's this woman i met on pico/robertson
who told me yes it was a wig she was wearing
her children had never once seen her hair
and i would have been left contemplating that one all night long
had she not followed that up
with this world, this physical world given to use for the pure
purpose of experiencing pleasure
would be ending in approximately 3hundred 60 some odd years
and that all problems, as we know them
would be over
but until then
if every mother and father
told their children every night
that god loved them
that god loved them more than anything
no one would have bad self-esteem
and i wonder if my mother and father
had sat me down every night
to tell me just how much god loved me
if, well, maybe then i wouldn't be so cold when i felt vulnerable
or bitchy, when, maybe when, i am doubting myself
maybe i would say "god loves me
and i am a reflection of all that i am supposed to be"
and all would be good.
so i start to wonder if i should pray
like the way, chana, told me i should pray. for a husband
but its difficult enough to find anyone i would even date
so why would i jump to husband hunting at this juncture?
and she says i should pray for self-realization
and i wonder if there isn't another path
and i hope, fuck, i'll pray that there's another way of getting there
because quit frankly
if there is a god
i dont see why he would be so concerned about women covering their heads from their own children,children who, after all, came into this world through an obsence display of hair, blood, shit, sweat. who then suckled on their mothers breast.
i mean, did she wear her wig while giving birth?
these are the questions running through my mind
and i feel
and i know
that perhaps they might be innapropriate to ask her
and i respect her modesty
but from a safe distance
its a world i dont know
afterall, i am a vegas girl.
and nothing
not my week
or this decade
or that life
or the god
could be so simple
as to just be
god loves you
and thats it.
move on.
next question plz
i have to assume
that it takes more
than statement
than rote
than routine / tradition
and i wanted to be angry
like, "god loves us all
but you voted for prop 8. fuck you."
god love us all
but you judge me
as i, in return, judge you?
and i dont want to do that anymore
i dont want to be judged by anyone
and if god wants to do that
well, i guess there ain't a damn thing
pun intended
i could do about it
my yogi tells me
that life isn't supposed to be easy
and i think "no shit man..."
it wasn't easy for me to look into the eyes of my friend
as he told me his father just shot himself
that wasn't easy
and my nervous energy
of what i knew was coming
made that look so difficult
for me
bc the first funeral i ever went to
i started to laugh
and was too young too scared too unable to explain myself
that hey
life is complicated
and i laugh when i get nervous
and im real glad this religion thing is working out for you
but im afraid
but im confident
but i am assured
with my own wavering self esteem
that i can find another way....
Monday, February 16, 2009
pressure
It's my birthday in a month, and honestly, I have been feeling a little antsy about turning 28.
Perspective however, comes with this:
At least my quiet freak out in a parking lot this week is absolutely nothing compared to this lady and her Airport Opera.
Some folks just can't handle the pressure...
Everyday is another opportunity to open my heart a little wider. To try and love a little better. To be friendlier, even when I'm vulnerable...
Perspective however, comes with this:
At least my quiet freak out in a parking lot this week is absolutely nothing compared to this lady and her Airport Opera.
Some folks just can't handle the pressure...
Everyday is another opportunity to open my heart a little wider. To try and love a little better. To be friendlier, even when I'm vulnerable...
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Happy Valentine's Day
don't tell me you love me
don't tell me you love me
gift wrapped in pink tinsel /red ribbons/ silver confetti
spilling from plastic bags
onto hallmarked visions of insincerity or
sincere grandiouse inarticulateness
that grasps and gropes
to latch on to a word that could tie/pull/beat my heart into
yours like one more submissive victim of key marketing executives
just another shoe in for the target demographic
i couldn't stand still in a place that was so precisley bought executed delivered
don't tell me.
don't tell me you love me
with flowers pulled from their source/breath/life
i don't want my love to be bouqueted
up / saturated with the dank unwashable stench of death
where the waters are thick yellow murky
from rotting stalks disintegrating...
don't tell me
don't tell me you love me
through milk chocolate / sugarcane
artificial flavors FDC Yellow #6, Red 40, Red 40, Yellow #5, Yellow #6, Blue 1, Blue 1, Yellow #5,
with corn syrup
corn is just too opportunistic too greedy too manipulative for the love i want
and yellow number 6 took me home once but never called again
so please don't tell me.
don't tell me you love me
from a striped box from victorias secret
i don't want my love costumed in a mass consumerist
fantasy as if desire truly was directed from the pages of
a magazine
as if we couldn't smell the blood of exploitation
of chemical annhilation on this cheap synthetic fabric
as if my body wouldnt be able to feel the vibrations
of the screams held in by the young woman who
pieced together the fake satin and lace into
this shallow maxim concept of exactly what sexy is
i don't need to bring back what is already inherent
so dont tell me
don't tell me you love me with an earring that will fall
into the bathroom sink- a bracelet that would stain my wrist
a ring - as if love really could be contracted through a piece of jewlery
as if that were a promise that could always be kept
we are far along enough in this game to know
that promises are broken, that a jewels sparkle fades,
i don't want a love that rusts and cracks and goes away
when the hotel safe gets broken into...
so don't tell me.
save your money -
i would rather you went old school
with a mix tape
than buy me some churned up turned out burning tricks teddy bear that
i would let me dog tear up anyhow.
if you want to tell me
bring your a game
love
isn't passive
love is a choice
an action.
a doing.
the process.
i want you to tell me
with one glance from your eyes
with one graze from your palm
with one sigh from the back of your throat.
tell me
simple.
tell me
honest.
tell me
love.
and don't tell me only on a nationally syndicated 24 period of remembrance
i want to know every day
i want to feel it in every way
i want to know it.
so... tell me.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
It's not me...It's you!!!!
Hollywoodenflames has run her course, and it's been dirty, and wild, and firey as all hell- but - I'm kinda done with that. I have a new bloggy projects in the works - but until then - I shall be silent over here. It's been swell - kisses and goodbye!!!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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