Wednesday, October 22, 2003

Breathe

I've grown so damn detached. My ambition instructs me to rage. My body insists upon discipline. My heart is mired in indifference. So here I am at a standoff. After all, movement can't be created out of nothing. It's a law of thermodynamics. My inner flame needs to be stoked by something outside of myself. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fists won't get it done, not anymore. I need a love reaction, a hate reaction, something. But the price of elicitation has gone up. And there's a hole in my pocket.

Oh we're so proud of ourselves when we impose self-denial, particularly when there's no good reason to go without. "How altruistic of me to deprive myself of love, happiness, and redemption! I shouldn't take what I don't deserve, anyhow." What a cheap way to ennoble oneself. Although we'd like to think so, suffering needlessly doesn't guarantee anything in the future. Privation it is not altruism. It's fear, idealized fear.

The room is getting cold but that means something else is heating up. I can hear the potential energy whispering in my ear. "You can't keep starting over. This is where it ends. Norma, finish what you've started."

I'm Right Fucking Here

open your eyes.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

How Novel

I just realized my life befits a bad paperback.

Monday, October 20, 2003

Passion Transfusion

There's something bad wallowing in my blood, spreading with every heartbeat. Every day I wake up with a sick feeling inside. I want to purge myself of this feeling but I don't know how. I used to get through by ignoring yesterday but that's just a quick fix. I can't start from zero every morning.

No wonder I can't get things done. Castles in the air can't be reached when you keep smashing up the foundation. Fucking perfectionism. Yeah, I'm a perfectionist. How I hate that word. This is the one and only time I'll ever call myself that. But it's true. Things are never good enough for me. I don't think that writers are ever through with the stories they dream up. It's neverending destruction and reconstruction. The binding of paper that gets put on the shelf is just one version of the story, the one that was given up on.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Same Old Evening Jazz

Superstitions and rituals starting to set in again. I want to have a schedule where I rotate around the city sitting on different park benches. I want to feel myself move in every which way I want to from the living room to the bathroom to all over everywhere.

I don't know how I get myself in these fixes. I am such a sucker but so interested at first until challenge ceases. It's so hateful of me.

I am tired ( s o t i r e d) of all the everything on constant repeat; angularly from everywhere. And of me being tired, whine. I need a change. Change of heart. Change of perspective. I need a someone, to help me move in all the right ways.

So it has been that I have been throwing out and giving away everything that feels too heavy to think about. Anything too attached. If I can't throw it away at the moment, I keep it, and throw it away next week when the mood strikes again.

I make sure I get rid of all the waste paper that goes in and comes out here. I feel so manipulated by my own moods.

I do feel better when I see women pushing their carts slowly in the grocery store mouthing "Strawberry Wine" in secret unison with other worn looking women. I want to introduce them to each other, to push in a small formation. It's the women I havent met, and will never meet, that I become friends with. Keep in mind, this isnt a mutual arrangement.

I feel better flipping through the dictionary or reading outloud to the children my mother babysits from time to time. Thinking of those oddly placed beautiful brick buildings in the middle of the Gaslamp Quarter. Of a soon anniversary in Merced. Of how Nina Simone has been dragging and dropping my heart but putting it back gently in its cage when she's done. Of the lots of love that I can sense when I haven't shut myself off completely. And of the lots of love I have to give away.

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Uncomfortable

A wave of fear just passed through my body, settled in my stomach and frolicked in my head for awhile.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I'll ask for somebody.

Something has to give. Because my eyes wont stop shaking for just anything.

Dear World,
I know you don't stop for anybody or anything, but could you please give me just five minutes to breath ???

Love,
Yours Truly.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

What I Live For

I live for those moments where nothing is spoken, yet
everything is said.

Monday, October 6, 2003

Recharge

Sometimes I try to be cute and come across as horny.

Fame

Please don't call me
a star.

I'm a street light.

Seen from a plane.