Mary
Crack
Strength
Julia
Happiness
Love
Friendship
Boring
As far as I know the only words that serve to describe the condition I am in today are:
Bowling
Targeting
Bisexuality
stamp out targeting
Since there is such an undeveloped basis for writing anything cogent or useful or even expressive and emotional, I have no other choice than to make sure you read this.
Tessier-Ashpool
(Remember those names, CG?)
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Fined the place where I go wrong
Feelings afraid of strength.
Strength as hateful as a fool.
There is time now to understand the vagaries of friendship and trust.
There is hope that coming to terms with failure will allow me to understand why I hate Sylvia for taking feelings that I could not accept and making them something that gave me nourishment.
I can only say that when I was the age I was at then -- 35-38 -- I knew that people wanted beauty and that they saw that in me. I resented having to be the image of the beauty that I had even though at times I reveled in and took advantage of that need of some who were very close to me.
I was feeding and fed.
I was giving and given.
I was hated and hateful.
Certainly there must be a way that the knowledge that I have betrayed the person that could see beauty in others as well as herself can keep me from destruction. I don't know.
People need to seek happiness and that means that I must ask for myself of myself what it is that I know, sustain, feel and bring to life that is not destructive.
Craziness
Hate
Happiness
Strength
Taste
Crack.
Believe.
Love,
C*
Strength as hateful as a fool.
There is time now to understand the vagaries of friendship and trust.
There is hope that coming to terms with failure will allow me to understand why I hate Sylvia for taking feelings that I could not accept and making them something that gave me nourishment.
I can only say that when I was the age I was at then -- 35-38 -- I knew that people wanted beauty and that they saw that in me. I resented having to be the image of the beauty that I had even though at times I reveled in and took advantage of that need of some who were very close to me.
I was feeding and fed.
I was giving and given.
I was hated and hateful.
Certainly there must be a way that the knowledge that I have betrayed the person that could see beauty in others as well as herself can keep me from destruction. I don't know.
People need to seek happiness and that means that I must ask for myself of myself what it is that I know, sustain, feel and bring to life that is not destructive.
Craziness
Hate
Happiness
Strength
Taste
Crack.
Believe.
Love,
C*
Friday, October 23, 2009
WTF
When your best friend is arrested for a serious crime and other sundry associated activities come to light, what is the best response?
WTF.
I hope that she finds what she needs to find, and that time will diminish the pain for all of us, her included.
P.S. I'm sorry for any needless WTFs I may be responsible for.
Love,
C*
WTF.
I hope that she finds what she needs to find, and that time will diminish the pain for all of us, her included.
P.S. I'm sorry for any needless WTFs I may be responsible for.
Love,
C*
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Goddess as Lover
New York is the perfect place for a maniac.
I used to sense my mind shifting its various plates, angles and gewgaws in rampant instability as I roamed the streets of the Wes Village trying to fulfill my roles as ecstatic wanderer, sham hustler, misfired observer and seeker of the immediate comforts of lit-up byways, people and other scattered sustenances for my questing, disintegrating neediness.
Angry and frightened, weakened by self-doubt and impersonal mental tortures, I found there was escape into the always altering setting of people whom I would never know, and who would never know me. I loved to put on a self-conscious show as a mysterious presence slipping past those who safely belonged to the neighborhood on my way to some often really dubious assignation with a person, substance or simply a shelter from my incessantly molting consciousness. I was an urchin and I was in my early forties.
Everything changed when I lost my home(s) in Brooklyn, Hoboken and the Catskills and became briefly genuinely homeless. Then the brilliance of the sun and the reassuring green of June foliage became backdrops for hard benches to sleep on and indiferent people from whom to wait for a kindly look or an offer of a meal. I discovered the desolation of being ousted from a cocoon I wilfully shrugged off in favor of crack.
I used to sense my mind shifting its various plates, angles and gewgaws in rampant instability as I roamed the streets of the Wes Village trying to fulfill my roles as ecstatic wanderer, sham hustler, misfired observer and seeker of the immediate comforts of lit-up byways, people and other scattered sustenances for my questing, disintegrating neediness.
Angry and frightened, weakened by self-doubt and impersonal mental tortures, I found there was escape into the always altering setting of people whom I would never know, and who would never know me. I loved to put on a self-conscious show as a mysterious presence slipping past those who safely belonged to the neighborhood on my way to some often really dubious assignation with a person, substance or simply a shelter from my incessantly molting consciousness. I was an urchin and I was in my early forties.
Everything changed when I lost my home(s) in Brooklyn, Hoboken and the Catskills and became briefly genuinely homeless. Then the brilliance of the sun and the reassuring green of June foliage became backdrops for hard benches to sleep on and indiferent people from whom to wait for a kindly look or an offer of a meal. I discovered the desolation of being ousted from a cocoon I wilfully shrugged off in favor of crack.
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