But.

God I love him. God I love him. God I love you. God I love you.

Oh me and my "really primitive urges" right? REDUNDANCY, SIC. Thank you Julian C Darcy, from the Department of Redundancy Department, Thanks, hi what urges aren't primitive and what things primitive aren't REALLY primitive and since when is that grounds for dismissal, Pinkerian, isn't that like the most important point of everything?? I'M supposed to be the one musing on the value of aesthetic airstuff and lately he's been, he's even using that word now, "aesthetic", and being really abstract, and kind of hard-to-follow, and, well, it's making me mindraced and heartraced and it makes me body ache in really unsuitable ways, which I know is beside the point, but see J we're really really alike, and you're using my whole artillery of weapons against me to arm me for FUTURE WARS with foreign powers aren't you?

And what's fucked up is that-- fighting fire with fire is only going to burn down the HOUSE, and cause fireworks, big, magical, beautiful, ancient Chinese lightshows in the nightsky, gems of shine to rival Aldeberon and the Pleiades and Polaris and Sirius B, seriousLY, claps of thunder, Dopplerian screaming and screeching and whistling as they ascend, and burst, and hey, why are you always acting like you're in a minefield anyway? Trying to avoid setting off a spark? If there is no spark? And why have I been using war metaphors? Oh me and my "aggressive" and "violent" "primitive urges." They are VIOLET. Cuz I'm red and you're blue. Violet. They are getting violent though, pressure is building, buildings and buildings, they climb their way into the atmosphere, they will explode.

And it will be like the lights suddenly went on in one hundred million buildings at midnight in New York City from an airplane soaring fifty thousand feet in the sky.

And it will be the big bang and millions of galaxies in spirals in seconds from the black abyss, from holes of grim nothing and mirrors of everything.

And it will be like the light suddenly went on.

And it will be like And God said Let there be Light.

More Weird Writing and Magic Stuff...

I wrote A------ the author I love who I met a little while ago at the reading just now. Cuz it's his book that made my life go like it did. The one of his I read about, well it was this totally similar situation to what I've been going through.

At the reading he told me he'd considered different endings... So I just wrote him to see if he still has them if he could send me one cuz my life needs to imitate it... So's he said he's gonna look for them though they're not good, which is why he didn't choose them, and I said I know the shape he chose was the most beautiful and it might be the most beautiful lifeshape for me too but there are some differences that change some things... but yeah... hopefully he can help me.

Writing as changing the course...

Writing as magic... as the power to manifest destiny.

I've had some great suggestions from many of you to make this into a book, and one offered the added bonus that I can have it end how I like. And I've realized, that everything I wrote became something real, and everything real became something I wrote, and that, I've always been able to MANIFEST... when I dream of things happening they do... that's how I've done all this stuff... but I'm not... I'm a mess and I'm spacey and flighty and have in the past wanted some pretty dark things, and to be in some pretty bad situations, and with the good things I only wanted a taste... not to follow through and do the work... so... you know it doesn't become... but... that's the thing...

The wise thing to do right now, would be to write this blog, as if it's really happening, but to write what I want to happen instead. And then it will. Then I'll do it.

I just... I don't know what I want... I don't like to plan and... I don't know if it's the right time-- as I'm composing this symphony, for triumphant horns, cymbals, strings, for clearly the last movement, or for the diminuendo, the flutes, the quiet, relaxing pastoral movement.

So I just don't know???

Welcome to my life.

It's nothing but French curls and crazy circles here.

I had to reboot; all this wiring, it wasn't for naught, but tangles and tangles for too long and you're stuck with a head full of dreads.

Black and white thinking is common in Borderline types, but you seem to forget that some things just are black and white.

You understand me or you don't.

You're with me or you're not.

You can or you can't.

This is a symphony or it's not.

Everything I own is absolutely filthy fucked. Everything I own is covered in cat hair. Everything I own is covered in the dust of ideas I had and tears I shed while I was writing Act II. Everything I wrote became real, and everything real become something I wrote.

What did you do today? I waited and waited and waited.

The Psychic and the Psychologist

Yesterday, I didn't get to touch him.

But I brought up the psychic thing. We were talking about my mom... I was, I mean. He was silent mostly and I laid on the couch looking up not at him and I just let all sorts of things spill out, viscera floorwards, but poetic, wistful, funny... He was kind of mesmerized... I turned around at one point and he was watching and I said What??? And he said What?? And I said, You were... looking at me like I just came crashing into your office from the moon... and he said, Oh, no, not at all...

And then I said... I know you don't believe in them. But I do and I take some comfort in... communication with... spirits... Like my dreams about her... But they're never...

"So, you enjoy these dreams that you feel are- you enjoy communicating with your mother?"

"Well, no, because they've never been good." I looked at him. "It's always like I'm panicked, I'm asking myself, what the fuck happened, didn't she die?? When was that? Did I tell everyone she was dead? Like, she's often not there, but her presence is there, but it's, it's dread, I'm in the basement of my old house and there are canvases everywhere, and they're charred..." I sat up and hugged my knees. "And then there was one where she was sitting on, we had this big yard you know, with a, a patio, and she was sitting on the patio with her feet on the grass in a nightgown and, she said, Don't you know? Don't you know I'm dead? Touch my face," and I put my hand on my cheek, "See how it's cold?" Julian kind of nodded, slowly.

"I knoooow, they're just manifestations of my own uncertainties, my emotions, constructions of my mind, right, yes, and all that shit. I know." He didn't say anything.

"Whatever they are, explained or unexplained. Magic is just a matter of semantics. I'm sure I sound like every walk-in wacko. But. So it goes." I laughed. I wasn't looking at him.

"I have predictive dreams too." I looked at him and half-smiled. "Crazy, right?"

He half-smiled.

Goal for the Day:

So, Sleepless Scarlet is up at it again, or rather still up, though I tried to rest for an hour, in the yoga position that Julian "put me into" the other day, btw, during those 5 minutes in his office when I came in at the wrong time, by asking me to lie down a certain way and close my eyes, and gingerly sliding a pillow under one knee without touching me at all-- "pick up your knee," and he slid the pillow under, and then handed me the other one, and "now put this one under your other knee..." My eyes closed the whole time. Steamy stuff. :-/

Which brings me to today's goal. Which serves multiple goals really, and is not just a manipulation, though in many ways it could seem like such... I want to TOUCH J. I want to ask him if I can touch his hand. Because:
A) I want to TOUCH J. ...and...
B) I want to see if I can read him at all... because
1) I actually AM kinda psychic, maybe, not like big-time but in a parlor-trick psychic way and sure he'll never believe that and neither will you or even I sometimes, but I do get senses about people, intuition maybe, maybe just more intense when I touch them because I'm reading body language or whatever, but when I touch people I do get sort of flashes of things, that just pop into my head... I started noticing it more recently working at the club because I touch so many goddamn people, and I can just see things, like their strengths, their mood, things about their background, what's on their mind... It sounds hokey but I'm good to the point where people call me psychic at the club all the time, customers, and they'll challenge me, and I'm right an awful lot of the time... but whatever it is, I want to read J, psychically, and then, more carnie-style gypsy psychic-style, so,
2) I can read his reactions to things I say. Like, if I feel something, and say I feel it, his response will be telling in and of itself. Now, this is basic gypsy trickery, and I'm sure he's onto it, but I also believe in my genuine ability to read, and, either way, I wanna. I WANNA!

So, how to go about this, when I'll be strolling in there, headthrobbed and sleepless? I don't know. I don't want to plan it out. I just wanna.

Did good again last night. Real good, and it was a terrible night. Yeah I'm a sex-bomb but my shoes are almost BROKEN and I need new ones stat, so my dancing is CAUTIOUS hahaha... Psychic parlor tricks, perhaps? I spoke a man's language to him before he spoke a word, I made a joke about Wagner's Ring Trilogy to another because I knew he wanted to go to that opera, and these guys were non-DESCRIPT mf's and I mean that's pretty obscure stuff; got a bunch of dances from both of them. Guessed another guy's last name and hometown. Whatever. I don't even know what it is. Just saying. I did really well on the Zener Test. Just sayin.'

Try for yourself.