blueimber: (Default)
my life is a meaningless parade of the familiar and routine.
my heart is emptied, more hollow than it would seem there is the capacity to be-
my voice has abandoned me and
i struggle each night not to fall asleep believing myself to be worthless.

i pretend i am well but inside i am not.
inside i feel everyday like i am dying
i feel like every day is a waste;
a day when i could have been doing something true

and above all of this as always
the way i feel so terribly alone in all of this
trumps everything else;
trumps the knowledge that from this too i will recover
that in time something will sort itself out...

i just wish i had some inspiration.
blueimber: (Default)
I suppose it is a good thing that i don't have any money saved;
for i am certain that if i had a small stash
i would leave this place
i would go someplace far away and never look back upon my life
upon its failures and upon all of the shattered and broken dreams of everything i have ever held up to the light.

my cursed hands.

i've been fighting the voices in my head;
the ones who arise when i am exhausted of spirit
when i feel like i have nothing left to do, to try for, to make real....
they speak to me as i try to find sleep
and they tell me of my worthlessness
of how heinous i must be
of what a fool i always act; to believe in the best of people
sight unseen
to believe in the good in them
and my irrational hope that someone might someday see my worth;
and know to hold onto it.

and i suppose it is a good thing 
that i still believe in myself somewhat
despite all of the ways i have let myself down
despite all of the ways i have been kept down
despite my inability to rise up out of any situation
to instead be dragged further into the mire;
and never once even think to ask for help.
blueimber: (Default)

tender young Alice, the say...


for the Fairy Ball on Saturday. *Squee!!*
blueimber: (Default)
the stresses of the ground shifting from under my feet
the vertigo of not knowing if you will fall and 
the fear that comes with knowing there is no one to catch you
if you cannot for yourself.

the determination then
to still be joyful
to still find those good things to love
moments in time, the happiness of others, true people being true to themselves-
holding onto the sense of accomplishment
that even just trying 
brings with it.

i knew the moment i found the letter what it was
and for the few steps to my apartment
i applied Schrödinger's theories to it
until turning the crisp white envelope over to open it.
i wondered how they would reject me
what terms
what feeling.
the words were smaller than i thought they would be, 
farther down on the page than i thought.
yet they still confirmed the truth
and pieces of my dream fell from my fingertips
as the letter also fell
onto the tiles of my floor.

i wrote;
'a life shattered a thousand times.'

i don't know, honestly
where i will go from here.

the horizon is open
the world is full and brimming with possibilities-
i just have to choose one and try again.
and try again
and try again
and try again
and try again....

i suppose i cannot be a conscientious objector to my own life, can i?

there is one thing i wish i had the option for;
handing in my day pass and returning to the countryside to raise animals.
like seriously spending a few years working on a farm.
planting things, watching things grow.
participating in the cycle of life.

i've been brainstorming options.
i am glad i have tax money coming in
and i have verified my extended unemployment benefits
so at least i know i will be able to pay my rent and my bills.
(a thanks to my mom, who came through with some emergency funds, who sometimes reads this...)

I don't want to return to the regular workforce
i am so tired of doing someone else's business while my own dreams
get put on hold....



Apr. 6th, 2010 05:30 pm
blueimber: (Default)
 hope 1


two words from this weekend; Hope and Faith.

They have mingled meanings for me
for various and unrelated reasons
and i wonder if my glorification of them in ink
somehow implies that i put more into them than i do into
hard work and determination.
but i think hope and faith on some low key level fuel those kinds of things;
hope that hard work will make something better and 
faith that your own determination will see you through.

faith in one's self; the hope that you are not really just an empty vessel.

i missed your call;
my own solitude makes me question the existence of the things i haven't touched
and haven't had proof of
in so long--
as if all these years somehow were for nothing
meant nothing
like i have just been holding on pause
forgotten in the player
because all of it fell away
everything i had built
everything i had done
the promises kept
and i wonder anymore what they mean
i begin to look at objects that i have forbid my eyes
and find myself reasoning my logic
and trying to find some loophole by which i could feel again
but it isn't feeling
it's sickness.

For S&G

Mar. 22nd, 2010 06:04 pm
blueimber: (Default)
This is the video i made for my second description and image for the Parson's Challenge for my application:

It works best if you use full screen, however those tiny words at the beginning are the same ones which scroll through, so don't stress if you can't read them or read them quick enough. they're mostly because the description had to come before the image to keep consistency for the submission. 

Eventually i will link the whole thing, but here is this for now. Enjoy! Comments Welcome!
blueimber: (Default)
 I am So Awake right now, but i have my rough draft portfolio for Parson's;

Miss Emily Caroline

Gotta try to pare that down to 12 today, Wish me Luck!!!!
blueimber: (Default)
I forget that not everyone here has/checks Facebook;
from February 15th:

blueimber: (Default)

 must life always throw tire irons under my wheels?

Do you believe in forgiveness, and if so; 
under what circumstance?

Do we accept that when we were young and full of vim
we hurt the people around us because we were angry at the world
and after life has battered us some
we are able to somehow make right for it
if given one serendipitous chance?

blueimber: (Default)
 Valentine's day
always was one of the holidays that i really enjoyed celebrating
whether i was with friends or with someone i loved;
but i never have spent it so thoroughly alone until today.

i try to tell myself that it is small
that it doesn't matter
that it's a christian holiday
invented by hallmark 
and means nothing at all-

but it doesn't help
the emptiness inside of me


Feb. 10th, 2010 12:47 am
blueimber: (Default)
 i found a doodle today amoung my papers;
something hurtful which happened in a moment's breath-
the image of my heart breaking
and it's all my theme so far this year;
i am beginning to think i should burn everything i have done so far
and create a blank slate
a clear palette.

must everything always be so sad,
so little?

i've been ticking off the memories of the things i once felt
my heart so swelled up over the potential of a thing
and having walked so many roads
seen now where those potentials have failed or deflated;
how time and truth finds us weary,
older and a little more worn
still afraid to speak passionately 
trading small talk over whispers of coffee,
speaking emptily while the vitality escapes
until we drift away again into the dark black harbors of our thoughts
to listlessly float
in the endless night.

i recall the things which have slipped through my fingers
the maybes and what-ifs;
some of them, i can still taste the sweet tinge of hope
like a dream not held,
a dream fleet of foot upon waking;
instead of those dreams which hem upon reality
and splinter into terrible shards
when they leave you
raw and exposed



Jan. 11th, 2010 04:49 pm
blueimber: (Default)
deep in the cold i lay that night
trying to remember the path to sleep
trying to imagine what the purple grass might look like-
and how blue the sky-

i gather it to me.

i tried to count my breathing
and under winking stars of LED lights
i prayed for the green misty mountains
to take me into blissful dreams-
blueimber: (Default)
for those not on Facebook;

It's really more purple in real life:

blueimber: (Default)
what is there to sing to these days anyways?
what is it that life is doing to us;
a strike down; a hand up-

we shelter together like animals who have nothing left to be secure of-
we want to loose our identities and our sanities
and reject that which has been passed on to us.
so much of our lives seems to be cleaning up the mistakes of the generations before us;
of so much--
so much
lack of compassion;
of common knowledge
between doing the right thing and the wrong thing;
of sticking to principles which can be agreed upon.

simple things
such as
harm none.
i can agree to that.

time moves fleetingly past me
the new year is almost here.
i am grateful that the winter comes now;
the city always seems slower and more at it's ease
under the brisk chill of frozen nights...
i am glad to be tucked inside of my little rooms-
as if the world could go away so long as i was here..
but sometimes it is a sick queer feeling to have no reason to leave the house.
other times;
other times i just remain grateful for what seems like a little shelter.

amoung all of my things i realize that i have so many things;
little small fragments of lives i have lived
pieces and memories
bits of metal and glass-
and i have been busy making them into new memories;
objects of wonder and great love;
like saying
this is something of myself;
something true.

that i still have so much to give.
sometimes it seems the more i have to give
the balance of feeling alone comes due.
these are not new things
these are just
sad ruminations...

i once had such beautiful words.

i think the last time i wrote something i really liked was ages ago-
and i know that it cannot have been so long ago that i had inspiration--
yet i look upon it and it has been years silent;
as if who i was disappeared somewhere-
and i am only now realizing that i had lost her....

spending the time
creating new things from these fragments
makes me feel a little more complete-
the little voices whisper in my ear-
as if i could somehow tap back into it--

i struggle sometimes with the logic
sometimes i know that there is a reason to be here
other times-
other times i cannot help but think that i am just always spinning my wheels
never meant to get very far.

when will i be able to turn around and see what i leave behind me
and be satisfied that it was whole and good and enough?
my useless words
fall off these pages;
to me they seem teh words of someone who has always been kept from some great thing
as if truly there are some people for whom
there is no place.

i wonder what this world may yet have in store for me
and i wonder if my lesson to learn is patience...
i always feel as if i have no time
but i also feel as if so many things have been delayed-
put off or made for a someday and
when does that life start shaping up?
i am tired of seeking myself
of struggling just to be functioning-
i hate attempting to fit into places
that i clearly have no right to occupy.

i find myself always writing sentiments that i cannot bring myself to say-
pieces which break off and float away-
like truths that i must face.

but i don't want to play in these games;
isn't there something else that i could do?
cannot i come to some accord?

they won't have any of it
they say-
that is what they always say
until my heart gets in the way
and takes me from my solid course.

but even now she doesn't speak to me
and we sit in these listless waters
wandering the barrens
echoing inside against the emptiness.

i sing all the songs i know until i grow tired of them all.
and then i sit in my silences.

i am afraid of disappearing
of becoming worth nothing to no one
i am afraid to be forgotten
to be a non-entity
i wonder what is so wrong with my heart
that she must lay always so broken...
perhaps i have not always glued her back together;
perhaps i have always just reshaped the largest shard
until now
the slivers cut my fingers
as i try to hold those pieces up;
poor meager shield against
the furies of the storms----

tilting at windmills....
blueimber: (Default)
so tonight there were noises again and i called the police.
they talked to the family and it turns out the kid was sick and wouldn't take his medicine and go to bed.
i feel better having called and at least now it is on record.
i suppose if i continue to hear noises or sounds of abuse
i will just have to call again-
just because they saw nothing wrong tonight doesn't mean that everything is okay.

i feel i made the right choice;
i think when a child is involved you can never be too cautious or careful.

so that's my peace;
thank you everyone for your advice.
blueimber: (Default)
when i moved into my apartment;
the apartments above and directly next to me were not occupied at night;
above was under construction and next to me was the office.
someone has moved in next to me;
as far as i can tell, a woman, a man and a young child, perhaps-
perhaps two children, a baby around two and a child around fiveish.

the other morning as i lay against my wall i woke ot the sound of a
baby-like cry, such as a two year old
but also the deeper moaning-like cry of a child about fiveish
tho i had just been sleeping
so i can't be sure that they did not just both belong to the same kid.

that morning
i could hear the mother in hysterics, but those kind of
'i am so mad at you if you don't behave hysterics'
that seem to come from long drawn out battles--
i heard slapping, more child-like screams;
such as, the kind of scream you scream as a child when
your parent hits you in an effort to make you stop crying-
then there was silence
and i didn't hear anything else.
maybe it was the lingering effects of the dream;
i can't really know--

but tonight...
the man in the room was loudly shouting at the child;
i can't tell the words-
and i heard distinctive sounds of hitting;
a slap more broad of hand than a child could possibly deliver-
followed by some sobbing, some kind of explanation and apology- from the child
and now it is quiet again.

Where does one interject?
does it make it seem 'big brother'esque if i call child services
on these people and maybe they are a good family with a difficult child?
what if they are hitting the walls or
the sounds i hear aren't the sounds of abuse;
just echoes?
and what if it is, or what if it gets worse?
blueimber: (Default)
"i saw the world flashing all around your face
never really knowing it was all
mesh and lace..."

the days slip by in many ways
some with brilliance and laughter between friends into the early morning
some in silence and solitude-
but each as gracious as the last
and for the first time in a long time
i feel contented and safe
even if it too shall be fleeting quick
before i am back and going a mile a minute again.

i cleaned my harddrive a little;
reduced the duplicates in my music collection and
went from 113GB to only 50GB.
apparently i had double and triple imported and copied some music files and
well- can't have that.
i suspect that i have lots of duplicates of some pictures too
so at some point i'll pick a cleaning software and see if i can't get more space back.

there is a kind of wholeness i feel...
further reaffirmation that i am exactly where i should be
and doing exactly what i ought to be doing...

i am trying not to be nervous about settling into this apartment
to make my life seem more than just a transience upon waking-
all of these pieces, shards-
being made into something whole.

i played around with some designs for holiday gifts;
there are lots of things in the offing now-
i am surrounded by boxes and fabrics and pieces of things
and like my life
i am putting them together in beautiful
kind of lopsided ways.
each little one though guarantees at least a smile;
and i hope maybe to kender my mother's old pinking shears
when i go home over this weekend.

man alive, already?
the time moves faster than i do i suppose;
and i am thankful that i have so many families to be a part of this year;
those who i am not with know that i am there with them in spirit
i will get to see many many many of them as well.

going through my old journals and old files of mine;
has acquainted me with so many feelings that are strange to me now
many times as i read i think
'is this really what i thought at the time?'
because some of it focuses on minutia when the larger issues i remember having
are swept aside or not even mentioned.
how is it that my recollections are so notedly different than
what i had written there at the time
in the moment?
much of it has a passion and a fire that
these days are
so lack and subtle.

i caught a glimpse of it
i mean
there is being crafty and then there is
being inspired
it is that internal struggle with onesself;
'i am worth this?'
'what am i worth?'
true inspiration is
walking that line of desires
where you try to argue yourself out of what it is that you want
but can not ever have.
it's that longing;
that spark
when you can feel your body turn against you
where your heart and your mind divide and
you stagger
you cannot be happy
that which is
your muse....

but perhaps those are only the notions of someone
still floundering;
someone still struggling just to believe.

that is not to say that i am not happy;
i have in my life many things to believe in and many reasons that stand up
against anything and everything
things that keep me rooted
and while i can grow good and strong under them
it still doesn't change
what blooms
and when
until then
it is always going to be
an argument
a feeling like
having survived is no longer
good enough.

but as i said
i catch glimpses of it
for a moment my mind wanders and the words start to come;
'as i watch my love lay sleeping--'
what after that?
it hangs there in that moment
a line of what is true
suspended in the air
for it i have nothing else.
without further voice
it is just a fleeting moment.
yet even for them i am grateful
spending so much time in silence
it is nice to know
that not all is lost to me.
blueimber: (Default)

–verb (used with object)
1. to bestow or confer, esp. by a formal act: to grant a charter.
2. to give or accord: to grant permission.
3. to agree or accede to: to grant a request.
4. to admit or concede; accept for the sake of argument: I grant that point.
5. to transfer or convey, esp. by deed or writing: to grant property.

6. something granted, as a privilege or right, a sum of money, or a tract of land: Several major foundations made large grants to fund the research project.
7. the act of granting.
8. Law. a transfer of property.
9. a geographical unit in Vermont, Maine, and New Hampshire, originally a grant of land to a person or group of people.

10. take for granted,
a. to accept without question or objection; assume: Your loyalty to the cause is taken for granted.
b. to use, accept, or treat in a careless or indifferent manner: A marriage can be headed for trouble if either spouse begins to take the other for granted.

1175–1225; ME gra(u)nten < OF graunter, var. of crëanter < VL *credentāre, v. deriv. of L crēdent-, s. of crēdēns, prp. of crēdere to believe

it has never mattered;
these shoulders;
these eyes, ears-
the words of this mouth
formed by this heart
engendering the flame within my soul.
they have never mattered;
they are not slender and inspiring
they are not important or shining
they are not seductive and lithe-
they do not shake in frailty or uncertainty;
they simply remain square to what they believe
set against all that would serve to hurt, harangue or otherwise damage-
but in the moment they are no longer needed;
they do not matter.

what about me?
i thought the other day--
what about everything that i do?
but i overstep;
i am not even--
i forget that i don't matter.
i am not on the radar
i am not-

i trace circles.
i lace lines
spend a thousand lifetimes attempting to define myself-
and always get to the bottom of the glass
seeing the same truths
in each one.

have i done this to myself or is this simply that
i cannot escape my fate?
do i arrive here because i have lived by my values or
do i arrive here because there is something inherently flawed with me?
is it that no one can see me, really?
or do they see me and just see that i am not anything special?
am i not special?
how is it that anyone can make me question myself?

unsent letters scatter across my floor
like so many fallen leaves...

'i am condemned to write you a thousand letters and never finish one of them...'

half written journals;
scraps of lives i have lived
paths i have walked away from
choices i have made
things i have chosen instead to express in action rather than words--
and alone here
the tragic result
of careful dancing....

i say 'just this'
but i am lying-
really inside my vacuum still devours
and constantly i wish for more.
i balance between even grateful for a taste to
bitterly sorrowful to have such empty hands--

and soon too
even they shall not be able to reach me;
soon too the world will turn on its axis and churn out some great change-
and i will set my feet down and walk along the path that it creates
i have never looked back.

i will always be here;
won't i?
i will always be reliable to fall back upon
i will always be the comfort
the familiar
the safe-
to use, accept and treat in an indifferent manner;
because that is what i am
aren't i?
the reserves-
and i don't feel-
neither hurt nor pain nor cold nor heat-
i don't feel bruised or brushed aside
i don't feel worthless
or as if i know the real truth
and simply swallow it
delusional that somehow god would watch over me
and guide my path towards
what i deserve.

it keeps coming to nothing;
you know.
each path a dead end-
each one reaching a point where i cannot stay
it is not me
it is not me.

blueimber: (Default)
it was blissful to be there and help my sister with my nephew's birthday;
the look on his face;
the dozen or so tiny little people who were
'in charge'
for one day
playing in the bounce-house and
sharing the 'lightning mcqueen' power wheels-
explaining to their parents why i colored my hair pink
and that no
i am not a mom;
just fascinated by the way that children see the world.

one of the things i always try to do when there are little eyes and ears and hands and minds
around me
is to pay close attention to their mannerisms-
to seek eye contact and to ask them questions-
it helps them learn to focus and to learn how to ask about something thoroughly.
it's hard; at some stages of development there is no comprehension of logic
like they are just jangly tangled bundles of nerves and inputs and outputs
that all wiggle around trying to find their definition
and the definition of the world around them;
that our species from these tiny beings
each have grown up from
and the things we have seen accomplished each in our lifetimes--
as well as what we as the adults in their lives teach them;
do we teach them patience and understanding;
or can we not get past our own stresses;
can we not see the need to put our children forward
of our own agendas?
is it more important to have a child that obeys
or a child that learns how to integrate as a socially conscious member of a familial unit?
short tempers only lead to short tempers; and so forth...

little girls and older women have all been stopping me to talk to me about my pink hair;
and two girls who i admire this weekend recommended Special Effects dye over
other brands
for longevity and intensity;
so perhaps if i go into manhattan this week i will see if any of the ricky's have restocked
the color i want.
honest; i haven't felt this much like who i am in such a long time-
i have to be certain not to get sick on the hope
and focus
and continue to be grateful;
which i am-

my life is filled with all kinds of things that make it both bitter and sweet;
and last night, walking up the stairs out in the cold mountain air
i said a thought of thanks;
for we always say 'god damn it' or 'please god'
when we are frustrated or we need something
and never
'thank you'
'i am for all of this, yes; all of this- grateful.'
and i am-
to god;
to those who watch over me
to that idea that the universe balances
and that
good things come to good people.
i can't even say how often
my depression circles back to my thoughts of being unworthy
or of not being a good person
of serving the sentence of some unspoken crime;
simply for my existence-
but then
the world reminds me that i am just another person within it-
walking their path
finding the place where they belong.

there were a few people at the party saturday night that i wanted to get to talk to more
with that many people so beloved in one room
to speak thoroughly to them all is impossible.
hearing the snippets;
the memory of lifetimes
and a good dozen years of friendships-
summer companions and
artist philosophers-
it just makes me proud-
my folk;
the people whose values; hobbies and beliefs are
their passions-
who live and die by the rules that they write
the codes that they live by-
or by the chaos that they harness and
tossle with;
mastering their demons
bringing their realities into existence sometimes by strength of their will alone;
i used to say;
'wolves who walk with me...'

i tread lightly upon this ground;
taking the lessons that my friends have helped me learn
always trying to take a place of support amoung them
to say
for my life i walk here beside you
so long as we may-
for that is all we are allotted. 

at the party;
someone had a bottle of the Honeyrun Elderberry Mead-
this is just significant to only me;
Kim and i went to preschool together;
as we can often be found chortling drunkenly at many parties about-
and i moved away from Warwick when i was 7;
and lost touch with all of those kids i had known-
we had moved to California;
to a little town called Chico;
is where Honeyrun Mead is made;
on the Honeyrun Covered Bridge and Estate;
a summer swimming hole
where i acquired many scraped knees and
tasted thousands of honeysuckles--
that these things all circle back around;
such signs that speak to being in the right place
in the places where i am actually meant to be-
such fate
such 'bashert' moments-
that after being so young and away for so long;
to come back
rediscover that not only have we known each other for so long
but also too that
we have shared friends, hobbies; joys and sorrows similar and same
destined one way or another to have found one another-
coincidence or intelligent design;
the wheel of fate or
honestly not that unusual-
these are the things that speak to me.

i was very talkative this weekend.
i think i talked more this weekend than i have all year.
but i feel more expressive now than i have felt in a long time
almost as if i have stories to tell again
or things to say.
i find myself more often being happy
i hear a significantly simpler and quieter melody
but i think that another part of me has become solid;
that i passed some one of life's many trials
now coast into smoother;
more even waters-
there are still many things i want;
that i cannot find
that i find unfulfilled in my life-
but these kinds of weekends
soothe me
remind me that it is steps
and i can only take one at a time
and as they come to me
there will be more stones-
the path leads on.

i suppose that i have to pay attention to my own inner set of eyes and ears and mind and hands-
ask my own questions of myself thoroughly;
ensure that i am truly living and doing the things that make me happy
and not spending time on things that damage me

life is good;
and i am exhausted.
tomorrow; scanning some unsent letters.
will i send them now?
time will tell.
peace and love;
my apologies for crazy ramblings--
blueimber: (Default)
i know i have been lapse here;
since i lost my job i have been kind of floating through as the
fog that has surrounded me fades away
reality settles in.
there is so much hope on the table before me;
and i remain grateful for each scent of something delectable;
as if part of some larger melody;
but i cannot help but feel
like a small insignificant child
who is just playing at adult things.

but i am not-
a memory sometimes which strikes me
the lingering sting
taking the wind out of my sails and
bringing my feet back down to earth.

Sometime next week i imagine that i will be painting.
already lines rise unbidden
strokes of color seem to appear
telling me where they belong on the canvas and i feel astounded
i have no canvases-
i am trying to make
all lines open for communication
no matter how it will come down--

and i can feel it coming
it might break pieces of me but
they need to be broken
michaelangelo removing
what was not part of
the piece that lay truly within.

that thought gives me courage
where once i thought
i was just scrap--
it makes it easier to get through this;
and become who i really am meant to be.

September 2017

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