Knotty Thoughts

thinking under the influence

telepathic conversations on the bus July 1, 2010

Our trip to San Francisco was coincidentally during Pride 2010! Over the ten days we spent in the bay area, I had quite the range of experiences, mostly too exhausting to write about in any detail right now. Zoo, Alcatraz, random joints, aquarium, fun sex, open container citation, bums, DANCING, bartering, record stores, clubs, girlsgirlsgirls, boysboysboys, Diggnation, free alcohol, DRIVING, ice machines, missing my beautiful animals and my beautiful keyboard. If nothing else the trip served to remind me of who I am and whom I’d rather be. Pure inspiration, even the shitty parts.

I am still broke but yoga and meditation are free.

Now I realize that I’ve been doing it all wrong, this battle with my brain. It’s not about rewarding myself when I resist something I want to resist, especially when the the reward is another negative thing to my body. The reward is in the resistance itself.

I started a bit of a body detox today. Nearly two weeks of drinking and eating junk non stop while on vacation in San Francisco has taken it’s toll. I’ll still be drinking, likely, but I’m pairing my unabashed alcoholism will all other things healthy. I haven’t smoked more than five cigarettes in the last five weeks, though I did go through a few cheap cigars and the green smoke will never stop entering my lungs. Today
I have begun consuming large quantities of green tea with fresh blueberries and lemons smashed into it. This week I will only be eating things that are real food, nothing processed and very few carbs. Carrots, cucumbers, mushrooms, bananas, pineapple, lemons, strawberries, blueberries, beans and such. Doubtless, this attention to my body and mind will pay off.

Monday night was nice, back in the comfortable world of drunken friends. Tuesday night was even more lovely at Laura’s eviction party: drink, snort, dance, sing, talk, BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY, police, sprinklers, jumping balconies, hiding in closets and under beds, huge pupils. Ah, how ordinary in our lives but still so refreshing! We must create, oh you beautiful humans, this is our world.

Today is the day.
The beginning.
I have a lot of work to do, to become this person that I’ve been harboring within myself for years now. I will become what I want, I will change my name, I will adventure and love and live. My motivation has never been more grounded, my determination has never been more powerful. In a way, I am bringing each one of you with me.

 

my sunken treasure April 21, 2010

[Tuesday April 20]
Laundry day brings clean clothes and reunions with guitar picks thought to be lost. Bus rides are welcome, giving me a solid time to catch up on comic books and soak in the energy of those with whom I share the earth. Each time someone asked me the date while writing a check or signing something at work I just smile and tell them it’s the twentieth of April, underground holidays are the best.

After a surprisingly busy day at work I spent the afternoon with my lovely Amy. I like her brain because it swirls around with mine each time we’re within eye shot and everything else melts away and we are kings of the universe! We break into tears at the sight of a dead creature and emit high pitched sounds at the sight of a live one. Even small little things like mister caterpillar, getting knocked over by the wind on the side walk.

We play in the garden (fuck being grown-ups!) and I show her the big fat cut I earned just hours earlier with a pair of scissors while trying to break down boxes. She just laughs and makes fun of me for my lack of finesse with a blade, it makes me wanna kick her ass! I threaten her and she’s so much smaller than me, but her eyes keep steady and she smiles. We’ll battle soon.

At some point in the quest for food and cigarettes Amy opens the trunk and starts making an excited high pitched sound. I know there’s not a cute little animal in there so my curiosity peaks. She comes to the window: ‘I still have half a half gallon of vodka in my trunk!!’
Just imagine my eyes getting real wide and my smile doubling: ‘FUCK yes! This day just got even sweeter!’ We light up and head to my place, tonight is gonna be good.

A holiday best spent with friends, we walk into the apartment quickly filled with excellent conversationalists and music in every room. Shot of vodka, shot of vodka, guitar, keyboard, singing. We should be writing songs for Dee Dee Bat, be we cannot focus. Amy wants to fight and I’m completely willing, but she’s so little! In the back of my head I’m afraid I’ll hurt her and then I feel guilty because we both know that’s the whole point and we both know all I need is a little more liquid encouragement. I owe her a couple hits in the ribs. She’s been working and going to school like crazy so it’s awesome that she decides to spend a chunk of her day off with me, and we’ll be making a trip to Seattle in May. I love this girl!

Earlier in the day a revolution brews in my brain. My notebook has been assaulted by mental gunfire as is evident by the ill prepared ink and sentence fragments wrecking the pages. I had to get all the thoughts down. A zine (an idea revisited thanks to a friend who recently put one together herself) based around finding our independence from governments and corporations in small ways with bartering and increased personal skill sets. It will be in print soon, I can feel the content bubbling up. I’m going to hand the first copies out at our vegan/vegetarian dinner on May 16th. Let me know if you want to come! Bring wine/drinks or coordinate with us and bring a vegan/veggie appetizer, dinner or dessert dish!

The remainder of the night was a swirl of advances, puppies, music and SLEEP. I hadn’t done that one in a little while.

[Wednesday, April 21]
Waking up a little hung over and sore did nothing to kill my instant joy today. I have to work soon, but it’s okay because all my clothes are clean. I’m hungry but we got groceries last night! It’s even healthy stuff! The sun is taking a little break, it rained all night. Everything is damp and heavy and I just wanna roll around in the world. Tomorrow we trek to Spokane for good company, laser tag and a punk rock show!

My thoughts are abundant, but steady, and my soul is absolute. Let’s do this mother fuckers!

 

climb the water tower April 11, 2010

A lot of well formed habits make up my day to day routine.
There are fifteen stone stairs followed by twenty-one full steps to get to the front door of my apartment with a four-stair/one-step set leading up to those. Volume settings must remain on any odd number at all times. When doing two loads of laundry I have to put the quarters in both machines simultaneously, same with pressing the setting buttons, then I always start with the machine on the right when unloading. My point is, there are certain objects associated with my obsessive routines that have become almost important as the acts themselves. My ipod is the number one item I have on my person at any times of any travel beyond my home where there is the threat of not having quality music to listen to for any period of time. I walk a lot, skate a little, adventure at night and a soundtrack seems absolutely necessary for each endeavor.


There is also a pair of gloves (fingerless, black & gray and extending to the elbow!) my aunt gave me for Christmas that I have found myself strangely infatuated with. They are always on my hands, even after I take off my survival jackets. I fucking wear them to shows, play beer pong in them, sew in them, play piano in them.

I ordinarily wear them while typing, but I am not wearing them now.
I do not know where they are. SIGH. I lost them at some point last night, I am hoping heavily they’re in my buddy Paolini’s car or at the restaurant or just hiding in the depths of my room. In any case, I find myself feeling guilty in mourning their absence because, after all, they are only a silly object. Still, though, my arms are sad and hope their warmers return some how.

Of late, I have been consuming fairly decent meals in comparison to my usual lot of metabolic encouragement. Dinners have included a lot of blueberries, potatoes, rice and beer. Now that I put it in words, it doesn’t seem like a healthy diet, but it’s an actual improvement on last week’s dining. There are breakfasts of apples and bananas at times, plus extensive amounts of water.


While on the topic of habits…I find it extraordinary how they become, almost by definition, a muscle memory of an action as opposed to one intentionally sought to complete. Many of mine tend to go unnoticed by my conscious self so I’m always surprised when I open my birth control pills to find that the day’s pill has, indeed, been ingested and all is well.

Good job brain, keep it up!

Today is the second of of a three day workless weekend for this human. I slept in yesterday, a rare feat! It impeded my efficiency a little but I managed to accomplish quite a bit regardless. This morning, my mind will not allow additional slumber which just as well considering there is so much sewing and cleaning to be done! Then there is the song writing and dog bathing and hair cutting and drinking and smoking! So I thought it best to make an early start of it all. Though I do really enjoy the two jobs I have at the bridal shop and hosting karaoke in a couple Pasco bars.

Dresses by day, tequila/sound equipment/tips by night!


I am watching Bronson the dog twitch his little feet while he sleeps and Sean Connery is passed out cozy on the floor. I adore these little creatures and Sunday is family day! Which means walks for Bronson, cat nip and combing for Sean, a clean tank and filter for Norman (turtle). The fact that there are people who don’t have pets to enhance their lives baffles me!

In fact, while sitting on an idling bus at the transit center a few days back I was observing a young puppy and it’s owner. This probably three-month-old animal was the most jolly little bulk of fuzz, happily romping at the heel of his leash holder and responding merrily to any requests of stopping or sitting. I began to think of Bronson and how I wish I would have taken more steps to strengthen his training (and thus, our bond) when he was younger and more eager to please. I wonder if it feels the same way to be a human parent watching a new mother with her child; cure-less pangs of regret due to the most selfish and personal bits of one’s own, mostly unavoidable, characteristic nature. In any case, I know my relationship with my animals is strongly in tact, doubt just has a way of possessing the most effective forms of ego-bashing osmosis.

I call them my puppikittikins!



Part of my adventures yesterday involved a trip to the grocery store to get a bus pass and a few apples. While in line, the gay rude girl (LOC!) in me couldn’t help but stare at a woman I had seen several times already during my current trip in the store. I was staring because I loved the gray of her hair. It’s exactly what I wish my hair would be, colour-wise. I eventually mustered up the impoliteness to ask her if I could take a photo of her head before leaving the store, she agreed!

This image really doesn’t do it justice.

My knees have not been treated favourably in the past few weeks. They were consumed by massive, mosh pit induced bruises for several painful days, aching at the joints due to four inch heels and an extensive amount of walking. They are currently skinned and re-bruised following yesterday’s graceful public portrayal of myself eating shit on the busy sidewalk while skateboarding. The real victim of this little accident, however, was my pants! I wear these damn things everyday, they’re wonderful, perfectly broken in and serve my survival function to near exact desire. The denim has been violated by pavement now and it’s only a matter of time before they become unfit for wear in visible situations. I will have to start searching for the pair that will eventually replace these ones.

Until then, larga vida a los pantalones!

 

caught in my eye April 9, 2010

I spend a lot of time trying to explain the inconvenience of  desk perching to Sean Connery the cat.  He walks on the keyboard, bats at the mouse, leaves awkward comments on Facebook and impairs my view of the monitor.  I have to commend his persistence, though, because no matter how many times I pick him up and relocate his fuzzy orange kitty body he always eventually returns to his favoured position, rubbing my face with his while big fat purs rumble in his chest.  He head butts my hand as it tries to click on things and gets eye juice all over my fingers.  God damn adorable little fucking bastard!

You know when you wake up with a pounding head, smelling like sweat with quarters stuck to your tits that you had a good night. If my life were a movie, which scenes from a Wednesday night adventure would make the final cut? :

[couch in a bar]
her: You’re drunk, I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.
me: Well…I’m on top, so that has to count for something.

I’ll have to take a break from being a great American party girl for a day or so considering the lack of funds, booze and patrons. My depression hates me for it, but my body is thankful. It seems today I will have to get creative and dig up some distractions that do not depend so heavily on the voluntary ingestion of poisons.

As visually based as I consider myself to be, I always find it more efficient to express my innards through words. The impact and clarity they lend really makes me feel my message is being relayed with the ever present possibility of reader by reader interpretation. Visual art, of course, contains the same properties but I find little finesse in my abilities there. I tend to combine the two and litter the world with confusing, not-quite-art pieces. It frustrates me a lot of the time, I just want to create something more subtle that lets the viewer really soak an image in without having their feelings interrupted by direct captions on the work itself. I want the words without the letters, I guess that’s what fashion is for.


I wonder if civilization will eventually build up higher and higher until it collapses in on itself and burns to a crisp. I kind of hope so and I hope I’m here when it goes down. I want to be a piece of the reconstruction, a bard and a trader because this isn’t working and we need something different! There is a pile of books that I haven’t picked up in a few years and I think I’ll be reading Anthem this week just to encourage my little bits of (unwillingly) sober social revolution.

Spitting is a terrible habit that has a strangely huge impact on my life sometimes. I spit constantly and I realize a lot of innocent bystanders find it to be rather disgusting. I don’t do it on purpose! I just have to get that crap out of my body or something. The other day I began to wonder what my face must look like while I use the power of internal suction to gather up all the phlegm in the throat. Not the most appealing images…


The bus stop outside of my work is on a busy street right in front of a gym. While waiting to pull into traffic I watched the shoulders of a welled toned, tanned, middle-aged woman flex and ripple as they worked smoothly to lift a water bottle to her lips and suck its contents down. I could feel the smoke from my cig burn my eyes as the cookies (later to be joined by tequila) settled in the pit of my stomach and the THC cuddled my blood stream. Here I was at 21-years spitting blood and chunky mucus into gravel while someone twice my age was in her physical prime just yards away, it’s almost enough to make a girl feel guilty like I’m not living this existence to the fullest. My overactive imagination corrected this for me: her clear, alert eyes detected an opening in the rush hour rat race and she turned into the street.

BAM!
A truck, a crash, a split second.
I was breathing still,
she was not.
I win.

If we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die (from our own arrogance) so we may as well take our time.

I do, at least, have an appealing torso.

 

nobody has to stay April 8, 2010

[Tuesday, April 6]
Freshly showered, writing friendly lyrics on giveaway cigarettes. There is something special about today.

My brain and I have decided to make peace, considering we have to spend so much god damn time together. Nothing has to be hard anymore. The cold wind doesn’t have to be uncomfortable, getting up early can be fun, being alone is a blessing. So much is beautiful.

I understand now that happiness is relative; it has to be, or I’m fucked. I’m still hoping to find a better adapted wet stone for my creative edge but I feel it’s only days, if not hours, beyond my reach. As if time and effort are parallel, but then maybe effort is the downside in that instance. I’ll ease up today and find out.

The air currents were restless outdoors so I dampened my little mohawk, misted it with hair spray and let the wind style it at will.
An overactive imagination engorged by the early morning snappers my lungs depend on often cause scenarios to leap through my brain.

Example: While sitting on the bus I noticed an older Japanese man eying the ‘anti-swastika’ patch I have sewn to the right shoulder of my survival jacket. My buddy Mike made if for me in a patch swap (I made him a patch that screamed Steggo! Steggo! I love you!) almost two years back. He said something to his wife and continued on in ordinary silence, but that’s not what happened in my head. I envisioned him looking at me with eyes yearning for understanding from a detached generation and saying “My country may have allied with the Nazis, but I have not.” to which my hypothetical self replied “My country may have been okay with the atomic bomb but I am not.” a handshake ensues and peaceful balance gaps a generation. Haha!
That’s a condensed moment inside my head.

Too much is always going on. The same bus ride only proved this further when I found myself watching the scrunched up face of a 3-year-old as she peered around the vehicle with unblinkingly wide eyes just feigning to soak in every last drop of visual information and the bits of mental data and analysis that must go along with them. I just wanted to send her a message via wave lengths to let her know that I understand the pressure that must be building up in her gray tissues, I full comprehend the frustration of attempting to process each and every pixel of colour, sound, action, scent and movement that assails the senses. I also know the love and passion and excitement and BLISS that come along with it. Fuck! What fortune,  I would have it no other way.

It’s so hard to wanna fight when you wish you were never born.
(Ya Can’t Go Home- Leftover Crack.)

On the more normal human end of things…

At work, the prom season is well on it’s way and I always find it entrancing to study the various dynamics between mothers/daughters/sisters/grandmothers.

One of my favorite parts of my normal day is the twenty minutes after closing the shop where I wait for the bus. Hook my ipod up to the speaker system, lock the doors and DANCE.

Sometimes I get distracted. Miss the bus. Wait for the next one. Play with self timer, windy outside. Eats my cigarettes, breaks my camera (UGH!). Wind and spit do not mix.

Subtle vandalism, justifiably harmless.

[Wednesday, April 7]
Another early morning, a strong connection with an old friend. Denial and honesty all rolled into one big fat blob mixed with a little mischievous fun and wholly inappropriate prospects. My guilt hasn’t spoken up even a little and your medicated persistence has never made me value my tenancies toward a punk rock rebellion more. Love you, though, and we’re both well aware that a long battle of bullshit and wits has just begun.

Mid day was a blur of regularity and sugar comas interspersed with obsessive minutes of repetitive piano playing and singing.

The night came to an end with heels and pretzels in the back of a truck on a highway screaming songs at the top of my lungs while drivers passing by could only assume my tequila intake had already begun. A drag show of the finest quality and a classy (sarcasm) lip locking, hip grabbing, few minutes with a lovely woman. Spending a little time with the few people I would truly consider to be friends, wholly accepting of each strange little fiber in my body was also really nice. They live in the same apartment complex as me these days, we can literally chat from our balconies.

As much as I like to avoid materialism, there are certain objects that I have a passionately emotional connection to. Oh, the sentiment. My cat needs to go on a diet.

 

lucky number nine, hurray! January 11, 2010

The neighbours beat on our shared wall and I can feel the negativity of their message vibrating through the sheet rock. I smile and put my guitar down, seal my lips. My apologies, I hadn’t noticed the time. It’s just past midnight now.

A smokey room and I’ve been living music for the last few hours. The smell of this apartment is a cry for attention from the various bits of trash and unknown things hiding about. Begging to be cleaned with pure vigor, I should leave no single place untouched. Suppose I clean out my hard drives too, put everything in the proper folder; my world would change quite completely, and to a benefit.

I can hear the innards of this old machine working hard to download five movies at once. The poor thing is on the outs and I’m just resisting an upgrade. Today quite easily managed to be interesting and blissful in it’s own sure way. My fingers ache just the right amount, my ipod is charged, and I’m deeply infatuated with a certain Pringle of Scotland pre-fall 2010 sweater look. Life is good.

My mouth tastes weird from chewing stems.
My head is still trying to escape the confusion of all the alcohol I’ve consumed.
But the wheels are turning. Happiness sparkles around me.

The last few weeks have been some sort of blissfully terrific new reality.
We’re always teetering on the edge of addiction and death and despair and I sort of love it.
Like surviving makes an ordinary life wither and pale in compairison.
The best way to understand how good it can get is to experience how bad it can get.
Or something.

I sold my Macbook for a disgustingly low price the other night out of desperation. I miss it already, some day I must have another. I crammed all the garage band files onto my external hard drive. That baby is full full full, I need a new one. So much data. My mouth waters with the knowledge of possessing it.

I’ve been receiving too much flattery in the previous 48 hours. My head is swollen with egotistical delight and I quite enjoy it. These speakers are BLOWN. There is so much to be said, I’ll just begin again tomorrow.

Oh cute little world, don’t ever end.

 

a tingling sensation December 30, 2009

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…my life can be pretty fucked up!

gosh, I used to be cute.

I used to paint my toenails.

and not give a fuck.

I was creative too.

I used to be in love.

I used to fall off my skateboard.

for a while I had close friends
the kind that let you spray paint them when they’re drunk.
the kind that keep you warm when the heat goes out
the kind that help you fill up the station wagon when dumpster diving
and never blame you for eating that chocolate.
or making strange cinnamon treats out of the pizza crust.
the kind that will always share their last cigarette with you
the kind that will write lyrics to punk songs and hide them on your computer
the kind that haggles for used skate shoes as a gift to you
the kind that bombs hills with you, even when they have loose bearings.
the kind that helps you cook a feast in an unpaid for apartment.
the kind that keeps playing even when they bleed.
the kind that accidentally breaks your ceiling fan with nunchucks
the kind that allow you to witness them shave their mohawks
let you paint their spikes.
the kind that give you hope and faith in humanity.
The kind I let go and forced away.

because I like to hear myself talk.
‘I am lucky to constantly be exposed to a ridiculous variety of experiences. I’m almost always completely consumed in this strange sense of appreciation and adoration for all things life. It can never be turned off. Everything is too interesting.’

Like right now, the speed and comfort with which my finger tips are flying across the greasy keys hitting letter after letter individually, forcing them to combine and spill my thoughts on to the page. On to my screen. On to your screen. You’re getting a sense of my life(the passion, the insanity, the awesomely fucked up-ness) from the safety of your own life. What a stunningly beautiful thing. How simply feeling the comfort I associate with typing can bring me to the brim with joy. REAL joy. It’s swirling about in my lungs at all times. My eyes are spinning, over-stimulated, desperately soaking in every last visual drop of information in my surroundings. Caressing it in brain fibers and sending a tingling bliss through my entire nerve system. Even in the two feet that have been crushed in circle pits so many times and are basically numb, they tingle now.
And don’t you want to live this?
don’t you want to look back on your memories and sigh happily with the knowledge that you’ve been living life to the fullest?
don’t you want to look forward to the future and giggle because you understand so clearly that even the most dreadful, terrible things that may occur are in their own way truly lovely?
don’t you want to be lured by the promise of new sensation?
fresh perspective?
don’t you want to be confident in your perception of actuality?

I do.
I am.
I love.

Hmm. Been hitting the bong.
But seriously, how can you let anything pass by you!
WAKE UP.
let the merriment commence!

your willingness to let yourself be happy is the key to full-blooded, unquestionable delight