I am such a weirdo – huge in fact. I’m sitting in work waiting for my first client of the day to arrive, and after her, I’m not booked again until
6pm which leaves me with 6 whole hours of me time. And I’m actually happy over this!
I’m a weirdo in the way that I NEVER get bored. Not ever. I always find something to do. I don’t know the feeling of boredom. No, that’s not true, church is boring, school work is boring when the subject doesn’t interest me, people can be boring. But when left to my own devices – it’s heaven!
Bored people to me, live in a box world. They are in a box and can’t escape without the help of others. They feel sealed in, like prisoners. I’m a dreamer. It’s very hard to keep a dreamer inside a box.
I base every day around fun…
My client just left. She stayed and talked my ear off for a good 45 minutes after her massage ended. I can’t handle people like that. I feel bad for the lady, I really do, but she’s one of those needy types whose energy just pulls and pulls. I feel completely drained. I’m a spirited lass, rather pleasant to be around, but I can’t handle people like her. Poor lady. She’s going from one job interview to the next without any luck. It’s because of her personality. She sounds a bit wacky.
I don’t understand people. If they don’t get what they want, why can’t they change themselves? If something about them’s not working, change it!
She needs to not act like a weirdo. That’s a really hard thing to change if you don’t have the ability to see yourself as others see you. It’s a hard thing for a lot of people, not knowing themselves. It’s like being tone deaf, or trying to write a song, but having it sound like shit to everyone.
I’m starting to think that creativity stems from self-awareness. Think about it, to dance beautifully, you have to be aware of what you’re doing and what you look like. To talk affluently, you have to know yourself enough to hear your own words. You have to be aware in order to invent and create. To create art, artists always have to erase and fix their shit to better their skills – constantly ripping down old constructs and building anew. It’s harrowing and humbling, but what you get in return is a crystalline beauty of that which is pure conscious knowing.
When artists are satisfied with themselves and their work, progress stops and they stop learning. That’s why the best of the best end up being depressed crazies.
Shit, I talk a lot of smack.
I’ve been writing diligently for over 15 years now and it truthfully hurts my heart whenever I read entries from at least two years ago. Those entries are humiliating! Writing a blog is humiliating, not just any blog, but a blog like this one here is degrading. I’m constantly ripping down my old out-dated shitty wiring. I’m jaded, damaged and broken, but I’m actively and intently polishing myself up.
At least I hope.
So what was I saying?
Oh right, I try to make everyday revolve around fun. How do I do that? It’s easy! I love to sleep, so there’s always that. Just laying there doing nothing – not having to talk to people or use my brain, my arms and eyes don’t have to work. Oh how I love sleep.
Little Bo Peep
Laid down to sleep
Having no desire in counting her sheep
She laid there so tranquil
Composed and serene
Waking and dreaming
She was somewhere between
Time passed by slowly
Deliberate and wholly
Until her tummy woke her up
She wanted ravioli
So yeah, sleep is fun. But beyond sleep lurks something much bigger. Something uglier and greater than I can ever be. Something I can never fully understand until years later after having time to settle.
While I was massaging my last client, all I could think about was: “I can blog for six hours! Six whole hours!”
To me my blog is like the Red Ryder 200 shot carbine action range model air rifle with a compass and this thing that tells time built right in the stock.
Yeah thats right, I said it. Can you imagine having a love for something that powerful and having it available to you every single day for the rest of your life? That’s what my blog is to me. It has everything already built into it. I get curiously cautious before attempting to discuss exactly what’s on my mind. It’s like I have to walk around circling my blog a few times, poking it with a stick to see if it’s alive.
The cursor patiently blinks at me. Awaiting it’s next order.
Like a heartbeat. A heartbeat waiting to be told the outcome of something devastating, or spectacular – sometimes devastatingly spectacular.
What can I tell you cursor? You’re my curse all right. You’re the necessary ten pound shit that hurts so good coming out. Not that I ever taken a ten pound shit before, I imagine it’s like having a baby come out your anus (hopefully not squirming or blue).
To create something from nothing is poetry. I evolve to solve. Honesty is modesty. Authenticity is simplicity, synchronicity.
My blog puts me in the Hoia-baciu forest. Time stands still when I’m here. The world grows rigid, old, and cold while I’m still here soft, warm, pliable and protected. The world can nail me to a cross, but as long as my story is told, it can never be for nothing. My blog brings me meaning. It’s everything to me.
Eh hem (clear my throat), so yeah, I like to write. I may not be the best or most entertaining, but I’m slowly gaining awareness. Chiseling away at my hidden Venus de Milo. Unfortunately, the only time I ever really felt my awesomeness was under the influence of Aya.
“Wow I’m awesome! I’m like a god or something!”
That’s actually more fortunate than unfortunate…
My mom made me turkey soup.
I feel like eating turkey soup than taking a nap. Then I need to read Rich Dad Poor Dad. Amy would get so mad at me if she knew I was blogging and napping for six hours straight instead of setting up an LLC for my business. She cracks me up. She tell’s me all this stuff I should be doing, but then apologizes for being abrasive.
Amy – “I won’t read your blog anymore, that way if you want to blog about my ass, you won’t feel bad.”
Amy my dear, your ass is truly amazing, really really.
I was over her house the other day and she says to me all excitedly;
Amy – “You know what I have that’s really good?”
Me – “No, what?”
Amy – “Raisin Bran.”
Me – “Really? Raisin Bran? Are you seriously excited over Raisin Bran? Isn’t that for old people?”
It’s one of my greatest pleasures making fun of her.
Me – “I’m putting that one in my blog. Pfff, Raisin Bran….”
The only thing that could complete me right now is if I were sitting in Cheshire coffee with a latte in my hand, my electronic cigarette (fully charged of course), and Amy doing what ever it is that Amy does, sitting next to me. That’s all I need.
No, scratch that. You know what I want? I want the biggest house in Cheshire – No not a house, a mansion. And I want it all to myself. I want to throw huge parties that never end, no one will want to leave. I want to sit inside, staring out of my big bay window, looking down into the chaos of my backyard. People everywhere having the most amazing time, while I sit alone quietly and watch in amusement from behind an old antique desk, writing one masterpiece after the other.
Yes, wouldn’t that be something…
Damn, it’s only 2:52. I still have another 3 hours to go until my next client gets here. I’m going to make my turkey soup, be right back.
Okay I’m back and the soup is eaten. I ate it all up.
You know what would be cool? To start a viral memetic infection. Yes, that’s right. It’s when people have blind faith and unswerving belief towards an idea, a belief or a religion. It’s what happens to a person when being brainwashed. It can cause brother fighting brother, sister fighting sister – it’s complete unwillingness to hear the other person out – complete lack of compassion, awareness and creativity. But the fun doesn’t stop there! The great thing about it is, it’s contagious! It’s contagious because 90% of the world is made up of idiots.
It’s hilarious to me, seriously hilarious. Thousands of people end up dead each year, but it’s funny….too soon?
So, I’m just going to go ahead and create my very own viral memetic infection. A plague upon the net – a viral video, a catchy poem, it’s going to be Charlie biting my finger. I’ll instill zest and fervor in my followers.
But what belief can I create? Hmm…..That’s the question.
Shit, I think I bit off too much to chew for this one. I can’t think of a damn thing.
In the words of Lennon, Jai Guru deva om, glory to the shining remover of darkness. AKA me, Melanie the rapist monkey.
I write to everyone and nobody hears
Believe I am great
To a girl that’s a Shirley
And not a Laverne
(Laverne’s a dope)
Omg I have to pee.
Jeez, why do I do that to myself? Hold it till the last minute?
Okay, I really have to settle down and read Rich Dad Poor Dad so I can acquire my mansion. I shouldn’t write for the next few days, yes I know, it pains me too! but I really have a lot of shit to do, like sponsor a kid from Guatamala, read about real estate investment, and pluck my cholla eyebrows.
Wow they’re gross. It’s going to take a while.