To whom it may concern:

To whom it may concern:

The fact of the matter is that sadly-- or (perhaps paradoxically) gladly-- depending on context, concerns hardly anyone at all.  Many of us humans have always been voyeurs (or, frankly, gossips) and most of us utterly egocentric and self absorbed, but the exhibitionist, narcissistic freedom afforded us during this neonatal stage of The Age of Information, a transitional stage no doubt, has created an illusion that anybody gives a rat's ass.

No matter who you are or what you do, people are judging you less than you think, for better or worse (in my humble opinion, always the former) because they, too, are concerned mostly with their own lives, and rightfully so, and what you did last Thursday night and whose hand you shook in that picture and how wonderfully you've succeeded and how miserably you've failed, won't really concern people is much as you may you think.  But they are important.  They are more important than anyone else's in fact.  And I say that sincerely.  Why?  Because they're yours.

Feeling old

And dejected
Like nothing is worth the trouble it causes

Like I'm really incompetent at everything I try

I try to manifest these things into my life

I always do

They happen very quickly

And then I see that I can't handle them, can't do them right, can't affect anything or anyone in a positive way

Not the students, not the friends, not the collaborators, not the listeners, not the family, not even myself.

I feel so old though I'm relatively young

I feel like a young person who's old at heart and who's never been able to touch

Anything, or anyone, without ruining it completely.

You're better off leaving me alone.

My magic is black.  And my magic is gone.   

I'm in a wicked, evil, foul and destructive mood.  That's all. 

To keep a cool head or a flame going?

The white seven-day candle I always keep burning on the east window corner won't stay lit if I put the floor fan right near the windows and keep the door open because of the breeze it creates.  But that's the only way to keep my apartment from baking.  22.

please dont try to make me feel stupid
please dont try to make me feel guilty
please dont try to make me feel low
please dont try to make me feel inferior
please stop kicking me jabbing me pouring your bucket of crazy down my throat

ENOUGH

you cant help yourself can you

you cant

weak

sick of your disease

ugh

need a bath

yeah. 

post

Stalker, stalker, GO AWAY
DON'T COME BACK ANOTHER DAY

You creep me out, your music's shit
You just hit up my publicist
You're following my every move

Can I advise, it would behoove
to cut it out AY ESS AY PEE
You're scaring the shit OUT OF ME. 

In the deepest ocean...

Whoa

OK.  I'm cool now.  All good.  Ha.  That release was indeed a RELEASE.  Sha.

Now just let me drown
I thought it'd be over today

Y'all just really don't give a SHIT.

I'm sure you mfs think I'm some self-absorbed princess who gets everything I want.  Self-absorbed.  All I do is think about your ASS and put myself in your shoes and open up my house to you and take your fucking SNARK because I know it comes from a place of insecurity and lack of self-awareness.  And I know I have to take all this upon my shoulders, why, because I can, that's all, that's the reason, because I can.  Because I can carry it for you.  But I'm getting tired.  I'm getting numb.  I don't feel anything anymore.  I don't smile anymore.  This is self-centered tripe but this is my goddamn blog.  My journal.  And I don't COPY AND PASTE from it and SEND THAT TO YOU pretending I was WRITING TO YOU because I'm too lazy and inconsiderate to do so and I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU ANYWAY, do I?

I cannot imagine being so dispassionate as to contact someone who's been there for me through thick and thin and THEN some, and, the ONE person who has, in fact.  The one and only.  To contact them them once a month to ask for a favor.  And then finally, to dump their problems three nights in a row for hours with no respect to person's schedule and not even ask how they're doing.

I take it all, I take it, I take the insults, the bile, the lack of understanding, the misdirected bullshit and just take and take and take and forgive and give and give and give my understanding-- I have nothing else to give-- I damn near don't have a pot to piss in cuz my toilet breaks.  I can't buy clothes, I can't buy real shampoo, I can't buy vitamins, I can't live a healthier lifestyle because I can't afford it, I can't pay for medical treatments I can't pay car insurance or to fix my car or gas I can barely cover rent NONE OF THIS IS WORTH IT

FUCK ALL OF YOU

BYE

Oh sweet Jesus. I can't even go home now because the super is still fixing the damn sink. I left 2 hours ago and he still needs an hour. This is bollocks. There's no time for nothing no matter what and certainly no time to ever just comfortably and peaceably relax. Just none just nothing just never.

So what am I gonna do. Sit at the Vons Starbucks and do some more work.

Fukineh.

I'm sitting at the dentist. About to get three fillings. And that'll be my last appointment for an age. I don't mind the appointments. I get to sit on my ass and chill and watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit and House. I did mind being on painkillers and antibiotics for 6 weeks. But that's all over and done with now. I'm proud of myself for having done this. Forked out a small fortune and actually made and kept these appointments. It was out of character for me, but it had to be done. My teeth were falling out, and all those infections were probably making me ill when I ponder the fact that I was probably swallowing them too. Now I have now money left but what else is new.

Again all these good things I'm doing for myself see no tangible rewards. Not a red cent for CvD, living like a pauper among the palms. Oh well.

text

oh where is your inflammatory writ?
your text that would inside a light be lit
our music deserving, devotion unswerving
cry Do i deserve her with unflagging fervor
well, no we do not if we cannot get over it.

but what's it mean when suddenly we're spent?
tell me true,
ambition came and reared its head and went,
far from you-
even mollusks have weddings, though solemn and leaden
but your dirge for the dead, and take no jam on your bread
just a supper of song and a waltz through your empty bed

and all it once it came to me
and i wrote him hunched 'til four thirty
but that vestal light, it burns out with the night
in spite of all that time that we spent on it
on one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet
while outside, the wild boars root
without bending a bough underfoot
oh it breaks my heart, i don't know how they do it
so don't ask me

and as for my inflammatory writ.
well, i wrote it and i was not inflamed one bit
advice from the master derailed that disaster
he said Hand that pen over to me, poetaster
while across the great plains, keen and lovely and awful
you eulolate the lost Great American Novels
an unlawful lot, left to stutter and freeze, floodlit.
But at least they didn't run, to their undying credit.

All I've got is words

Words, with friends..

oh glorious glory be,

my federal and state tax returns have arrived!!!!!!!!!

In memory of Etta James: At Last.

I have been, too tired to write here, for ages.  I've also been too busy.  I've also been dealing with things, that, well I haven't been able to exhale for a while.

I finally can, really.  After tomorrow night, I finally really will.  And I know I've been saying that for an age, at this point.  But no, things are finally wrapped up.  Like really there.  Work-things.  Finally.  They've finally, finally gotten there. To be more specific-- well, I've had two major projects going on in the last year and change... (like November '10 and on...)  And I've been vague about them, for all sorts of reasons, one being that I just don't like to TALK about things before they're certain, another being that talking about work is thoroughly uninteresting, and a third being that I haven't been quite sure whether I want to preserve any mystery as to my identity on here.

And I've been vague about EVERYTHING else which makes for a damn dull blog too, because anything interesting would inevitably be read the wrong way and offend people I know, and anything I'd want to write about would involve, well, who else but people I know.

So, in short, though.  My two major projects are a record, and a film, both serious time-consuming and difficult endeavors, to make from scratch, involving endless steps, and many many people, and besides the creative and technical processes that involve the works themselves is the overseeing, supervising element of getting a team together, motivating people to work, navigating individual personalities, establishing boundaries, establishing respect, learning to delegate, achieving a proper balance of patience and assertiveness, picking your battles, crisis-management, self-promotion, fostering relationships, ultimate humility, shamelessness in asking for favors, fearlessness in taking risks, strength and flexibility, endless amounts of tedious admin work, etc etc and on and on.

But somehow it seems it's all gotten done.

As of like, today, really.

And now I get to fucking exhale like for real.

It's getting warm, with cold breezes.  It reminds me of 2010.  Winter 2010.  Winter of 2010 is in the wind.  Winter of 2010, I realize I was... as free as I've ever been, as open, as wondrous... the simplest things, were so magical.  I never felt so innocent before and I haven't since.  Never look back and try to recapture a moment in time; it doesn't work.  But I feel like it's time to go there again.  I can feel its blue and white light in my bones.

well hotdamn

longtime no see.

i, uh, i've had a rocky start to the new year but now it seems like things have calmed, gelled, and are right.  clean houses, clean houses.

i have several big projects coming up.  i dont feel like pitching them on here.  it has kept me busy.  its a lot.  emotional upheavals as well. 

i had more to write.

2012

We make such an issue out of the New Year, that eve, the way we spend it.  Every single one has been wack.  They've had no bearing on the following year.  Not really.  But if this, 2012, in its infancy, cantankerous and volatile and painful as its been only just THUS FAR, this colicky baby-- I'm in for it.  Hell.  Just hell.  Everything is over.  I'm a dumb fuck.  My life has been a trainwreck.  And it's over.  I had credit card fraud.  And now I have -15 dollars and a rent check about to bounce.  I'm done.  I have no job, no income, no career.  I'm done, and I deserve it, because I'm damaged.  And I will go the way of my mother before me.