I write things in this tiny book I bought at Staples. It’s ridiculous like 3″ by 4″ you wouldn’t even use it for an autograph collector. In a fit of disgust I bought it (okay I admit I bought two.) I have to carry something to write in, I can’t write in my cell phone. It’s a bogus POS that only really texts and calls well.
So I wrote something that was enlightening and phenomenal in this little book of mine that I wish was a Utrecht black covered spiral sketch art book and I found it so I could write this illuminating scrap of knowledge for people to read and admire. Looking at it now I could believe that I’m delusional. It says: Say Goodbye To Lovers Goodbye Songs “How’s It Gonna Be?”
And I know I’m meant to ask anyone who reads this to write down songs that say goodbye to someone they love. The one above is by Third Eye Blind.
So I replied to the person whose article I reblogged yesterday. I forgot/didn’t realize that my own comment meant for this page was posted on the original page. He commented on it. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being snarky about his article (I wasn’t,) or flippant so I responded and now I’m thinking that was a dumb idea.
Anyway, this song is really how I feel today. If it’s unclear then you got the meaning.
I like David Byrnes’ voice.
Today my siblings came over. Yesterday I lost it and texted my Sister in Law and asked her to call my Mom. I was frightened that she might pass away while I went to coffee with K. I feel like this all the time. If I have to I’ll spend eternity with her to make sure she’s okay.
It’s not easy getting someone in my family to stand up for me. I pay back people who support and protect me even if it’s not as much as I think it should be. Yes I’m dissatisfied. I am also thankful. Those two emotions can coexist and do. Of everyone in this world my Mother is the person I’ve had the longest history with that has been the most beneficial. That’s why I didn’t tell her about the molestation. I don’t want her to feel bad about it. My father on the other hand can suck it. Dead or not he was a coward and a patronizing solipsist. (The demons titter that I’m going to pay for denigrating my father’s character but they’re demons. They know of what I speak.)
So I think the family thought Mom was dying or I was losing it and everyone came (except the sister in laws,) and I was busting @ss. It didn’t bother me like it usually does. I was glad Mom was distracted. E had to go to the bank to get ready for the SERIOUS stuff. I had to go food shopping. I dealt with lunch and J and M but P and O left for Micky Ds. It was a peaceful idyllic summer beach day. The little girls went to the cove and dug for clams and found a spider crab. My brothers talked as they watched their progeny play on the mud flats. My mind will take this day and turn it into Kodachrome moments to cuddle with when I am in pain. Remind myself that I am human and not the monster I feel myself to be. The family I wish I really had. The family we let outsiders see. Today we played the role for ourselves and Mom so we could reinforce that image of familial love. I played it hard. Like it would never happen again because I don’t believe it will. Sometimes the temporary beauty you hang on to is the card that will help you last through a select hell. Every little small thing I see and record in my subconcious. I will need it when she passes. And I hope I’m wrong. I hope to god and the baby jesus that I am being over dramatic. I hope I am being annoying and everything is not as I read it. I don’t mind looking stupid if it means the one person in my life that has put up with me and I’ve never wanted to kill survives until after I’m dead.
I can hope. I allow myself hope. I do.
Here’s the lyrics to the song above you touch monkeys…
Now let me tell you a story The devil he has a plan A bag of bones in his pocket Got anything you want No dust and no rocks The whole thing is over All those beauties in solid motion All those beauties, gonna swallow you up Let’s go
Hi hi hi hi hi Hi hi hi hi hi, hi
One time too many Too far to go I, we come to take you home
And when they split those atoms It’s hotter than the sun Blood is a special substance They gonna pray for that man
So wake up young lovers The whole thing is over Watch out touch monkeys All that blood is gonna swallow you whole
Hi hi hi hi hi Hi hi hi hi hi, hi
What’s that? Who’s driving? Where we goin’? Who knows? I, we come to take you home
How many people do you think I am Pretend I am somebody else You can pretend I’m and old millionaire A millionaire washing his hands Rattle the bones, dreams that stick out A medical chart on the wall Soft violence and hands touch your throat Everyone wants to explode
Now when your hands get dirty Nobody knows you at all Don’t have a window to slip out of Lights on, nobody home
Click click, see you later Beta beta, no time to rest Pika pika, risky business All that blood, will never cover that mess
Hi hi hi hi hi Hi hi hi hi hi, hi
So soft, hard feelings No tricks lets go I, we come to take you home
Beatrice the Biologist
The flower and the dandelion
I post this because it made me think of people who don’t get that those with mental illnesses may not look different from any one else but truly they are.
Things I Have Learned in My Life So Far: Sagmeister’s Typographic Maxims on Life, Updated
by Maria Popova
About a decade ago, Stefan Sagmeister, one of the most celebrated and influential designers of our time, began keeping a running list of life-learnings in his diary. Eventually, he translated these private thoughts into a series of typographic artworks and public installations at the intersection of the personal and the philosophical, creating a new genre of metaphoric lettering, which ended up among the 100 ideas that changed graphic design and which he collected in a gorgeous artifact of a book in 2006.
Here, read this. Even if you don’t want to read this look at the pictures. You’ll get the idea what this is about. Making the serious fun.
Angel Heart life can be a Dead End or a Deathdream with suicide as a prize. If you can perceive The I Inside you’d never be a “Johnny Got His Gun”. Open Your Eyes the other Passengers can be seen as The Others but behind The Seventh Seal hides the Soul Survivors whose Stay is so Sublime. A Vanilla Sky can be your Memento when Tetsuo is difficult to obtain.
I’m glad the week is over. I am getting better at attending OASIS, arriving before lunch and pretty much attending what’s offered like the Art Class, Qi Gong and Writing. I’ve also been attempting to calm my Know-It-All tendencies by not contributing EVERY freaking time I know something or think I do. The drawing is difficult. It took me about a month and a half at least to finish a picture of salmon and it was just coloring in the lines with pencil. I feel like a seriously deficient head unit.
At the end of today I had the deep suspicion that I was secretly trying to piss off one of the other people there. I like her, I do. There’s no reason why I should act like a d!ck. Yet there I was wanting to throw a glass of water in her face and struggling not to say the equivalent of “Nuh uh!” I kept annoying myself.
And now. 2 movies watched; one in the cinema and one at home. The undercurrent mind that brings up some of the pains I have and insists that I will die of a heart attack because of my health, it plagues me. The hunger that insists that I NEED TO EAT RIGHT NOW if not because I’m hungry than because I want to taste something and coerce my stomach to engorge, feel satisfied to the point that I feel ill. My eyes hurt and yet I am greedy to squeeze information that is comforting and easy to find on the internet to force out the intolerable undercurrents that flow in between the regular thoughts and body regulations that happen all the time. I need to sleep, but to wake up with the two tubules positioned on my forehead like alien antenna or hooked to the sides of my nostrils at 5 am doesn’t inspire me to seek the lost comfort of my bed.
Thanks Titan. I needed your claws in my thighs as you teetered off my lap and onto the keyboard.
I can’t get SG out of my head. It was a monumental mistake getting in touch with her.
Maybe that’s why I wanted to write from the perspective of a tapeworm when we were given the assignment to write a poem, prose or piece from a different point of view. I sure wish screaming could relieve that special anxiety that I get at times like these when I feel like the skin of the earth is dripping off the crust and splattering into space with my @ss pinned to it. Speaking of the earth the tide was especially high today. I wonder if that had something to do with the warped mood that hounds me.