now i'm doing the stoic german face i grew up with, in my own home.

but this time i'm doing it for a good reason.

oh my god this is soooo hard. i am reeling from the broken hearts, disappointment, illusions, realizations and on and on.

even through the nausea and agony and sobbing tears, i am fascinated enough by what's happening and my own reactions, that i'm compelled to stick around and see what the fuck's gonna happen next.

i can't imagine this will possibly end well, and yet i can only imagine absolute victory as i feel like i've already won.

i feel like this is the death of all my deaths. so that i may live, blah blah blah. this all sounds familiar because it is. it must be. it feels as natural as peeing or eating avocados at the perfect moment, or the tips of bananas when they're perfectly firm.

but they somehow don't taste like they used to. bananas used to have the embarrassing obscenity of a crumpled little perfect avocado. now they're more like haas. anything with two "aa"s must be suspect in regards to passion or indulgences.

the germans thought to save the fucking HAIR and have trains run on time.

there are no four day fucks in the german national anthem.

anyhow, i'm learning how to grow up in my own way. use the stoic face so that james cannot have to deal with me. although he feels the chill. but he wants it all.

we can't have it all just because we're americans.

i can't stay here and maintain a face of composure and dignity even in my own home when i want to drop to the floor and cry.

i'm tired. i need privacy. somewhere to be quiet. myself. rage. sob. and feel human again.

but i've given up everything, my art, my money, my dreams, my life, and now i feel like i am 13 again.

all i have is my muscles like never before. my wits. and broken internet has done a lot to reacquaint me with myself. my analog self. i've been bleeding like the dickens and using it for inspiration like going into the sweat lodge and singing in tongue.

oh my god, the pain comes in waves and it's so big. but everytime i imagine i want to be like everybody else and i see the glare of smooth young faces washed out in a constant haze of screens, i remember the car accident pain is the rain dance for the amount and depth of joy and love i'm now able to experience.

everything and everyone that has torn me apart has made me see god and inspiration and love everywhere because i had to look for it and find it myself.  miracles really ARE everywhere. fuck, who needs anyone to walk on the fucking water when it's amazing that you're even HERE in this form, this incarnation, with these sets of experiences and realizations and take that will never ever exist AGAIN!

that is astounding to me. and beautiful. and why it's your fucking duty to commit suicide by living like a scream across the jungle to the helicopter.

so what the helicopter leaves? you get out a quick death and don't have to live alive as a zombie corpse watching your step as if you were somehow "wrong" simply by being born.

what could be more right than those who see and feel?

anyhow, yes, the pain is horrid and in the last ... well, in my whole life, i seem to welcome on new enormous amounts of terror and despair. but RESILIENCE is built up and so far i'm taking it okay. i come back faster than most people because i've seen the tedium of middle class therapy that does just enough to make you feel more connected, but eternally fucked up enough to help the therapist make the necessary house payments.

TRUE success means eating berries under a bridge, apparently.

how the fuck do you live with that realization in a land that won't LET you even pick berries on someone's land or live under a bridge?

damned if you do... can't live without 'em... mix your saws. they're all interchangeable like an exquisite corpse.

anyhow, i'm entering a new level of anguish, terror, and despair.. and the realization from my inner calm shmata salesman who's shrugging and saying, "maybe you did this all wrong?"

meaning that i should've rendered unto caesar that which was caesar's, and left the spiritual shit for when i'm dead.

i used to believe that when i was young. play the game as it's to be played. you can't really fuck anyone over because they're also in the game and shouldn't ever take it personally.

this is the reality of the earth and deal with the woo woo shit when you're dead and have the time.

a part inside of me still isn't so sure that's The Way. i know. i sound like an asshole. but it's kinda' true in a way---IF YOU DON'T ADD LOVE AND SPIRITUALITY STUFF.

people use the personal to manipulate as it's the easiest and best way to hustle someone. what do they REALLY want? appeal to that. their ego, whatever they've gotta prove. exploit it however it can fit over what you need.

but i'm having the existential crisis to end 'em all for me, and i've long since seen any fucking POINT to a lot of these goals we use to live our daily lives.

more shitty coming out movies? who fucking CARES? rome is burning and i could give a fuck about who you think you wanna fuck and how you got freaked out about it.

i say this because i'm disgusted with how shitty the gay/lesbian "task forces" have become at fixing anything, but are great at gestapo behaviour on that "sex in the city" dame, cynthia nixon, who CHOOSES to be a lesbian.

fucking "choice." freedom is now just a fucking .com name that costs a lot.

everyone's always in womens' lives and in our bodies our food our shit up our twats and up our asses like it's a national fucking park.

leave her alone. leave her WORDS alone.

and of course she caved. so did ashley judd when she said what she thought once.
heaven forfend!
is it too much to ask for a fucking woman to stand up and tell people she's given enough at the office, at home, in her bed, and for them to go fuck themselves?

i hate regular white people so much sometimes.

new boss same as old boss.

now we're in demi moore's drawers and if you saw that hustler spread of her mom back in the day, you'd know how much she had to work through and leave that girl be.

i'm about to embarrass myself a whole lot more here. i'll contradict myself and fuck you if you get pissy about it.

i'm losing everything i thought i was and am freaked out by whatever the fuck i've apparently BEEN doing all along in everything nutritious or harmful to myself.

i see everything differently, and it's still new, so i'm still scaring myself with new connections i'm seeing on old behavior.

everything's different, just as i knew it would be.

i've given up everything because somehow i apparently "love" it so much. that just came out although i haven't a fucking IDEA what that even means because i think i'm really committing suicide.

i'm resilient, but i can't forage for berries and live under a fucking bridge. i can't.



so you see my dilemma? i'm working at contradictions within myself and i'm not sure if the flesh can even win this one.

does it even WANT to?

most people like me either go out on their own somehow. whether it was obvious or under layers of more acceptable forms of suicide. and maybe we will on cancers. i don't judge ANY outcome because there's no "value" either way.

it's all neutral. it's nature.

your stories of success would have me frozen faced and wealthy and singing the same hit song until i die.

but my truest secret form of success is that anyone who dares to spend even a small time SEEING and/or BEING with me, they will remember and be affected by me in a way that lasts.

inspiration. i'm here to inspire. that's it.

and any other expectation is YOUR story. i have to not fear ending up with rotting feet in the tenement. i have to be willing to go down in battle.

(smile)

x