Saturday, April 21, 2012
simple rules to live by [the tiffany edition]
1. don't take anything personally.
i used to spend the
days of my life contemplating the things that people have said, might
say, might think, yadda yadda yadda, about the way i live my life and
the decisions i make. i've let words people use against me destroy parts
of my soul. the soul is resilient, but not impenetrable. it's something
you can never doubt. but if used correctly, it can shift your entire
world. the more you think about yourself as the way others might think
about you, let me just say, it's absolute fear. you're setting yourself
up for failure.
2. become aware of EVERYTHING.
this
coincides with #1. it becomes easier with time to listen to your
intuition. like anything else, it takes practice to conquer, but once
you got it, you got it. become aware of emotions that come up, when they
come up. you need to be able to decipher your own thoughts from your real
thoughts. does that make sense? i think we all have deep, imbedded
thoughts about ourselves that are completely untrue. thoughts that have
sat in the murky depths, never actually resurfacing or washed away,
simply stagnant. thoughts that hold us back from discovering decent,
positive things about ourselves. things other people have told us about
ourselves that we have allowed ourselves to believe.
3. have some fucking fun.
this
is non-negotiable. i am not going to get into any kind of religious
discussions, but i do believe that i have some sort of 'creator'. i
don't know if it was man, woman, beast, gods or goddesses, witches or
warlocks, but whatever it is, it created me in unique form of millions
and billions of other people. i was lying in the grass the other day,
just studying the way the shades of green cascade along the tips of the
grass to the tops of the trees; every delicate detail. every time i
study nature, it takes my breath away. i picked the smallest flower i
had ever seen and on it were tiny little red insects crawling around on
it. in that moment, i felt small. i felt microscopic. something, or
things, out there created me. and i must believe it was for some kind of
purpose. i suppose that's what we all hope. but we get caught up in all
the day-to-day bull shit. working ourselves into an early grave,
destroying our bodies, worrying about money, is this what we were
created for? i can't possibly accept that. although i can't pull myself
away from those things completely, i force in time for fun. i
started by making my own schedule at work, especially for the summer. i
have come to realize that sanity, for me, equals lots of outdoor time, a
good amount of solitude and anything that releases my creative needs. i
know that work is probably what people are most scared to change. they
think they are invaluable. but here's the thing; they will figure it
out. you don't even need to make a drastic change. just something small,
but significant. something you know you can work with. even if it's
just a couple hours a week, you can do it and work will figure it out.
you have to make time for fun, or what's the point of all this?
4. try to make yourself proud.
instead
of constantly listing all the things you despise about yourself, find
things that make you enjoy who you are. surround yourself with people
who truly care about you, not people who make you feel bad about
yourself. we are truly a wealth of knowledge, but it's so easy to get
caught up in the negative things you see in yourself. become aware of
what these things are. acknowledge them and try to weed them out. occupy
your mind with something fun and light-hearted. something that the real
you loves to do. the simple practice of enjoying yourself right after
the negative thoughts start to rise up force a change.
5. write, draw, sing.
get
it out. in whatever ways possible, make the false things you have come
to believe about yourself surface. see them for what they really are; a
lie. i'm a journal girl. writing has always made me see things for what
they truly are. it's like my own super power. i have this ability in
me... to change. it's so possible, it's so attainable. and the most
amazing thing about it is, every single person has this power as well.
you just have to hone it. if nothing else, MAKE this resonate. know that
you are capable of change and see it like a skill. the more you believe
it, the more curious you become. the more you do it, the more you
believe in it. the more you understand it, the more limitless you are.
you are infinite.
6. find peace in solitude.
the
more people i know, the more i understand about the fear most people
find in being absolutely, completely alone with their thoughts. come to
terms with how silly this is. try to be curious about yourself, your
inner workings. don't compare yourself to others, don't believe the
negative things people have told you to believe. aren't you the one who
controls your thoughts, your mind? so start acting like it. TAKE
control. there is no room for timidness when you are ready for change.
it's something you have to KNOW. and you have to take the reigns. you
must take the time to listen to everything that goes through your mind,
and in time, sort through it like a filter. see through the superficial
and get through to your soul.
7. be grateful every single day.
this
is the key. everything before this is fruitless if you cannot be
grateful for everything you have. as humans, as americans, there is a
certain standard. we are defined by our status, our money, our material
objects. we are always thinking about what else we should
have. the things that might portray us as successful or wealthy. the
more you view life as material accomplishments, the less human you
become; i view this in terms of mind, soul and heart. you know, the
things that keep you alive? lets face it, that $7,000 sofa isn't exactly
going to save your life. the more stuff you can remove from your life, the more uncluttered you become. even in your mind. you have less stuff
to look at and somehow you are forced to see depths of your soul. so
many people are scared shitless of being alone with their own thoughts.
how many times can you recall being alone without your television, cell
phone, computer, music, without any distractions taking your mind off of
the internal noise? most people can't even handle the thought of that.
no distractions. but this is the ONLY way change can happen.
8. conquer your fear.
see
fears for what they really are. sheep in wolfs clothing. fear is the
number one reason people won't progress. fear is all people have when
they die. fear is the ultimate villain. and it's absolute bull shit. we
become comfortable in the way we live. we find routine and we cherish
it. and some people are truly content with that. they don't dream, they
don't wonder if they could ever have more, emotionally, than what they
have right now. if you are that person, these rules may not apply to
you. this is for the dreamers. those of you who believe in higher states
of consciousness, warriors, adventurers, geniuses, trend-setters,
revolutionaries, BELIEVERS. those of you who realize life is more than
money, status and material possessions. if you've ever had dreams you
could fly, seen or felt the presence of a ghost, if you've ever felt a
sense of deja vu, used your imagination, done something you never
thought you would be able to do, felt compassion or empathy for another
person, cried when you heard someone else's story, set a goal for
yourself and achieved it, this is for you. you are someone special, an
enigma, a unique soul. you were meant for greatness and why would you
ever deny yourself something so epic? why would you ever think that
happiness may not apply to you?
9. have breakthroughs.
this
is my absolute favorite. sometimes i go through these periods where i
feel huge changes coming, a breakthrough. i can feel it stir inside of
me, i'm restless, but it all happens in it's own time. it's not
something you can coax out or move along. it has to happen in it's
time, whether you're ready or not. sometimes it comes out in meditation,
or i will be writing and suddenly, literally, break what i am writing
and words start to flow through me. an unconscious stream of emotion. my
chest gets tight and i start bawling out of, what seems, nowhere. when i
finally reach the calm, everything makes sense. it comes together like a
perfect puzzle and i have new tools for my next adventure. it never
ends, and why would it? why would we ever think we could just stop
learning? why would we ever stop evolving? i never want to have the
feeling that i know it all. because where do you go from there?
10. own it.
once
you start to discover who you were truly meant to be, don't make any
apologies. make decisions that you know are progressive, that will make
you proud of yourself. don't doubt that you can be at peace. don't doubt
anything that feels pure. start doing the things you never thought you
would be able to do, and don't put pressure on yourself to do them in a
certain way. see small successes in your life. be aware and be grateful
every step of the way. realize that mistakes are awesome! mistakes are
what will bring you to being someone you love. none of us are perfect,
that's not what it's about, it's about finding the lovely, one-of-a-kind
things about you that no one else has. these are the things that make
you, YOU.
don't do these things for anyone else, these things are simply meant for you. and to be as trite as a l'oreal commercial...
"because you're WORTH it."
one halloween eve [a true tale]
disclaimer: all accounts
of this story are true (unfortunately). only the names and the date
have been changed (because i effing LOVE halloween and wanted to
somehow incorporate it into this creepy, twisted story)
ONE HALLOWEEN EVE...
a few years back, i decided to take a trip to sarasota, florida. i missed the beach and really wanted to re-visit my old stomping grounds. so i purchased the plane ticket and i was off. not many people find a vacation by themselves all that appealing, but i couldn't think of anything better than a week off from everyone and everything i knew.
the first day i arrived was mainly just getting settled and wandering around. i re-visited my old apartment, the places i used to shoot the shit, and of course, took a few hours to stroll in the sand. it was beautiful. it was getting later and i was looking for a solid place to grab some seafood. i drove around and found this sort of off-the-map place i would go to occasionally. excellent food for a decent price and better yet, it was happy hour. i immediately ordered a couple of celebratory i'm-on-fucking-vacation! shots, some surf and turf and started bull shitting with the bartender, trying to find out what was happening the rest of the week.
the place started filling up as the hours passed. a typical, wealthy sarasota couple came in and sat next to me at the bar. the fella, stan, was mid 50's, heavy set, white button down shirt with grey and white chest hair climbing through the spaces between buttons. the gal, stella, was a few years older than him. typical older sarasota socialite. wearing all white, gaudy jewelry and mass amounts of botox. they started some small talk with me, once they saw that i was keeping the bartender entertained enough. it was light, fun and i kept them laughing, so they decided to buy me a couple drinks.
stella was already on her 2nd glass of wine and every time i cared to check, she was just staring at me.
"you have the most beautiful skin. it's just like porcelain. so firm, so flawless."
i laughed, nervously, in fear that if i hadn't broken up the words she may actually come over and start licking my cheek.
"thanks, i mean, i guess i don't break out a lot... are you going to get anything to eat?"
i wasn't sincerely interested when she started arguing with herself that she had planned on getting some soup because she hadn't eaten anything all day. she eventually decided that the calories in the wine would be enough of an intake.
stan piped in to announce that he would be getting a bowl of soup and a round of whatever shot i wanted. seeing that stella already had that glazed over look in her eyes, an obvious lightweight, i matched it with a round of macintosh apples. i'm an ass hole, but they are putting down the cash, so i ride.
the conversation started growing friendlier, as it tends to when alcohol is involved. and somehow the topic of marijuana came up. i believe it was during the following scenario:
stella: the wine is exquisite tonight.
stan: yeah, the bisque is perfect.
me: yeah, yeah, my drink is awesome, now i just need a joint!
the great thing about well-acted sarcasm is that you can really find out anything about people. and god bless it, with a face like mine involved, it's downright fucking endearing.
stan almost chokes on his dinner in a fit of laughter , but it's his wife who gives it away. her shit-eaten grin and false, delayed sense of shock show the obvious reaction of an intoxicated, guilty woman. i immediately know that there is a good chance that they have weed, and or, know where to purchase it. stan, dying to feel like the cool kid in high school, offers up a place we could go. he tells me about this huge drum circle that happens on the beach every sunday night (the very night we had come to meet).
"we can all go if you want. i will show you where it is, you can follow us. i just need to swing by our place to grab a couple of things before we go."
i don't think twice about it and next thing you know, we are at their house, nay, their mansion. stan asks me to wait outside with his wife while he runs in to get supplies. she tries to slur out a conversation about the shoes she had on while we waited in their driveway while i nod and check my email on my phone.
as she slurs on about how immaculate my glowing skin is, i begin to think twice. it ALWAYS comes way too late. i'm forever mistaking horrible decisions for adventure and spontaneity. i mean, i suppose this is kind of weird. i don't know these people, but what am i going to do, back out, now? all i know is i can't be making any rational decisions until i smoke. stan finally returns after i've been keeping his actually falling-down-drunk wife entertained with horrible redneck jokes i read on the internet. i can already tell she has the potential of becoming an angry drunk by her mannerisms, so i'm doing what i can to keep things light & innocent. stan hands me a small, tie-dye one hitter with Dead bears all over it, and tells me to try a sample. and in complete what the hell could happen? vacation mode, i take a hit and pass it to stella. for fucks sake, she needs this more than anyone.
needless to say, this shit was on fire. one hit and i was rocked. stan tells me he's going to drive so i can just leave my car there. he continues to hit the pipe on the way to the beach and feeds his wife a corona with lime. after about 15 minutes of driving, we arrive at the beach. it's dark and completely packed with all kinds of people. there's a circle dedicated for dancing and glow sticks, surrounded by shirtless men playing bongos. this is where it gets a little hazy. i think we stayed for about an hour, dancing and drinking the bottle of wine stan had brought along.
we eventually ended up back at their place and i found myself in a black and white room with 25' ceilings. each piece of furniture was a piece of art. it reminded me of Beetlejuice in most ways. there was no color to divert they eye, you just kind of, sunk in. mainly the thick, white shag rug covering the hardwood floor. no piece of furniture has ever been this comfortable. i kept running my hands over the soft texture, holding myself back from rubbing the side of my face all over it. stan scooped me up by the arm and told me we were taking the elevator to the ground floor, which housed an indoor pool & hot tub. every single room we passed was black and white, and perfectly immaculate. the lighting was cold and dim throughout the place and no part of it really felt lived in. they had quick price tags for each item that took my eye.
once we got to the pool room, stan packed another bowl and we smoked as i threw my shoes & socks off and dipped my feet in the warm pool. at this point, i was already so high that my eyes couldn't blink, even with extreme concentration. but i just though it rude for me not to partake, in their own home and everything. it circled around a couple times and stella excused herself to go get a drink.
the elevator door closed and i suddenly felt lighter. the air felt more breathable. i laid back to immerse myself in bliss. stan tried to break up my adored silence and asked me what i did for a living. at that time, i was doing taxes. he suddenly became incredibly intrigued by everything that came out of my mouth. his whole demeanor changed, like something just smacked him across his face.
"really? you work for the IRS?!"
his tone shook me a bit so i quickly laughed it off and told him that it was really just a small tax office in pennsylvania.
"oh... you live in pennsylvania? so you're just here on vacation? how long?"
"just for the week. i used to live here and i wanted to come back down and visit."
"oh, so you're here alone? you're not staying with anyone?"
ok, ok, i'm thinking twice.
i've seen my fair share of psychotic killers in movies & tv to know that these aren't details you tell some strange guy feeding you bowl hits by a huge pool of water in the middle of nowhere.
"yeah, you know, i just missed the beach, but i actually am meeting up with some old friends later tonight. they're actually expecting me soon..."
i suddenly felt like the victim in a lifetime movie. such a predictable response...
the paranoia came on like a tsunami. and seriously, what the fuck is taking her so long? in fear of stella growing suspicious, or sneaking up behind me to skin me and make my face her own, i suggest that we go up and make sure she's ok so that i can quickly thank them and run like hell.
i stand up and immediately fall back down, totally crippled by immense amounts of alcohol and illegal substances. the reality dawns on me that there's no way in hell i would be able to drive as i trip into the elevator.
"maybe you should stay here tonight" stan says, in a sincerely suggestive manner. i resist the urge to knock him out cold while screaming that i "will not be raped and murdered by the likes of you!" and simply respond, "no, i think i'm ok" as i blow my cover tripping out of the elevator.
FUCK.
we come up to find stella dancing with a glass of wine in her hand, listening to patsy cline. he runs over to her, swoops her up and starts dancing with her as i try to figure out how to lay down on the couch.
mid-spin stan asks "honey, did you know that our new friend here works for the IRS?"
she stops dancing and burns holes into me, catching herself and then laughs the most fake laugh you've ever heard.
"what? really...?"
i muster up some words, "no, no, not directly for the IRS, it's just this small tax office in pennsylvania, it's not like i have any kind of direct connections with the IRS."
the paranoia is palpable. she starts interrogating me, reiterating the same questions her husband had asked me moments earlier.
stella starts to crack. she turns to her husband with tears in her eyes saying, "she's seen our house, everything! we told her how much everything costs! this is a set up! she works for the IRS and she is here to FIND THINGS OUT! we are screwed! we are absolutely screwed, stan!"
double fuck.
i immediately snap into nurture mode. fearing for my life, and the insides of my stomach coming up all over their $25,000 sofa.
"listen to me, ok? i promise you that i am just here on vacation. i don't even want to know about any of your finances! you guys just seemed like fun, intelligent, inviting people and i wanted to get to know you. come on, we've been smoking pot together for christs sake! how could i possibly explain that to the IRS? this is ridiculous, look, we're all just stoned, ok? we're just letting paranoia get the better of us. lets just put on some good music and relax, ok?"
i quickly change the topic to music as i scan through the 500+ records in their white, vintage jukebox. i put on the first song that i recognize, elvis or something. the mood starts to mellow, but the air is still tense. stella sits down directly across from me as her eyes burn way to the wall behind me. she is brutally uncomfortable until stan coaks her into dancing with him again. i pretend to start to fall asleep on the sofa and they lead me to one of the guest rooms on the 4th floor.
the bedroom is all white and off white, with a pale bedside lamp. there were industrial feeling silver blinds on the full-wall windows and the door was frosted glass from floor to ceiling. you could still see through it a bit, but only shadows. stan told me i was welcome to stay as long as i needed to, shut off the light, and left the room. i laid in the bed trying to think of any way possible to sober up and get the hell out of there. i went into my personal bathroom and tried splashing some cold water on my face. that wasn't working, so i just laid back down on the bed. damn that bed was incredible. i passed right out.
a couple hours later, i woke up, confused and disoriented, but quickly reminded myself where i was and pulled myself together. i grabbed my keys and headed to the door to make sure the coast was clear to sneak out. i didn't see any movement when i peaked my head out, but i noticed that the room across the hall had a figure standing behind the door. i pulled my head back in and decided to walk out casually. like i was just going to get a drink or something and was too hazy to even notice someone watching from behind the door, waiting for me to emerge from my room. i rounded a corner to a stairwell and ran for it.
it didn't take long to realize that i was completely lost in this mansion and had no idea how to get out. i also had no idea what floor stan and stella were on, and for that matter, anyone else who might be in this place and the excuse i might have to come up with.
after running into about 6 dead ends, i finally found an elevator. i opened the gate and jumped in, feeling one step closer to home free. i took it down to the ground floor where i quickly jumped out to search for an exit. after looking for what felt like hours, i realized i was back in the pool room. there were no doors on this floor, so i ran back to the elevator and smacked the button labeled 'garage'. the doors opened and i ran out, swerving between about a dozen different rolls royce's and bentleys, looking for a way out. i finally found a door, but none of the doors had handles. they were just walls that looked like doors and i had no idea how to make them open.
triple fuck.
i start freaking out, looking around expecting some kind of buffalo bill basterd waiting to skin my face off. i run around until i find a box with rows of little buttons labeled "door 1" thru "door 100". to the left of those buttons are 5 large "door1" thru "door 5" buttons. in a moment of panic, i decide, fuck it, and pound the large "door 1" button and the first garage door opens.
forrest gumps' got nothin' on me.
i'm a flash, a blur of color. i find my car, fumble my keys and throw stones as i tear out of their driveway. i pull into the closest gas station and never look back.
the moral of this story? never tell strangers your real occupation.
ONE HALLOWEEN EVE...
a few years back, i decided to take a trip to sarasota, florida. i missed the beach and really wanted to re-visit my old stomping grounds. so i purchased the plane ticket and i was off. not many people find a vacation by themselves all that appealing, but i couldn't think of anything better than a week off from everyone and everything i knew.
the first day i arrived was mainly just getting settled and wandering around. i re-visited my old apartment, the places i used to shoot the shit, and of course, took a few hours to stroll in the sand. it was beautiful. it was getting later and i was looking for a solid place to grab some seafood. i drove around and found this sort of off-the-map place i would go to occasionally. excellent food for a decent price and better yet, it was happy hour. i immediately ordered a couple of celebratory i'm-on-fucking-vacation! shots, some surf and turf and started bull shitting with the bartender, trying to find out what was happening the rest of the week.
the place started filling up as the hours passed. a typical, wealthy sarasota couple came in and sat next to me at the bar. the fella, stan, was mid 50's, heavy set, white button down shirt with grey and white chest hair climbing through the spaces between buttons. the gal, stella, was a few years older than him. typical older sarasota socialite. wearing all white, gaudy jewelry and mass amounts of botox. they started some small talk with me, once they saw that i was keeping the bartender entertained enough. it was light, fun and i kept them laughing, so they decided to buy me a couple drinks.
stella was already on her 2nd glass of wine and every time i cared to check, she was just staring at me.
"you have the most beautiful skin. it's just like porcelain. so firm, so flawless."
i laughed, nervously, in fear that if i hadn't broken up the words she may actually come over and start licking my cheek.
"thanks, i mean, i guess i don't break out a lot... are you going to get anything to eat?"
i wasn't sincerely interested when she started arguing with herself that she had planned on getting some soup because she hadn't eaten anything all day. she eventually decided that the calories in the wine would be enough of an intake.
stan piped in to announce that he would be getting a bowl of soup and a round of whatever shot i wanted. seeing that stella already had that glazed over look in her eyes, an obvious lightweight, i matched it with a round of macintosh apples. i'm an ass hole, but they are putting down the cash, so i ride.
the conversation started growing friendlier, as it tends to when alcohol is involved. and somehow the topic of marijuana came up. i believe it was during the following scenario:
stella: the wine is exquisite tonight.
stan: yeah, the bisque is perfect.
me: yeah, yeah, my drink is awesome, now i just need a joint!
the great thing about well-acted sarcasm is that you can really find out anything about people. and god bless it, with a face like mine involved, it's downright fucking endearing.
stan almost chokes on his dinner in a fit of laughter , but it's his wife who gives it away. her shit-eaten grin and false, delayed sense of shock show the obvious reaction of an intoxicated, guilty woman. i immediately know that there is a good chance that they have weed, and or, know where to purchase it. stan, dying to feel like the cool kid in high school, offers up a place we could go. he tells me about this huge drum circle that happens on the beach every sunday night (the very night we had come to meet).
"we can all go if you want. i will show you where it is, you can follow us. i just need to swing by our place to grab a couple of things before we go."
i don't think twice about it and next thing you know, we are at their house, nay, their mansion. stan asks me to wait outside with his wife while he runs in to get supplies. she tries to slur out a conversation about the shoes she had on while we waited in their driveway while i nod and check my email on my phone.
as she slurs on about how immaculate my glowing skin is, i begin to think twice. it ALWAYS comes way too late. i'm forever mistaking horrible decisions for adventure and spontaneity. i mean, i suppose this is kind of weird. i don't know these people, but what am i going to do, back out, now? all i know is i can't be making any rational decisions until i smoke. stan finally returns after i've been keeping his actually falling-down-drunk wife entertained with horrible redneck jokes i read on the internet. i can already tell she has the potential of becoming an angry drunk by her mannerisms, so i'm doing what i can to keep things light & innocent. stan hands me a small, tie-dye one hitter with Dead bears all over it, and tells me to try a sample. and in complete what the hell could happen? vacation mode, i take a hit and pass it to stella. for fucks sake, she needs this more than anyone.
needless to say, this shit was on fire. one hit and i was rocked. stan tells me he's going to drive so i can just leave my car there. he continues to hit the pipe on the way to the beach and feeds his wife a corona with lime. after about 15 minutes of driving, we arrive at the beach. it's dark and completely packed with all kinds of people. there's a circle dedicated for dancing and glow sticks, surrounded by shirtless men playing bongos. this is where it gets a little hazy. i think we stayed for about an hour, dancing and drinking the bottle of wine stan had brought along.
we eventually ended up back at their place and i found myself in a black and white room with 25' ceilings. each piece of furniture was a piece of art. it reminded me of Beetlejuice in most ways. there was no color to divert they eye, you just kind of, sunk in. mainly the thick, white shag rug covering the hardwood floor. no piece of furniture has ever been this comfortable. i kept running my hands over the soft texture, holding myself back from rubbing the side of my face all over it. stan scooped me up by the arm and told me we were taking the elevator to the ground floor, which housed an indoor pool & hot tub. every single room we passed was black and white, and perfectly immaculate. the lighting was cold and dim throughout the place and no part of it really felt lived in. they had quick price tags for each item that took my eye.
once we got to the pool room, stan packed another bowl and we smoked as i threw my shoes & socks off and dipped my feet in the warm pool. at this point, i was already so high that my eyes couldn't blink, even with extreme concentration. but i just though it rude for me not to partake, in their own home and everything. it circled around a couple times and stella excused herself to go get a drink.
the elevator door closed and i suddenly felt lighter. the air felt more breathable. i laid back to immerse myself in bliss. stan tried to break up my adored silence and asked me what i did for a living. at that time, i was doing taxes. he suddenly became incredibly intrigued by everything that came out of my mouth. his whole demeanor changed, like something just smacked him across his face.
"really? you work for the IRS?!"
his tone shook me a bit so i quickly laughed it off and told him that it was really just a small tax office in pennsylvania.
"oh... you live in pennsylvania? so you're just here on vacation? how long?"
"just for the week. i used to live here and i wanted to come back down and visit."
"oh, so you're here alone? you're not staying with anyone?"
ok, ok, i'm thinking twice.
i've seen my fair share of psychotic killers in movies & tv to know that these aren't details you tell some strange guy feeding you bowl hits by a huge pool of water in the middle of nowhere.
"yeah, you know, i just missed the beach, but i actually am meeting up with some old friends later tonight. they're actually expecting me soon..."
i suddenly felt like the victim in a lifetime movie. such a predictable response...
the paranoia came on like a tsunami. and seriously, what the fuck is taking her so long? in fear of stella growing suspicious, or sneaking up behind me to skin me and make my face her own, i suggest that we go up and make sure she's ok so that i can quickly thank them and run like hell.
i stand up and immediately fall back down, totally crippled by immense amounts of alcohol and illegal substances. the reality dawns on me that there's no way in hell i would be able to drive as i trip into the elevator.
"maybe you should stay here tonight" stan says, in a sincerely suggestive manner. i resist the urge to knock him out cold while screaming that i "will not be raped and murdered by the likes of you!" and simply respond, "no, i think i'm ok" as i blow my cover tripping out of the elevator.
FUCK.
we come up to find stella dancing with a glass of wine in her hand, listening to patsy cline. he runs over to her, swoops her up and starts dancing with her as i try to figure out how to lay down on the couch.
mid-spin stan asks "honey, did you know that our new friend here works for the IRS?"
she stops dancing and burns holes into me, catching herself and then laughs the most fake laugh you've ever heard.
"what? really...?"
i muster up some words, "no, no, not directly for the IRS, it's just this small tax office in pennsylvania, it's not like i have any kind of direct connections with the IRS."
the paranoia is palpable. she starts interrogating me, reiterating the same questions her husband had asked me moments earlier.
stella starts to crack. she turns to her husband with tears in her eyes saying, "she's seen our house, everything! we told her how much everything costs! this is a set up! she works for the IRS and she is here to FIND THINGS OUT! we are screwed! we are absolutely screwed, stan!"
double fuck.
i immediately snap into nurture mode. fearing for my life, and the insides of my stomach coming up all over their $25,000 sofa.
"listen to me, ok? i promise you that i am just here on vacation. i don't even want to know about any of your finances! you guys just seemed like fun, intelligent, inviting people and i wanted to get to know you. come on, we've been smoking pot together for christs sake! how could i possibly explain that to the IRS? this is ridiculous, look, we're all just stoned, ok? we're just letting paranoia get the better of us. lets just put on some good music and relax, ok?"
i quickly change the topic to music as i scan through the 500+ records in their white, vintage jukebox. i put on the first song that i recognize, elvis or something. the mood starts to mellow, but the air is still tense. stella sits down directly across from me as her eyes burn way to the wall behind me. she is brutally uncomfortable until stan coaks her into dancing with him again. i pretend to start to fall asleep on the sofa and they lead me to one of the guest rooms on the 4th floor.
the bedroom is all white and off white, with a pale bedside lamp. there were industrial feeling silver blinds on the full-wall windows and the door was frosted glass from floor to ceiling. you could still see through it a bit, but only shadows. stan told me i was welcome to stay as long as i needed to, shut off the light, and left the room. i laid in the bed trying to think of any way possible to sober up and get the hell out of there. i went into my personal bathroom and tried splashing some cold water on my face. that wasn't working, so i just laid back down on the bed. damn that bed was incredible. i passed right out.
a couple hours later, i woke up, confused and disoriented, but quickly reminded myself where i was and pulled myself together. i grabbed my keys and headed to the door to make sure the coast was clear to sneak out. i didn't see any movement when i peaked my head out, but i noticed that the room across the hall had a figure standing behind the door. i pulled my head back in and decided to walk out casually. like i was just going to get a drink or something and was too hazy to even notice someone watching from behind the door, waiting for me to emerge from my room. i rounded a corner to a stairwell and ran for it.
it didn't take long to realize that i was completely lost in this mansion and had no idea how to get out. i also had no idea what floor stan and stella were on, and for that matter, anyone else who might be in this place and the excuse i might have to come up with.
after running into about 6 dead ends, i finally found an elevator. i opened the gate and jumped in, feeling one step closer to home free. i took it down to the ground floor where i quickly jumped out to search for an exit. after looking for what felt like hours, i realized i was back in the pool room. there were no doors on this floor, so i ran back to the elevator and smacked the button labeled 'garage'. the doors opened and i ran out, swerving between about a dozen different rolls royce's and bentleys, looking for a way out. i finally found a door, but none of the doors had handles. they were just walls that looked like doors and i had no idea how to make them open.
triple fuck.
i start freaking out, looking around expecting some kind of buffalo bill basterd waiting to skin my face off. i run around until i find a box with rows of little buttons labeled "door 1" thru "door 100". to the left of those buttons are 5 large "door1" thru "door 5" buttons. in a moment of panic, i decide, fuck it, and pound the large "door 1" button and the first garage door opens.
forrest gumps' got nothin' on me.
i'm a flash, a blur of color. i find my car, fumble my keys and throw stones as i tear out of their driveway. i pull into the closest gas station and never look back.
the moral of this story? never tell strangers your real occupation.
don't stop believ-in'
saw this little guy on my nature hike the other day. had to turn around and snag a photo.
seven devils
this was a video i made for the song "seven devils" by florence and the machine.
and some still shots...
and some still shots...
pink emerson radio [a collection piece]
 |
| some flames refuse to die |
for as far back as i can remember, i have had the following phrase
beaten into my skull "you are crazy!" promptly followed by hysterical
laughter, tears, or absolute shock, which seems to cause said person to
only look on waiting to see what might happen next. i feel that, for me,
creative release is the very breath of the human soul. out of nowhere, i
am pulled to a project and find myself scouting out the supplies needed
for what is about to emerge. i can only think to describe it as a
transformation of some kind. no matter the scale in my mind, i know that
as soon as it is set free, something in me will change dramatically. i
become unstoppable until it is complete, or until i lose interest.
i am a perpetual disappointment.
my attention span is nearly baseless, which has caused hundreds of these projects to go unfinished throughout my life. i lose interest midway through the timeline and am already carefully tracking the next failed soul assignment.
i have this urge to understand everything, every person. i dissect myself to the point of ruin, and later, analyze why i am constantly over analyzing everything. with or without physical awakedness (a conscious body) my mind is alive and free. my body is simply housing a genius spirit. if only my genius self could copulate with my rebellious self and form a neutral habitat. trying to instill responsibility or obligation in myself is comparable to trying to teach a bird not to fly. the excuse seems as immature as the refusal for infiltration, but nonetheless, it is who i am. allowing someone to impose their thoughts and habits over my own has never fared well. sheer curiosity forces me to listen to every possible perspective in a conversational argument, but i refuse to let anyone tell me what i'm going to believe in. freedom of choice is oxygen to me and as far as i'm concerned, conforming and prejudice are the real "mental illness" that the world faces. those who are recognized as mad are also the same people who have brought light into my darkness. great artists mirror the world for us. their selfless gifts feed our souls. scraping out that kind of creativity takes its toll, whole patches of skin may come off with a single poem.
what did the sign say in the deepest of depths? what words can be shouted when you can't possibly go any lower? when your mind has been boiling and now it's knocked down to a simmer. you're a fucking rice cooker. you've played every game in the book and you've got everyone else's cards memorized.
auto pilot for a curious mind could be your demise.
i am a perpetual disappointment.
my attention span is nearly baseless, which has caused hundreds of these projects to go unfinished throughout my life. i lose interest midway through the timeline and am already carefully tracking the next failed soul assignment.
i have this urge to understand everything, every person. i dissect myself to the point of ruin, and later, analyze why i am constantly over analyzing everything. with or without physical awakedness (a conscious body) my mind is alive and free. my body is simply housing a genius spirit. if only my genius self could copulate with my rebellious self and form a neutral habitat. trying to instill responsibility or obligation in myself is comparable to trying to teach a bird not to fly. the excuse seems as immature as the refusal for infiltration, but nonetheless, it is who i am. allowing someone to impose their thoughts and habits over my own has never fared well. sheer curiosity forces me to listen to every possible perspective in a conversational argument, but i refuse to let anyone tell me what i'm going to believe in. freedom of choice is oxygen to me and as far as i'm concerned, conforming and prejudice are the real "mental illness" that the world faces. those who are recognized as mad are also the same people who have brought light into my darkness. great artists mirror the world for us. their selfless gifts feed our souls. scraping out that kind of creativity takes its toll, whole patches of skin may come off with a single poem.
what did the sign say in the deepest of depths? what words can be shouted when you can't possibly go any lower? when your mind has been boiling and now it's knocked down to a simmer. you're a fucking rice cooker. you've played every game in the book and you've got everyone else's cards memorized.
auto pilot for a curious mind could be your demise.
you punch in like a time-clock. you smoke your cigarette, drink your
coffee, look like you're busy for an hour or two, masturbate in the
bathroom and eat a bagel. shampoo. rinse. repeat. the clock could be the
most frustrating thing to ever be built. time is an unfair opponent.
time always has the first and last laugh. time is enough to drive you
mad. and the face of a clock, it never really changes. it's a god damn
warp zone. every time i look at a clock, i either try to move the hands
with my mind or i am throwing it on the ground and stomping the hell out
of it for laughing at me. unwavering structure everywhere i look.
would the world really end if no one ever knew what time it was?
still in all, i walk when i'm not running. hiding behind the lyrics of my lullaby. my coaxing mechanism. my cure all. when i am gone, instead of a heart you will simply find my words, unspoken. all of the words you should have heard years and years ago. subtle poison that spreads until your song is done. beyond betrayed, my heart has frayed and worn so thin, i swear it must only be a rhythmic journal. you lived your life on a permanent, dead beat vacation. time crosses paths where reminders turn to crimson. paranoia and scratches. i beg for defeat and a restless slumber. wait until the ghost clears and the song has been sung.
still in all, i walk when i'm not running. hiding behind the lyrics of my lullaby. my coaxing mechanism. my cure all. when i am gone, instead of a heart you will simply find my words, unspoken. all of the words you should have heard years and years ago. subtle poison that spreads until your song is done. beyond betrayed, my heart has frayed and worn so thin, i swear it must only be a rhythmic journal. you lived your life on a permanent, dead beat vacation. time crosses paths where reminders turn to crimson. paranoia and scratches. i beg for defeat and a restless slumber. wait until the ghost clears and the song has been sung.
finding humility.
i have found in these
twenty-something years of mine that the best people to surround myself
with are people who have the innate ability to make fun of themselves.
there is nothing more satisfying in the world to me than
self-deprecating tendencies. it rounds everything out. it's a downright
turn-on the way it can take over a person. it's a straight, short road
to my heart, my soul, my very essence. i capture it each time i able to
witness it and praise, adore, give great thanks to the people who take
this skill and hone it in a way that will, ultimately, divide them. it
is the truest form of character i've ever come across. anyone can poke a
few at themselves now and again, but to ravenously sniff out the hunger
and yearn for the ultimate humility, that is a thing of greatness.
my
favorite comedians are absolutely self-deprecating. it's such a thing
of beauty, the thought that goes into it. exploring every facet of
yourself and exposing all the wounds you have been trying to cover your
entire life. facing it -- dead on, and making a joke out of it. it is
fearlessness and confidence in which no other way of dealing with such
things could be conveyed.
and when it all lines up, and
every lever is switched to 'on', it's dynamite. you're untouchable. not
only is it courageous, but it is also, in a way, humbling to see such
human growth. the capacity for knowledge, wisdom and sheer determination
is truly limitless. you just have to find your mark.
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