flagrant disregard

hagia sofia, aya sophia, sancta sophia, holy wisdom, or whatever you prefer to call it, i was going to blog about getting slapped on the ass last week-- right in front of 'that other' marvelous byzantine mosque in istanbul.

the slapper was an old friend neither heard from nor seen in over ten years. he recognized me, but i suppose that is not too surprising. at the time i was trying to avoid eye contact with people-- who wants to get targeted by turkish touts and tour guides? the swarms of guides look to make money off of the foreigner and any minor sign, such as a double take or glance, is taken to mean interest. this swat certainly was a surprising way to get my attention, unlike the idiot bread head who had bothered me to pay him to model for a photograph. from the quaintness of the cobblestone street on which he stood, to the stacked bread 'prop' he wore on his head, it was possible his photograph had already been published in a lonely planet paperback or other widely known travel guide.

"i am not here to shoot a guidebook," i said, while tucking my hasselblad camera back into my daypack. "the tourists will be by to find and fawn over you soon enough." i was not falling for his scheme and had no intention of paying an obligatory tourist baksheesh, whether it be for a legitimate photograph, information, or guided tour.

"you want to take my picture, you do," he urged.

"fine," i replied, and whipped out a tiny digital pocket camera. i shot his photograph while continuing to walk, secretly wishing it was a bubblegum pink colored 'barbie' toy camera (or something equally ridiculous) as to openly offend. of course, after shooting his photo with my cheapy, he wanted the almighty dollar bill.


square of horses, egyptian obelisk--
obelisk of theodosius, hippodrome, istanbul, turkey


since there was never an intention of returning and thereby reinforcing his tactics, i meandered down the hippodrome of constantinople toward the over touristed area near blue mosque... where i was accosted by another grand conglomerate of touts who were urgently jostling for my attention.

cave dwellings and pyroclastic rock shelters-
zelve open air museum, central turkey


camel- nevshir and yaprakhisar, cappadocia

[additional photographs: 1 2 3]

derinkuyu underground city, the citadel of kaymakli, nevsehir--
cappadocia, turkey

aside from trying to navigate through ancient rock settlements, the steeply inclined tunnels which connect each area of these troglodyte underground cities, and, of course, funky foreign keyboards: my lıfe certaınly does not suck.

i am much too tall to have ever survived 'a life underground' in prehistoric cappadocia. each guide who leads travelers through the underground city excels at a hunched over run, while 'the rest of us' are tentatively trying to move through the caves without scuffing our clothes on the rocks. many are accidentally hitting their heads on the course stone. the artifacts which have not been restored are amazing, otherwise, we are cold and bored enough to find entertainment in common camel behavior.

it's becoming uncomfortable for [most of travelers i am currently with] to want to continue visiting notable sites. perhaps a temporary bad mood suggests that the wallet would benefit from pointing at fairy chimney formations and similar geological pinnacles closer to home in trona.

we are all aching from crouching through rock tunnels, irritable from the low temperatures, and definitely losing enthusiasm to continue on to more underground citadels. cappadocia, in particular goreme national park, is an extremely interesting region to visit, but i have spent too much of my trip determining the nuances between subterranean dwellings.

carpets for sale at a flea market/bazaar
agzikarahan, cappadocia, turkey

taken in a cave eight floors underground--
derinkuyu underground city (yeralti kenti), nevsehir, turkey

local residents served turkish apple tea and offered up a backgammon challenge. we found a common language connection not only in the game, but by speaking in russian-
ihlara, turkey


three beauties, conical volcanic rock formations-
ürgüp, turkey

[ürgüp and goreme, cappadocia, turkey]
[trip photos: here, here, and here]
more fun with foreign keyboards! internet cafe kiosk minutes are running low, otherwise i would take the time to code the rest of this entry by hand. long story short, i fell down a cliff, am cold though wearing a heavy jacket, and am probably a day away from the closest middle of nowhere. actually, i am having a pretty good time.

so ı changed all of my passwords before ı left los angeles to facılıtate the fact that the *i* keys don,t regıster properly. duhö, my logın names have *i* ın themç.

sheeshö, thıs doesn,t appear to be a usable postç.

cold, tıred, and searchıng for doner kebabç. a 14 hour bus rıde tonıght and 15 hours of flıghts on frıdayö just to turn around and go back to europe on tuesdayç-- thıs lıfeö, or what amounts to gettıng one, ıs terrıbly strangeç.

by the wayö ıf you want a laughö, ı fell down a flıght of staırsö and ımmedıately fell down ın traffıc whıle crossıng a roadç. the next day ı fell down a clıff and then managed to slıd about 20 more feet downç. ı may have screwed up my kneeç but thıs ıs great funç.

blue mosque (sultan ahmet camii) ceiling detail
istanbul, turkey

the blue mosque--
hippodrome, istanbul, turkey

[amsterdam, holland] [photos]

[photography reception for anton corbijn at torch gallery]

how many best days can there be in one life? today was filled with enough memorable experiences to raise the total up to three "never-will-be-topped" days in my life. all three may have occurred in merely a week and a half. unfortunately, these amazing days leave feelings of loneliness and depression from the afterwards. whenever i receive more than imagined from life-- then what? what else? i can look forward toward what? what will i do or see?

this afternoon i relocated to a less ridiculous, less expensive hotel on the leidesplein, and even though i am paying for it rather than using a voucher, the world is much calmer. the gallery owner at the photography reception mentioned sending everyone in the direction of the hotel de filosoof-- the philosopher's hotel. perhaps you will find me there on the next trip to holland. upon arrival to the previous swanky hotel, i was greeted with a plain, unmarked door. that spectrum of privacy is fabulously unnecessary. was the other place even a hotel? no one would be apprised unless informed ahead of time.

the privacy which blocked off the outside world was lovely, but i never felt so uncomfortable and trapped once inside. did the cold and aloof staff look at me funny? probably not. were they actually cold and aloof? probably not.

"they didn't like me," and other notorious sentiments such as "i wasn't good enough to be there" ran through my head like a tape, and once started, their repetition was impossible to interrupt. this second hotel actually has a sign announcing that yes, it indeed is a place of business and not a concealed cage of sleeping snobbery. i have secured a normal, decent room at a typical marriott by the museum district. there is a wafting scent stemming from the pizza hut restaurant downstairs. my mood is adapting, and feels ever thorned, but this place feels much better and sleep may even happen. for reasons relating to the lack of luxury, i am not introverted and scared to use a computer in the business lounge at this hotel. this is much better.

hotel hotel suite cartwheel test: zero.
nope, no room for gymnastics here.
how bored i get from walking on my hands.

the last hour was spent ironing clothes in front of the television. exciting, eh? of course, now that there are no whirlpool jets in an unnecessary tub, the gloomy rainy weather is making my bones hurt. sounding off about excess while soaking in opulence would have been a greatly tolerated confliction had i ended up stuck over at that other prissy hotel.

i am so scared to be away from home. look at me, i appear to be trying to convince myself that i am calm and can get what i need. even if it is true at the current time, i feel like i am hanging on by a thread. it is as though i fear thinking about where i am and what is going on. sshhh! "don't let me know i am in europe! i might have a panic attack, freak out, and then i don't know what would happen. something bad!" silly, but true.

the only option available now is to take a deep breath and board a flight to istanbul, turkey in the morning. who knows what i will do or see while there. i mentioned armenia, but highly doubt that traveling overland to armenia is practical given the time allowed. one idea is to check the central region of the country called cappadocia off of the list of places to see before i die.

[amsterdam, holland]
i cannot adequately convey enough jaw clenching hatred and knee scuffing seething for cram-in-an-extra-row klm royal dutch airlines. having squashed into their long-haul economy service seven scrunched up times before today, i know their nonstop los angeles (lax) to amsterdam (ams) international service is a flight which requires an upgradable fare to maintain a somewhat even mood.

northwest/klm airlines flight #602:
don't.
don't ever.
i always do.
save yourself.
kill yourself.
wait and they will do it for you.
slowly.
10.5 hours of slow.

define the toxic crap which dripped off of the ceiling of the aircraft cabin. had it not been a full flight, there would have been an easy solution, an alternate seat, and nothing out of cattle class crassness to report. the wet substance fell from the ceiling onto me, my burberry trench, all stale frills tossed to the seat-back tray, and my aforementioned impeccable gabardine suiting.

a similar airplane dripping phenomenon occurred on the reverse klm #601 747 flight departing amsterdam for los angeles last year. is the drip limited to WINDOW A, or are these experiences a subject over yonder in WINDOW K? you know, i'm just too famous for this. let me out. yeah, it is me. i love you, too, but please, don't continue talking to me right now.

currently the attitude and i are sitting in a very lonely five star hotel suite. whatever i am granted is never enough. i need more in the form of less... give it to me. now. NOW.

hotel cartwheel test:
the square footage allows for two gymnastic stunts in a row.

the fact that i am registered at this hotel is driving me mad. excessive! flaunting! flagrant! foul! over the top! fail! it has too much room for one person and for the love of god, would it kill an upscale business to put a soft drink vending machine in the basement next to a coin operated washing machine? hell, hide it behind a locked door if that is too downmarket.

this location offers a terribly chi chi room service selection and the staff will send for the dry cleaning- there is neither a need to attend nor lift a finger. i cannot picture myself acting spoiled enough to 'call on staff' to send out my clothes. not only would that be a profound lack of privacy, but i am not so busy to require this level of service. i refuse all complementary services and hate to have hotel personnel touching any of my belongings, let alone my intimate clothing. in this current state of life, in most cases, the do-it-yourself backpacker mentality rules.

just to look around this rich suite is nervous. is this all intended to be mine for the stay? all of this space? all of this personal attention? it's driving me crazy. what type of person needs each and every amenity? does anyone need all of this STUFF? imagine how incapable one must be to require or request help. here, let me throw it back on them and tsk on everyone for giving it to me in the first place. a jacuzzi whirlpool sits in the corner-- poised for? who promotes these ludicrous ideas? ian schrager? the life i live doesn't deserve any of this luxury right now.

wait a second, is this a dream vacation?
did i not know?
i thought this was a spontaneous fling to europe and the middle east.

obviously, this would be an appropriate time to try out one of those old tablets of xanax to try to render anxiety tolerable.

change the subject.
obsess over everything else.

where can one purchase a package of duracell ultra batteries in amsterdam? where can one purchase goldwell hair color today? also, i should reserve a different hotel room near the leidesplein district-rijksmuseum area, research maps of the central cappadocia region of turkey, and gather recommendations on where to hire a dependable dolmus driver from ataturk international airport in istanbul. worry. plan. structure. go and do. soon this spontaneity will assemble productively and the results will be just fine.

calm down.

i called motherfigure while still somewhat frenzied, knowing it was the only chance to catch her at home, and said, "i am in amsterdam and was, uh, well... going to, um... there has been a change in plans. istanbul! turkey! i'm forcing myself to follow the silk road to armenia or maybe take a bus down to aleppo in syria next week instead of attending the cure concert in hamburg."

while waiting for her to digest my words (and for the uncomfortable silence to end) she interrupted the peace by asking the not-so-obvious question, "well, if you aren't going to germany, what are you doing with those tickets for the concert-- you're not going to throw them away, are you?"

what's that? i decided yesterday to book tickets to amsterdam and istanbul, here i am, and my mother is concerned over the waste of a $50 concert ticket? well, in that reduced case, what about the $50 spent on that international telephone call?

yep, we have all gone mad, but i am isolated on a different mountain-- one most people have never even heard of before now.

whenever writing anything down in ink or posting definite plans on this blog, they almost immediately change to the strange: i am flying to istanbul, turkey on sunday.

[currently in: dallas, texas]
rockstar, ha! i saw joseph arthur perform at the gypsy tea room tonight and have thought all along that the term geek applied... but after talking to him a few times now, have come to admit that geek isn't an appropriate word. it's worse, but i like him just the same.

what's that you say?
there appears to be a lack
of trying to excite the weirdo!?
well, know enough to doubt that.

see, i have been very busy
arranging a trademarked
and highly expected lunacy.


flagrant insanity tour 2002:

oct 22: los angeles to dallas
oct 23: dallas to amsterdam
oct 28: amsterdam to los angeles
oct 31: los angeles to germany
nov 4: germany to los angeles.
nov 5-11: to germany with motherfigure
nov 12: los angeles to london.

no scrubs outside- emergency room signage

in a crowded los angeles hospital emergency room:
4 patients slept and rudely took up 3 chairs each.
3 patients had severe hacking coughs.
1 patient looked like he was about to die.
-- this patient actually did die tonight in the waiting room.
2 kids ran around, yelled, screamed, and cried.
3 patients had amazing manic panic dyed hair.
2 patients wore hats.
1 anorectic freak candidly photographed nothing in particular.
178 people walked through the door into the waiting room.
2 patients loudly admitted to having blood in their urine.
11 patients had incorrectly filled out their intake forms.
7 patients admitted to purchasing prescription drugs in mexico.
4 other patients were placed under arrest and handcuffed.
5 times 1 woman got yelled at by 2 security guards.
3 patients were there longer than me.
-----------------------------------

3:00pm- arrived, requested one specific prescription.
7:00pm- incompetent flunky clerk finished the admittance paperwork.
11:00pm- was called into an examination room.
2:00am- ultrasound.
3:30am- discharged from the emergency room.
- with the requested prescription almost thirteen hours earlier.

sidebar: i am fine and was referred to the emergency room to get a quick once over and the prescription taken care of all in the same visit... true, i have a problem with getting places, but this was a trying experience, too.

finally, a great day.
wonderful things happen when you pry your supposedly perfect ass out of the car.


joseph arthur- long beach, california


autographed instore performance flyer- fingerprints records

my bootlegs from recent shows turned out a+ and the icing on the cake came this afternoon at the fingerprints music store when joseph arthur not only remembered my name but also drew me a picture.

joseph arthur is supposedly still in los angeles today.
should i go meet him?
...and how do i find him?
...and what to wear?
...and what to say to him that he hasn't heard before?

- late for the joseph arthur gig at largo.

you have come this far, get out of the car!

go inside. go inside. go inside.
i can't- something about being too hideous
not entitled to exist
or the ugliest girl for sure.
how the fifth graders still point.

the music played away.
i arrived to the door.

"you're the kid pretending she's in prison..."

how familiar- i think i know you too... thought i heard something once about conquering demons but wrestling them daily just for sport.

- closed my eyes
- listened to the lyrics
- touched my forehead to the wall.

"someone's gonna give you wings, you'll think it's what you need..."

- pondered a shark folded in a goldfish tank
- considered a butterfly dreaming of its cocoon

"you'll fly, you'll be so high..."

opened my eyes to see a handwritten note on the door:

- show sold out tonight -- DON'T PANIC !!!!!!!!! -

"but you're history acts as your gravity.
you're the solution and you are the problem
and now you're alive waiting for your life to begin again."

there is a show at cafe du nord tonight in san francisco. i could go, drive to the venue, park in the pay lot, present my claim to the ticket taker, endure the touch of hand stamping, and enter the building.

then what, other than fear and panic?

scoot it to the restroom only to spin around quickly and run from that pinkish judgment zone. how ridiculous that females who have never made a dollar with their looks, always feel entitled to scrunch up their foreheads or noses at the fashion of other people. i could stand around uncomfortably in the lounge for the three minutes which seem like 20 before heading back to the car.

wasted ticket
wasted parking
wasted anticipation
wasted effort

12 hours on the freeway.

i can get to places now, but almost always have trouble with going in and *staying* there. how does one learn to ignore the eyes, or don the arrogance to secretly scoff at the cheap, cigarette reeking, drugstore makeup scags in the restroom? someone could accompany me places to calm the nerves, but i feel deeply entitled to make things harder on myself.

i should have tried to send my mother a present or at least a card by now- but what is the perfect gift? i don't offer much contact, thus, any type of presentation must fulfill multiple parameters of thoughtfulness and perfection.

i would like to think that it is a little different for me. slack. perhaps, i have an excuse or two that the rest of my family are unable to use- i live 2000 miles away from her and therefore can't easily 'take her shopping' or 'out to lunch' as a gift. a gift certificate, in my father's loudly well-versed opinion, is completely unacceptable.

unacceptable means: the gift will be returned to sender. i had many unhappy christmas and birthday mornings with a mentally ill father handing back wrapped gifts to the givers with a simple statement: "this isn't acceptable." will i ever be able to reflect on this and think "god, what an ass" or do i continue to counter feelings by blaming his illness for eternity?

a gift certificate shows absolutely no thought. in my father's opinion, this type of gift is an insult and i am not allowed to insult my mother with a gift certificate regardless if she wants it or not. if a gift had ever arrived late, due to either me or the postal service, it resulted in the same situation: not accepted. if one is going to send a gift, one should at least know the person enough to have the ability to pick out *something* and get it to them on time. he has valid points but carries them out too far.

there is a lot of stress dealing with the household of the mentally ill in which i grew up, even if the focus isn't on the ill individual. this blog entry is about my mother's birthday and here i am spending words detailing my father's interference- how i have to put more thought into how that present is going to effect him. my broken mirror reflects 100 identical images as people must feel the same about me.

i should phone. that means a lot but feels cheap.
i wonder if calling might mean less than a box containing:
- wow
- the unexpected
- the perfect birthday gift
- and a side of godiva biscotti.
- all perfectly dressed in nice wrapping paper and mailed on time.

my telephone remains disconnected so calling is out- strike one.
sending anything, even by fedex is too late now- strike two.

airline frequent flyer mile perks are the only reason to send expensive birthday flowers via computer, those could be delivered today. airline miles never seem to get posted and i recently have no credit card due to a shyness which follows the payment to the mailbox- strike three.

a letter from my parents in wednesday's mail:
"we're concerned about you..."
(because i'm constantly unreachable)
(because anorexia is frightening)
"be responsible..."
(because my telephone is disconnected)
(because i don't talk to people, why pay for it?)
"we will send the police if we have to find you..."
(big threat, to get me to make contact- it always works)

in black biro it said: "we have begun to think you might be dead."
(sorry charlies, i think that was a few years back)

it's very clear why and why i never keep in contact:
- shy... just going to find a pay phone to use seems overwhelming
- scared... a psychotic woman attacked me at a pay phone once
- i don't want to make contact with my family
- i have no new information to relate
- i don't want to hear about an imaginary thing that i did wrong.

my overwhelming inability today shows there is far to go. i don't know what to do when i know the appropriate answer is to send a gift certificate- i could get through my own stupid issues and do that, but someone else would be standing in my way telling me that my actions are unacceptable and i did the entire job wrong. start over. try again. return to sender. did nothing wrong but failed again. i'll just stay in today, thanks.

what happened last year:n two months after my mother's gift certificate was interrupted and returned to me by my father, christmas came and my dad said that i could have at least sent a gift certificate in a card for my mom's birthday. huh what? hello? then almost in the same breath both parents want to know why i have such a hard time with decision making and following through with things.

everything is a wasted effort.

will they check their watches and think i am frumpily, rather than fashionably late? i'm four minutes from being three minutes away from a wasted trip but i seem to be duct-taped to this chair- stuck at home. the door looks unlocked but it isn't.

thank your lucky stars.

jackass. i can't kill bunbury, but i can choose to awaken him with a huge spray of 409 cleanser in his mouth tonight when he falls asleep. fucking teach him to mumble under his breath about me when i am not in the room.

could someone please explain why everyone on earth is hiring for positions which do not commence until sometime after the first quarter of next year? i guess these job interviews are good practice. weird experiences though- they like me, but i don't want what they can offer.

i have multiples upon multiples of concerns relating to a job interview to get through, and am stuck in the default mode: oh my god, i am going to die or make a blatant fool out of myself so i might as well stay home. why bother with this stress?

what would happen if i were to reverse the fear and adhere to an unfamiliar perspective?

i'd stammer?
present and articulate my abilities quite professionally?
wonder who was doing the talking?
sit inside myself and watch the scene from an uncomfortable chair?
wimper upon departure?

oh, this job interview...
oh, the discomfort in trying to say and think things in reverse...

they'll love me, dammit. i own impeccable wool gabardine suiting and yes, though formulaic, it does matter how the candidates decide to assemble and promote themselves. the interview panel will insist i am perfect even though tottering upon arrival with a hair color which needs to be toned.

this sarcasm may actually help to facilitate essential attitude.

when they admit that this particular position of employment is not scheduled to begin until next year, i will fold, hiss at the heels, and fly to france tomorrow-- to sign a $45,000 student loan note and train to become a floppy white hat wearing french chef at le cordon bleu. parisian pigeons will beg to be romanced by my airy pastry on the cobblestone streets. time not spent tortured by gastronomy or spoon feeding potential husbands will be isolated and superflat. after substantial paintbrush licking, my art intends to die a cold cobalt death.

see, if i drank, i could at least say that all of the previous forehead-wrinkling posts were written when i was drunk. no, it was me, and i admit to melodramatic crap, useless sentence fragments, whiney what-ifs, and bad poetry about volkswagens.

insomnia sits besides me due to financial fears, the weather, and whether or not the technicians at the photo developing business are going to screw up or forget to push-process my valuable film. should i call them? should i not call them? i need to remember to stress about reconnecting or reestablishing telephone service. anxiety is crazy lately. i worry that my dad is going to die, am concerned about blogger linking and commenting protocol, about retrieving tomorrow's mail, and am also mulling over the potential of being attacked while running ten minutes from now.

it's all nonsense, but since these fears are rooted in possibility, they continue. do i smell? what is that cramp i occassionally get in my face? by living with a long term eating disorder, am i setting myself up for multiple sclerosis? what about a cardiovascular disease? am i that lucky? am i that unlucky? why do i have to wait for disaster to inspire changes in my life? should i change toothpastes? is sodium laurel sulfate making me break out? am i gluten intolerant? bunbury is unaware to whether or not i ate yesterday, should i wake him up? i really need to buy some pants that fit for three job interviews, but where? holy mother of madness why does everything cost so much? have i been living underground for that long? why don't i have a fred segal account? will additional suiting from j. crew be acceptable? should i go with something else?

it all goes away when an anxiety priority is set:
what if all of this is for naught, and i die in a fiery car accident en route to a new job on the first day?

you would hear about it.
i know you would.
you would think i didn't make it.

perhaps, nothing is wrong.

perhaps, everything simply feels wrong.

perhaps, i am glad to lack the experience of apathy.

perhaps, a little bit of The Doom is stuck in my chest.

perhaps, The Doom prefers the breastbone over pounding on my head.

perhaps, the physical location of depression relocated south for the winter.

perhaps, DAILY LIFE is taking too long to return to normal.

perhaps, i am not invested.

perhaps, i will remain ineffective.

perhaps, i will inaccurately suggest that my hamster wheel squeaks.

perhaps, the return to DAILY LIFE is taking an eternity because the world looks like FEAR.

perhaps, FEAR is merely a scattered wreck which lacks a map.

perhaps, chaos is allowing for time to slow down long enough for me to reflect on how it really has been that bad.

i wish i could record my every thought during that last 100 mile an hour half-mile of my life.

suicide couldn't happen unless my brain was in dissociative heaven.

what if there are no thoughts and just blank-eyed calm?

"i wish you were dead," i said.
[why?]
"no, i didn't tell you why. i only said i wished you were dead."

fighting gets insane, inane, and each other's voices are mimicked
- until a property damage threat
- until the chaotic silence begins to kill the both of us
the hours turn into minutes which drag.

"i don't wish you were dead. i don't know why i say those things," i tried to apologize.
["but you do say thos--"]
"never mind, if i cannot even try to fix- just, never mind. i do. i do wish you were dead."
the minutes limp and limp.

["do you really wish i was dead?"]
"no, i am more of a 'carve-your-eyes-out while you are nailed upside-down from a tree in my back-forty' type of person. death by butter knife. are you so weak you will merely see my dull instrument and perform your death-rattle on cue?"

i wonder how it gets like that.


how does one learn to stop psychologically abusing people? if anyone, i can see the damage it builds. these people i refer to are not children and i am neither authority nor 'the power of the hand of DAD' so they should blow me off. they never will. they instead choose to listen, thereby donating a power, and adding an increase in strength to my cocky mouth's psychotic words.

mean words
+ ridiculous sentences
+ my stick figure/frighteningly thin body
+ threatening someone with a butter knife
= how/why do they let *this* control them?

i know i am a big threat / i know i am meaningless.

a-type is back... back to trying to accomplish ninety two things at once. i am constantly scanning for a better mortgage deal (so i can abuse myself with the knowledge that i am paying too much)... am searching for a job for the interim time until spring... scanning the food sales circulars... looking for the best web hosting/shopping cart/domain name registration situation... listening to green bay stomp the chicago bears (in one ear)... kfi am radio show host phil hendrie is acting as bud dickman and david g. hall (the other ear)... 32 short films about glenn gould is in the dvd player... looking for someone to accompany me to largo next week... typing out a second manuscript... and finally i am considering the (terrible) potential caloric benefits (consequences) that a fast food bean burrito from del taco might have on my body.

random fact: my brother is a professional motocross racer.

rule #522: no diluted blogging.

once upon a time before the common internet connection
i was very fake.
it kept myself entertained- no one else.

today i met a pane of glass
windexed and newspaper buffed
holding a mirror- recently resilvered.
it read me the rules of reflection.

i come here boring and real.
no need to lie or cheat
but i'd like to and i admit it.

do not want to...
cannot password protect.
never need to negate these words.
get to the end...
have set a date.
expiration date: march 15, 2003

how did something so innocuous as an adolescent calorie issue turn into this?

whiz bang the funny things people say to me. i don't take any of them as a joke and don't care if you mean it as a joke but sure i can go along with it. what you don't know: later i am going to take your words and hold them in my mouth, reciting them over the day and over my endless overnight. written in my book. scratched on my hand. thoroughly manipulated and used against me and against my life. you're twisting my words, you'll say. mm-hmm, i know. i will tomorrow too.

rule #521: tell me when you are going to throw stuffed animals as i assume they are rocks.

i can't turn off the computer... cannot go to bed.
if i go to bed i cry which is exhausting
never crying myself to sleep again.
you cannot make me and so awake remains.
the next day, take a pill... don't go to bed.
don't ever go to bed.
don't stop moving on this exercise bike.
they talk. i talk. we chat, i guess.
we could go here. we could do this.
sure.
sure.
and it's all fine.

turn off the computer. it's not fine.
i'm here.
i'm stuck.
there is my door and it opens inwardly. i am not immobilized but cannot explain that I AM stuck and will not go out there EVER and I DO NOT WANT to go out there because someone is going to look at me.
why can't i say, "so what?"

just barely did i get outside today. earlier i had to drive to downtown los angeles- near the rosslyn-frontier "million dollar hotel." that formerly sketchy, but now merely grim area of the city offers enough stress for three posts, but maybe later.

as soon as i got into the car and pulled out onto the street, i proceeded to yell out the window at a bunch of people standing on my corner. who the hell am i? i am too shy to take out the garbage most days for fear of being seen in my own complex, so what the heck am i doing yelling at a bunch of strangers outside? well... this is not mexico. this is not van nuys. undocumented workers are not going to start displaying boxes of fruit, or selling bags of bruised oranges on my corner. no. oh no. not during "mortgage application week." no sir.

today was a good day aside for the fact i am going to hell (again) due to lying about my weight on a background investigation form. imagine how one, two, three, or even five-- possibly a discrepancy of ten pounds could be acceptable. i wrote that am 35 pounds more than true. do we all predict a frantic post about lead-lined jeans in my future?

the problem is... i have everything riding on that job. i feel so fucked up and shy inside that even though it doesn't commence until the springtime, i feel like it is starting next week. it feels like tomorrow. excitement and dread and hope and a paycheck every week, not every few months or year or intern credit and oh, i am so fucked. i have hope and i am scared to have any hope because of stupid superstitions.

completely fucked, for if there is no reason for them to tell me to stay home and they don't want me, then some non-visual psychological problem will stand in my way between here and my oldbutnew car and that job. i am screwed. i am so screwed. i am truly doomed.

i only change my clothes because they are drenched from crying and that has got to end. an orange gap sweatshirt should be hard to dampen with my face, but i'm sopping.

put it to use. paint something. you can't write anything all week because things are fine so when you cry: write, paint, do something... anything try something except pound fists into your leg. something.

this level of fear cannot be articulated. i'm scared to death. i'm fucked. how many times do you want to read that? i'm sick of writing it except this week i have no vocabulary. nine days go by: i ate a tomato on, i think, last monday the 23rd. was that september, i don't remember, and a bite of a raw potato last wednesday. did i miss october? how can it be october? where the hell are the dancing mushrooms? something somewhere do something.

nothing happens...
that might be good because i've been waiting for my brain to shut down. is this it? did it happen? nothing happens because i'm sitting around... easy to miss food for a week when you sit in one place. where the hell are the spelling errors? where the fuck are the mixed up words? nope, same stupid errors in grammar and nothing else too notable that could not be passed off as fast typing. everything is annoying the hell out of me and that is nothing new but that's all.

...wait just a minute, did he say lesbian?

angry angry angry angry angry angry angry...
and too lazy to keep typing it to the extent that i feel.

hurt myself. tired of this. don't want to hurt myself.

valuable.
but worthless.
useless.
i'm reconsidering a way that might leave a big mess.

captain beefheart is somewhat chortling from the stereo. dr. laura schlessinger is yapping on the a.m. band from a yet-to-be-turned-off alarm clock. the loudmouthed cat is sitting on the window ledge and howling out the window.

worse: english titled blogs with asian language text content.

people romanticize the strange quirks of artists, focusing on their bizarre eating habits, and penchant for isolation. how to change the perspective that mental illness and a life of pain are not admirable qualities? no money, no job, no friends, no food, no residential or cellular telephone services, no electricity...

next month, i swear, that when this day comes, it will be handled better and i won't automatically have to get sick. crap, did i say the same thing last month?

...because, you know, i get no credit or accolades for lurching across to the other side of the world by myself. taking care of myself, eating, and not suffering... i'm supposed to be able to do all of that AND bring in enough money on a ritualistic basis already. i can't fucking get dressed some days because of the crap left over from the food problems. 'retail' isn't going to hire someone who cannot take a goddamn shower everyday or every week for fear that a shower and nakedness will disrupt their situation of trying to keep in food. (try to keep in food= try everything possible + do not take off clothes in mirrored bathroom.) snap my fingers and everything got better except the things that weren't broken. unfortunately they got gritty and worse.

seven times i say: i didn't pay for it.
so the eighth question comes from the first person asking the same thing. do i bother to answer?

person paying rent suggests:

"i am sure you could try to turn [your blog] into a lesbian porn site and make a fortune, apparently that internet porn is quite popular nowadays... you could just post a few nude pics or video of yourself on the blog and charge a little entrance fee."

perhaps this is not an odd suggestion, considering that i have access to an x-rated video of him. i wouldn't automatically think in the bent direction of 'pornography as income' but he can, so i shouldn't be appalled at the joke. trust me that no matter how desperate, no one in the world could enjoyably (or successfully) use his recorded imagery.

this has been a good day, i was going to write, but then considered checking in on e-mail one last time, superstition, because it is the third of the month and i have yet to pay my rent which was due on the first. i was waiting to get that e-mail, the one that asks if i can pay the rent, car, etc, etc, because notscott hopes i am doing better. there is really no hope at all. that person does not care about anything except the date my paycheck starts.

it feels bad and sure enough to the goddamn minute:
inbox infiltration.
supposedly i need to get it together: faster.

i had such big plans for yesterday.

the day broke and the worry regime caught up. it's alright, i've got big plans, i'd say, reassuring myself. it's going to be just fine. don't you worry... it will be fine fine fine. everything's better rapunzel, you're free to go. today is different. i watched the stocks and rode the bike. nice and calm, food is taken care of today... decided and planned. keep calm. i sold a film and filed forms. relax, it will be a perfect day. type type type type... afternoon turned black and the store closed before i left the house. decided and planned means no exceptions to the rule and no 24 hour grocery store will do.

tomorrow... big plans. big plans on a tuesday- doesn't quite work so well.