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It's Sunday night and I'm spending some quite time here, trying to unwind the corkscrews in my brain.
It usually takes a few hours after the weekend of busting chops to plow through the mountian of work that's always waiting.
The mountian will never get done.
It was cold out this morning and I'm looking forward to a more consistant weather pattern. I want so bad to have a huge bon fire where we can be a lot tribal and watch the night sky.
Alot of people at work are as frustrated as I am. Several are doing what I started doing, looking for a new job.
One person who watches alot of things asked me how many hours I get, and when I told her she replied "and they expect you to do all this stuff?"
"yeah" was my reply.
"That's nuts" was her reply. It was nice to be validated in that area.
Makes me feel a little less crazy and not so guilty when I'm moving in a little slower manner to finish something that requires some extra time.
I made some tomato cheese toast when I got home and put some garlic sauce on top. It was yummy. As I ate it, there was a flow of requests that I join everyone in the front room....I stayed in the kitchen. I wanted some quite time.
So many people wanting all the time....and there are so many times I want to lay my head down and have someone just take care of me for a little while.
I don't want to do or say anything or fix anything or make anything alright.
I just want someone to pat my head and let me fall asleep.
I feel like the rock that keeps the dam from bursting at the seams sometimes.
If I could be a four leaf clover for a little white,
and just sit in the sun, vanished in a field
it would be awesome.
Or a pebble on the sand next to the ocean, non discript and let the edge of the waves just wash over me, it would be awesome.
I guess I'm just way over tired tonight. Just like a lot of other nights.
Sleep well everyone.
This morning I was continuing on a painting that has been in process for over a month and the frustration at it not going anywhere or showing me the direction that would take me to the end of the story as it were, caused me to take up a very point pen and begin to try to fix it.
It was fine until I began to realize that if I continued much longer I would end up distroying it.
It dawned on me that I needed to take a break. A big one. From several things.
In looking for a different job, my hope is that part of the intense frustration I feel will subside. If it doesn't, well then there is something else that needs to be changed.
What that is, I don't have a clue at the moment.
My suspicion is that I'm too close to so many forests all at once to see clearly at all.
At least it's not pitch black anymore. Now it's just deep shades of dark and their fuzzy so I can't tell what I'm looking at.
I think I need a vacation from me. But since there is no zipper on this body that I can just unzip and walk away for a while, then I have to figure my way out.
Looking at everything that surrounds me in my life, and looking at it for what it is, I'm very aware that what hits my senses and emotions is all problems.
Things unsolvable, and raw.
There is no gentleness about what my emotional state has been like over the past 6 months.
What I see happening in the goverment, and the lack of regard for the earth and the stewardship that we humans are suppose to be emersed in.
The corporate world and it's lack of regard for anything but money.
The people I see who are terrified of their own creativity, and need a babysitter to give them enough confidence to do anything of the simplist nature. Like using a stencil, or paint, or finishing a peice of prefab resin cast plaster.
Or even looking at raw materials and thinking about what's possible.
I don't see life. I don't see children being given safe childhoods anymore. That's been going on for years. Children are looked at and studied and bombared with immages and products that they shouldn't have to deal with.
Adults shouldn't have to deal with being bombarded with so much crap.
I call it crap because what it ends up becomming is just one more thing that will end up in landfills and polution in the water making everything that much more of a mess....
See what I mean? My head is full of all of this. More and more all the time. I see some people struggling to fight back, but because we have been so anestized when the ideas of change and simplifing hit us in the face there is no interest. Just give me another fix of t.v. or junk food or new clothes or plastic entertainment and shut up. I can't hear the latest gossip from hollywood....
I see farms that infected with so much chemical crap that it's a wonder we all don't have a meriad of disease going on in our bodies.
We eat this stuff that comes out of chemical drenched ground that's been genetically altered to the point where it's dead.
The majority of the food that is available to us in supermarkets has been irriated, changed over salted, over sugarized over done and filled with things that we don't need.
Everyday there is a new pill that you can take for something that is sympomatic that your body isn't getting what it needs, and the side effects are worse than what your suffering from.
If all this stuff we take or eat or wear or watch really did any good, it would put big business out of business.
If a person went to a doctor and actually got well there would be no need for the doctor anymore.
If a pill could truly fix what's wrong the pharmacuticle companies would go out of business.
It's to their advantage to keep us in at least a somewhat diseased state.
This is the kind of stuff that I see that frustrates me endlessly, and I can't seem to stop seeing it.
I need to somehow change the movie. But there in lays the problem, I don't know how.
I feel like I'm screaming with all my might and there is no sound comming out....maybe I'm going mad....
madness and genius are twins and just to mess with our comfort zones they change places on a regluar basis.
The last few days I've been watching comedy movies to try and lighten things up. But it's not working.
I feel like I'm standing on the sand and watching a wall of water comming at me that there is no escape from.
And the reason there is no escape is because even though there are helecopters just over head, no one will throw down a rope.
I'm expendable, and momentary, and of no use to their adgenda.
So their watching and eating while I stand below waiting for death to come.
That's how I feel. And I don't know how to escape what I feel, so that I can enjoy the day.
I can't just walk away from myself, like I did with the painting this morning.
I feel like I'm being distroyed by all I see and there is no escape.
Maybe all it will take to escape is for the weather to settle down and become spring. Maybe I have major cabin fever and just don't reconize it.
Maybe I'm so over tired and so exausted that what I really need is about 3 days sleep.
Maybe I need to just stop debating what I can't fix and stop driving myself crazy...
The people who know what their doing and how harmful it is arn't listening anyway.
Their too busy being concerned about how much money their going to make to day to listen to reason.
...after I watched Donnie Darko for the first time, I was overwhelmingly inspired to answer with a series of small drawings. One of them says:
Are you so deaf
Are you so blind
that the things
that really matter
you don't take the time
to really mind?"
That's what's screaming inside my head, every day, and when I sleep it screams inside my dreams.
It screams at me when I pick up a newspaper or read a magazine.
It screams at me when I see people terrified and rushing around in circles doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
It screams at me when I see brand new, never been used products being destroyed because they haven't sold.
It screams at me when people let the whims and latest fashions dictate to them who they should be.
It screams at me when I see more and more generations wandering around aimlessly with no purpose.
It screams at me every time a farmer drenches his fields with more chemicals.
It screams at me when they herd buffalos up and kill them because their are in the way of feed lots and might just infect the over chemically infected cows that we get our beef from.
It screams at me when hospitials over charge the poor.
It screams at me when the man who sits in the most powerful office in this country shows just how little he values human life by giving companies that are responsible for the majority of land being distroyed, the land we live on and get our food from, more and more money. And by these actions tells us that he doesn't give a rip about us, we are expendable, momentary and the only things that truely matter to him are money and power.
Yeah it screams at me all the time. And I don't know how to make it shut up.
I think it screams because my heart is broken over all the unessiary loss that takes place ever day.
That's all I can see anymore.
And I realize that the in the last few posts I've been screaming,
Are we so deaf
are we so blind
that the things
that really matter
we are too busy
to have the strength
to be able mind...
Very early this morning there was a conversation that took place.
It was about art and it's value.
Now what made this conversation interesting to me was that it took place in my head.
And as it happens when thoes kinds of conversations take place where I'm just the listening end of it and the people who are talking are people who I know and voices that are generated from articles and observations, I listen and often find that I too have my opinions about what's being disgussed.
I save my replys for my journals. It's the one place where I'm the only voice I'm dealing with.
The conversation went something like this "you should do something with your art" and "Your really good at that, you should sell your art" and "To achieve reality in your paintings you must do a,b and c" and "the only true artists are the one's who've gone to school to learn how to do art properly"
And this, "we only want to see your art if you have all thoes letters behind your name"...
The status quo. The right way to do it. This the only way to do it. (People who are in the position of teaching,who don't realize they are simply guides who are there simply to help people to find the art well in themselves, who should never be allowed to teach. Their true intrest is in reproducing themselves.
They need to be in a factory somewhere doing assembly line work, and deal with their inscurities that one of the students or several may surpass their ablities in creating.)
I have this crazy notion that simply by participating in the act of creating a person is doing something with their art.
They are doing it.
I think the next time someone says thoes stupid words to me, that I should be doing something with my art, I'm going to look at them and depending on if they are male or female, I'm going to say, hmmm, you have sperm/eggs, you should be out there doing something with it.
See what kind of reaction it produces.
I'm so tired of people looking at the creative process in terms how much money it can make.
I'm tired of artists denying how the art really wants to come out and enslaving themselves to what will be marketable or not.
That makes for nothing more then a bunch of great technitions.
If you really sat down with some of these people and asked them what kind of art they would be doing if what they secretly loved doing could make them money, I wonder what kinds of answers they would give.
There are so many works of art out there that are dead works because there is nothing of the artist present in the work other than the trained skill on the canvas.
The ones that are alive are the one's that grab you and shake you and make the insides of you do things.
It's a lovely thought that what you love others would too and get it in their head that what you love to create is worth money to them.
But if it never happens, is that any reason to stop creating and stop loving the act of creation?
I read a passage in a book once, the title is "Bird by Bird" I can't remember the authors name, but she was talking about the students that take her seminars on writing.
They always ask her about publishers and getting published.
Her response doesn't make them happy at all.
She says that they need to write for themselves above all else, and that they shouldn't think about writing to get published.
Many of them, she says, leave very disapointed. Somewhere in the mix, they have come to believe that this awesome gift inside them only has value if it gets published.
What a waste. And it's the same with thoes who do visual art.
We are told by galleries, magazines, jurried shows, that if we don't have something that is done a certian way so it can be marketed, what we do is of no value.
Children are taught this, unwittingly by their parents, and then by the school system and then by the market place.
And the really sad thing is they really believe it's true.
This giant machinery that decides if what you have in you has value or not. And if it doesn't then you need to stop doing it, or if you persist in doing it, call it a hobby.
How dedraging is that.
So here I am, flying in the face of the machinery, screaming with my life, that if you love it, and you participate in it, and flow with it and dance with it, and no matter how it looks to the rest of the world, it has value.
It's precious. It's beautiful and is worth just as much as the Mona Lisa.
Or Stary night. Or Falling Water. Or the statue of David.
It's priceless because it came from the same pool as thoes other works of art did.
The heart and the soul and the spirit inside a human being.
What you create is amazing.
And to look at it and compare it to anothers act of creation and deem it valueless is a sin against yourself and what you have inside you.
All of this self devaluation is a direct result of a realitivly few individuals with certian tastes who have for what ever reason been elevated to the position of deciding a work of art's value.
Did you know that a critic once told Van Gogh that his art was dog shit?
Immagine that. Immagine what would we would have missed out on if Vincent had listened to that crack pot.
If he had not been so emersed in the act of creation that was flowing out of him like a continual flood and listened to that critic he probably would have gone back to his flat and distroyed all the art and all the tools he used to create it.
That critic was part of the machinery. The same stupid machine that is still up and running today.
Do yourself a favor and stop listening to the machinery, and all it's agents.
If you love writing poetry, then do it. If you love to finger paint then do it, if you love writing novels that never get finished because you get too side tracked, do it.
If you love writing music, even if you never learn how to transcribe on paper what that music is, do it anyway.
If you love sewing and quilting and kniting because it's a joyful thing and makes you happy, keep doing it.
Don't ever let anyone convince you that what you create has no value if it's not marketable or doesn't look like the picture in the magazine.
If you love to cook or build things out of legos or design things that fall apart, and the fun part is watching it fall apart, or anything else that makes you an active part of that creative process inside you, do it.
And keep doing it.
Do it becasue it's a gift inside you. Do it because that's part of the creative package that you got when you were concieved.
And if it all comes down to you being the only audience you ever have, do it anyway.
You'll be a better, happier person because of it.
It's so hard for me when I listen to people who are terrified of their creativity. They are afraid of making a mistake.
They want it to look like the one in the magazine.
They can't draw because it doesn't look like this or that, or it's a waste of time.
It breaks my heart. It tears me up inside. And everytime I meet these people they tell me stories of what they used to do.
And when I ask them why they stopped they give me a long list of reasons.
And I want to scream and weep for the loss. I want to grab hold of them and tell them that who ever told them thoes things was wrong.
And that making mistakes is a learning process, and tell them about all the peices of art that I thought were mistakes at first and when I decited to see what would happen if I continued are the works that have blown me away in what unfolded in the end.
I want to take all thoes people who out of ignorance have done so much to kill the beauty of the creative process and flush their heads in several toilets until they stop doing the damage they do.
I want to take all thoes frustrated artists who are in teaching positions because they got rejected by galleries because what they were creating wasn't in vogue or wasn't a nice decorator peice, and tell them stop making your students pay for someone elses stupidity.
I want to tell them that they are only guides. That they can't teach creativity because it's as individual as the person and it's a gift that each human has.
That all they can do is show people the tools that are used and how they work and after that it's their responsiblity to encourage them to explore the creative well inside them.
And blow off the lid and tear away the box it's in, because it's the biggest christmas gift they got when they got created.
I want to tell anyone who will listen that just because how you create isn't what's popular or marketable, that doesn't mean that you should stop.
It just means that you have something that is rare and beautiful and something that no one else can take away from you.
Give yourself permission to aprove your art, what ever form it takes, and give your self permission to love the act of doing it smiply because you can.
What a waste it would be, if at the end of your life, you had missed all the wonders that are part of that gift simply because you had listened and believe someone who doesn't get to live inside your shoes or taste how good your creative cookies are.
They were and are created first for you, and then for anyone else you care to share them with.
That I believe is the fundemental essence of participating in the act of art.
Everything else shouldn't direct what you do with it.
And one final thought, if you have let thoes around you and the world tell you that what you create has no value because your not "doing" something with it,
do your self a huge favor and tell them to go stick it where the sun don't shine.
This post was edited by harold_maude on Feb 16, 2005.
On certian days of the year, designated as pivotial moments that we use as the yard sticks of the passage of time, the idea of midnight being the breaking point, or threashold of the beginning of a momentous occasion, feels like a knife as it hits the bottom of a block of cheese.
It becomes a seperate thing, how ever it may resemble the thing it was just connected to, it is now a seperate and soverign actulized creation.
That's how certian days of the year sometimes feel.
There is a certian expectaion of the magic of midnight on these days, as though something, somewhere has now affected the whole world, and yes even the universe.
It occured to me that in reality, every day is like that. Every approach to midnight, is essentially that powerful.
But it seems that only certian days are given that recontion.
To a woman who has just given birth, from that moment on the day before her child's birthday carries with it much, and the hour of midnight makes the reality of time and what it is doing to her child and her as well, effect the entire day.
She remembers details, and they are again fresh.
To the rest of the world that day probably means nothing.
We are strangers to the events that shape the person's lives who are sitting with us everyday at work, on the street and in the market.
It would seem that only designated days give us that collective, aha, we are different feeling.
As I was pondering all of this, I thought about the hour and it's approach. I will be changed come midnight. I will have breathed in roughly 60 million new cells and exhaled a huge number of cells as well,( the number escapes me at the moment).
I will have and do have the same cells that have been in many of your bodies just a short while ago.
And cells that were in my body are now in yours.
This is sience fact not fiction.
At midnight, which signifies the beginning of tomorrow, I will be a new person.
My thoughts will be new and old, and at some point durring the next 24 hours, memories of so many things will peak and fall in my awareness.
There will be continuations of today, I believe because there are some flows of life that take time to leave.
Someone once said that you can not step into the same river twice, becasue the river is always new.
How all of this thought process started was the idea of a half hour before midnight, and christmas. And then New years.
And I thought how big thoes days were. And how each day is like christmas and new years, because each day has gifts, and each day is new, and has the potential of being the best day of my life.
The world can be a pit. And the world can be an adventure. The pit can be a seed waiting to germenate, or it can be a place of in your face death and distruction.
It can be an adventure that leaves you breathless or one that will leave you dreading everything.
The view depends on you and where you are inside. Everything in life is a test of who you are and what the truth of who you are is.
It's a daily report card of how your handling living in this world.
Things that happen that catch you off balance will show you who you are. And sometimes we amaze ourselves, sometimes in a good way and sometimes in a way that makes us feel so many bad things about who we are.
In the comfort zone of your life, what you surround your self with, you are the ruler and king or queen as the case may be,
If nothing upsets the balance, you can search inside you and believe that you know yourself.
But I've found that to know the real you, the balance has to be upset so that you can find out where you are solid and whole.
That's a scary thought.
It's in thoes moments that decisions made can change everything in our lives with such potency that afterwards we are different people clear down to our bones.
If we are willing to be honest, we'll see that we are the same as thoes we see as our enemies, the ones we collectivly seek to distroy.
The enemy. The friend. The only difference sometimes is what each of us believe in.
It's a fine thin line, and it's sharp.
Somewhere out there a baby or several have just been born. They don't know about war, or famine or hate or injustice or christmas or new years, or violence or fields of corn riping under the summer sun, or the smell of roses or jelly donunts just fresh out of the fryer.
They only know they have just gone from a warm comfort zone into an alien land and it feels...well I would think, pretty weird.
It's seven minuets past midnight, and it's started. Seven minuets ago. A new day, will new things that are different than the same things that happened yesterday, simply because it's today....
It's a big day. This day. There will never be another one like it.
Do yourself a huge favor and love yourself and thoes around you today. That's an awesome thing to do, on this new day.
It's a good day.
I've been informed that I'm the only person in the house allowed to cook fish. According to the general concenses I make kick ass food.
I don't mind being the cook. But the problem is that I can never seem to cook enough for left overs, unless I'm doing great enough quanities that there is no way that these people can eat it all in one night.
I guess that makes all thoes years in the kitchen facing the same delma a statement that I understand what tastes good.
I can see it in my head. The different flavors that work and how they can be complimentary or violent war-like beasts.
It's funny thinking about spices and liquids in thoes terms.
Certian spices do wonders for most anything with in certian arenas, while others in the wrong place can be, well, like going outside in your underwear and all the neighbors are out there too.
I made 10 pounds of chicken the other night. I think I found the perfect batter for frying chicken in. Beer batter, with onion and cajin spice. It sticks to the chicken and doesn't slide off somewhere and stare up at you with an appoligetic crumble in it's eye.
I had left over batter so I proceeded to make fritters and still had batter left over, so I took maple smoked turkey slices and dipped them in the batter and fried them up too.
There was still batter left over and if I would have had some hard boiled eggs I would have dipped them in the batter and fried them up as well.
I had left over batter and was tired of trying to find things to use up this batter with.
Now it's two days later and it's staring at me.
Waiting and doing things that happen to batter as they age, especially when beer is involved.
The ten pounds of chicken, the fritters and the turkey lumps are gone, they were gone the next day. All that remains is the batter. I'm wondering what I can do with this stuff and wondering if I cook with it how it will taste. Maybe it will be horrible and maybe the aging of the batter will be an aha moment in cooking history.
Sort of like the discovery of sour dough.
With this cold hanging around I'm not sure cooking is a good idea right now, so maybe I'll just watch it like you would with a sicence experiment and write a paper when green things start crawling out of the bowl that it's in.
I'm sure something will come to me. But I'm glad I've found the thing that will stick to chicken when you fry it.
I was wondering how something like rum would be as part of the liquid in a batter for frying.
I've got a mind to get some little bottles of flavored rum or brandy and try them out.
I know that rum in cookies is good, and whiskey in cake is wonderful.
And cooking deer meat and beef in thoes things makes them wonderful.
So does grape juice and grape jelly and any other kind of jelly you want to throw into the mix.
I wish I had a smoker here. I would make smoked turkey. I miss that.
You take a big turkey. At least a 20 pounder and you cut it into peices. You mix a marinade of cranberry juice and some water, oinion power, garlic a bit of rosemary, some brown sugar and salt and put the turkey parts into the marinade for about 12 hours in the frig.
Then you take it out and let it dry in the frig for about an hour on racks and then smoke it for about 3 hours with apple wood or hickeory wood.
Then you finish the cooking time in the oven. But the secret to making it what it is, is that you put all thoes parts into a roasting bag and take a half a bottle of maple syrup and pour it over the turkey and something wonderful happens in there while it's cooking.
The turkey never lasts very long and the liquid that is birthed in the oven makes a great base for cooking vegies in.
But that doesn't last either.
I found all this out one year when turkeys were on a really good sale and I bought 9 of them.
It was a great idea, except when the ice in the freezer pushed the door open and when I went to retrieve one I discover it was on it's way to getting thawed, so were a couple of the others.
I spent the next week cooking turkeys.
I got really good at tearing turkeys apart and like many other moments of what do I do with all this meat that I haven't done before arose, the above idea went through my head.
That was one of thoes times there were enough left overs that I had something to work with later. It was nice.
I guess I just have to figure out how much I have to cook in order to make leftovers so that there is something to work with later on.
um, I just realized that I'm hungry, so I'm gonna go eat now and try to figure out what to do with the batter. Maybe onion rings....
It's Tuesday and I managed to come down with another bout of some kind of cold. So much for my body getting a running start at staying well.
I just got over the last battle not so long ago and here we go again.
So between the kleenex box and warm tea, I'm pondering things.
That's a good sign that something strange is brewing in the grey matter. And it has to go somewhere, so here goes:
What is the true purpose of therapy? Is it designed to make a troubled person well or is it's function to keep a troubled person troubled so that the listening end of the relationship stays in their expensive suroundings?
I tend to think that it's the latter, but that's only because all the threapy I've ever paid for did nothing to alievate the issues I was dealing with.
The only thing I ever saw disapear was the money I kept paying to have someone listen who didn't really know me and I suspect really didn't care.
Lately I've been doing somthing to pass the hours of waiting I go through at times when there is blank time on my hands.
I call it pocket art. But in truth it's a sanity saver.
I take little peices of wood put a watercolor wash on them, and when their dry I take a ballpoint pen and just go at it.
I don't think about what I'm doodling, but rather spend the time letting all the frustrations mull around and then escape.
I've got a heap of little bits of art now, and I'm thinking about magnets for the back.
What I've noticed about this thing is that after a bit I feel much better and though nothing is solved or fixed, when I look at the finished things they remind me of dreams, or at least bits of dreams.
It occured to me that carring around these bits of wood and absentmindly doodling is easy and cheap and way better then reading signs or magazines in some office.
It's fun as well because after a while you get past the shape of the wood and go somewhere.
I've told people about this. So far they just smile and forget I think. But that's ok. I know what I've experienced doing it and that's enough.
I noticed this morning as I was in the bathroom that there was this huge carpenter ant wandering around on the floor. Now this isn't such a good thing. I've seen a few others in the past few weeks and it's way too early for them to be out.
That makes me wonder about what's happening with enviorment.
I've seen lady bugs out as well, and that isn't normal either.
A few months back I read somewhere that the magnetic poles are shifting inside the earth, and it makes me wonder if when that happens it messes with the weather and everything else.
Last night I read a paper on this company that is paying people 250 dollars to get a chip implanted on the palm of their hand and when they do they get a special mouse that can be hooked up to the computer so when they want to buy something the chip in their hand gets read and the money is deducted from their account.
Visions of biblical warnings went off in my head. I'm thinking as I'm reading this that maybe it isn't such a bad idea to learn more about surval in the wilderness.
I wonder how many ways there are to cook insects and if it's possible to develop a taste for them.
The name of the company is Global Monetary. The website is www.idchip.com.
One of the roomates out here is an astronamy lover and we got into a disgussion about how many asteroids hit the atmosphere each year and how long it's going to be before an earth killer hits.
Like Mt. Rainer errupting, it's only a matter of time.
At this point in my thoughts I would like to say that with all this going on it might be reasonable for one to want to run for the hills and quake somewhere in their boots waiting for the end, but when I think about these things, fear is not present.
Only an awareness that time is a precious thing and one should use it wisely.
In all reality none of us knows how long we each have. Everyday after your born is a gift. And to think of ourselves as having no timelimit is a rather vain view.
But how many people actually are aware that death is just there waitng for the ok to touch you?
Life is a beautiful and rare gift. To be able to laugh with friends and meet new friends is amazing. To get to the point with someone that you feel comfortable enough to tell them anything is wonderful, although it doesn't happen enough.
Think about all the things you've had so far in your life that were moments of beauty. Even the stuff that made you break inside let you know, if nothing else that you are alive.
Although in the mist of it that's not what you think about.
Think about the first time you were kissed by someone you really really liked. The beautiful thrill that ran through you that let you know you weren't alone in how you felt.
Everytime you share moments with someone you give them part of you and they carry that with them always.
All of this makes me think about what will it really be like when this life stops.
That's bigger than I can immagine.
And it's so big that it scares me sometimes. I'm flesh and bone and to immagine the unimmainable is overwhelming.
Even with word pictures.
I wish I had the ablity to love like a dog does. They are so right there in the moment. And you can be gone two minuets and when they see you it's the best moment of their day.
They don't remember the bath you gave them that they hated or that they got in trouble for eating out of the garbage. All they care about it that your there and they love you.
You step on them by accident and they forgive you and are ready to give you a big sloppy wet kiss. The more the merrier.
They listen to every problem with all their being and love you inspite of how weird things can be in your life, or how shitty.
I wish I had that ablity to love people the same way.
I'm working on getting there.
I was thinking that it would be an awesome thing is all hemp was legal. Can you immagine how different things would be. Alot less angry people out there.
It would be nice.
I've been having strange dreams again. And I haven't been sleeping so good lately. Maybe it's because my body has been fighting illness and trying to overcome it that my dreams spill over into my waking emotions.
I don't know. I do know that I've been thinking about so many things as of late. And aside from getting a few ducks in order, I've realized that life is short and precious.
At times I find myself wishing for more time, and other times I envy really old people. Seems I can't make up my mind.
I think that's ok too. Sometimes I find myself taking myself too seriously and then it's time to get silly and do something fun.
Sometimes I want to grab all the people I can and just hold them close, just incase this is my last day on earth or theirs.
Sometimes I want to run away and hide.
I know that at a certian point in time, if I'm still alive and kicking I'm going to have a living funreal. I decited this after I read Tuesdays with Morrie.
I don't want to miss the biggest get together on my account.
But then maybe at that time there won't be anyone around who will want to be there. So I guess I'll party by myself and write all the people I know far away and tell them what they've ment to me.
Maybe I'll include a self address stamped envelope so they can reply if they want to.
Weird thoughts. Unfinished business and works of art that haven't made it out of the brain pan.
This is life. Hugs and kisses, angry moments, moments of laughter and embarresment. Discoveries and joys that stay with you your whole life, and things you wish you could do again.
The giant scrapbook in your head.
The color you loved the best when you were 5 and your favaorite one now.
This is life.
Pizza and butterflies. Bee's and apple blossoms. Tears in the dark of night and fears that come from nowhere.
Jobs gained and jobs lossed. Feeling lost and feeling found.
This is life.
And all the other stuff that has disapeared that you won't ever remember no matter how hard you try.
The mountians of your life, and the unforgivness we hide tord people and ourselves.
This is life and it's ending. Over and over, and it's being reborn, over and over. With every breath each of us takes.
Then I think about all the wars fought, won and lost through the years and when it comes down to it, I don't know why people have taken it into their head that going to war with someone else is a good thing.
That includes the people who start the mess, and why they start it and all thoes people who decited to conquor another people.
I have trouble with that.
I have trouble with the idea of war.
I don't have trouble with people defending themselves if their being invaded or their home is being threathened, but war, yes I do have trouble with war.
I have trouble with people devaluing human life for what ever the reason. I have trouble with parents who arn't there for their kids, no matter when it's happened in human history.
I have trouble with people loving money more than human life, and I really have trouble with obsessions with power.
Everything gets screwed up when someone goes power hungry.
Death is usually somewhere there in the mix.
And that sucks.
I have trouble with beauty pagents and especially beauty pagents that involve children.
Thoes should be something that never got started.
Too many things to think about. Some good, some not so good.
But at the end of the day, I hope I always remember to tell the people I love that I love them and I'm glad they are in my life.
I'm gonna go have some more tea now. And spend some time enjoying the people here and maybe call a few people just to talk to them.
Speaking of, for all of thoes people who are a part of this site who I have shared thoughts with and moments, thank you.
You've brought good stuff into my life.