Archive for category Pieces Of Reality

What Was Part 1 Again…?

It sits there, half written, and then I get distracted by the swirling mass of awesome currently happening. Maybe I’ll never finish it. I wrote Part 2 first as that was hours more recent. The longer I focus on this other stuff, I more I forget.

I alluded to great news two posts back. Well, now that I’m attending the meeting that is preparation for said great news, it’s official.

I’ve been asked to be interviewed on co-op Radio. Even more exciting, it’s regarding women writers and the stories we share.

I’m extremely nervous. But the meeting tonight should clear up a lot of my questions. It’s scheduled for Sunday, September 13th at 9pm.

So I’ve been more than a little distracted by that. But there’s always other stuff going on. Been doing my “lets go out every night” deal again. It’s been fun. Dating a lot. I asked for nice, good, intelligent guys. The universe has spoken. And provided.

We’ll see what unveils.

But for now, I must edit edit edit edit edit edit edit. Hang with Bayan who’s returning from his month trip away and prepare for my meeting tonight.

Maybe Part 1 will be completed in the meantime.

I make no promises.

, , , ,

2 Comments

“Write a blog post about -that-.”

Curl around this
warmth

Desire
…d

And achieved
Breath release of overflow

———————————————————————————————————-

I want to cement this feeling into my psyche. This completeness.

Everything wonderful happened today.

Work was great. The people were fun. I was -me-. Not shy, reserved, work me. But interactive me! I got handed an opportunity today that blew me away. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I won’t say anything just yet because… well… build up is everything.

My workout at the gym was inspired. I wanted to keep going and going. But I couldn’t because I was having dinner with the lovely Carissa. Dinner was at Cafe Barney’s. Which is my new favourite place on Main.
What. Delicious. Food.
Got chatted up by an incredibly worldly and interesting man. Chatted up in return which led to the smoothest possible number exchange ever.

Rapport rocks.

Carissa rocks. Good friends are wonderful!

Celebrated my joy at my favourite place on The Drive, where some of my favourite people happened to be there.
Arrived home to my space and my cat and my family and I told my sister how happy I am…

…and she said:

“Write a blog post about -that-.”

,

2 Comments

“The question is: He doesn’t want her to read your blog. So why does she?”

Him: “You abuse so easily sometimes it surprises me. Good luck with everything.”
Her: “I say what I think and how I feel based on what has happened. If you can call that abuse, then it is sad that I too, am surprised by the abuse you have wrought against me.”

————————————————————————————————————–

Standing on the corner he gestures behind him, “This place was closed and I was looking for a place for a pint. Standing outside of somewhere, I was smoking and this kid comes up and asks for a smoke. By rule, I always say no. So I said no to him. He walks away but comes up to me again and tries to tell me that the smoke is really for his friend.”
“Of course it is,” she shakes her head and half-laughs.

————————————————————————————————————–

Him: “Asking for confidance isn’t a crime. You paint with only the colours you choose, ignoring all others. The abuse is acting like my requests are inane or unfounded. Anyway, said my piece. Best of luck.”

————————————————————————————————————–

“I told him no again. And you know what he said then? This thin as a rail kid with a skateboard? He said: ‘You could have at least told me to go fuck myself because then I’d have a reason to kill you.’”
“Oooohooooly shit. He didn’t!”
“He did.” He lights his cigarette again, it having died during the story. “So I said,” he straightens his back and reenacts his tone to her, “Listen, kid. Do you know who you’re talking to? I could have you on the ground and hit eighteen times before you even know it. Do you know who you’re fucking talking to?”
“Ha! What’d he do?”
“He turned to the couple near us and said: ‘I don’t know what his problem is. All I asked him for was a smoke.’” He throws his head back in exasperation.
She shakes her head, “Christ. Typical. ‘I didn’t do anything to deserve this!’ That’s so idiotic. He does something so out of line and then tries to play the victim card to cover it up.”

————————————————————————————————————–

Her: “If you can’t be honest with ______, or anyone for that matter, regarding your actions, that makes those actions disrespectful to not only them but myself. Your asking for confidence is abuse of anything we ever had. I am not responsible for your lies.”
Him: “Noted.”

3 Comments

Oh, The Many Ways We

Is lying valuable? Does it ever end up with a happy ending for anyone? To be divested of lying, I generally tell the truth. If not right away, usually later. To someone or through something.
It’s a choice.
I made it.

I’d rather these repercussions than the alternative.

———————————————————————————————-

“Do you think he ever told her?”
“He and tell who what?”
“I hate how there’s more than one story in your life that starts out like that.” She replies, somewhat comically but more exasperated, “I guess both, really. Do you think they told them?”

She leans back in the chair and looks at her friend, twisting the water glass on the wooden table, watching condensation pool. “Why would they? Why would they complicate things with them by introducing that information?” She pauses and laughs a little, “Why complicate things more, I guess.”
“Does it bother you?”
“It?”
“They’d call you up and you’d go out for a night on the town, have long drawn out conversations that simulate closeness, sleep together and then that’d be it. All the while there’s the other girl.”
“Of course it bothered me, But, to be fair, only one of them had a girlfriend. And I told him I didn’t want any part of that. Which is why, I’m sure, we’ve parted ways for real now.”
“You’ve said that before about him.”

“I’ve said a lot of things to a lot of people.”
She laughs, “Christ. That’s true.”

“I think that’s what gets me is they know me enough to know I don’t keep secrets like this very well. I see no value in secrets like these. I think the lies and deception will hurt more in the long run because the truth always comes out.”
“Because you want it to.”
“Because that’s not my role in the world. To keep other people’s secrets. They aren’t mine.” She smiles ruefully at her friend, “I can’t even keep my own.”
Evidenced by many a conversation the two have shared, her friend replies, “No. No you can’t.”
“J______ must know it. I’m sure he knows that trying to keep the fact we started sleeping together again, pretty much right when we started talking again, after three months of silence on my part, is wishful thinking. I can still envision him sitting there, on my couch, telling me he played devil’s advocate regarding me to our friend and that he was crossing into “enemy territory” to even be at my place. That was before he led to the way to my bedroom.” She shakes her head, “It’s so stupid.”

“What is it with him?”
“It’s probably because he became a challenge. There seemed to be strategy in how we’d interact. Who had the upper hand? Who gave more? To make myself feel better I just told myself that I loved him. Who would want to be part of that kind of love? Neither of us, I’m sure.” She leans forward again, “It’s funny, he told me he and his ex only talked once a week. It took me a while to realize he was using her car, while she was away, to drive to my place to sleep with me. I think I thought that if he was able to do that, that things were different. He was officially free of ties and so called ‘obligations’. But no, it was just pure gall.”
“He used her car to drive to your place and sleep with you? Her car?”
“Yup.”
“While she was away.”
“Uh huh. And he said he didn’t think telling people we were sleeping together again was a good idea. That was the second to last time I slept with him. But I’d already told all of you. So, too late for that.”
“Wait, you slept with him again?”
“To feel what it feels like to be on the other side. The one in it for just the sex. Honestly? Not worth all that other trouble.”
“Honestly, Ava? If you get involved with him again, I may actually be angry with you.”

“Good.”

3 Comments

Too Bad So…

Every once and a while I start the phrase in my head: “Isn’t it a shame that…”

And then I stop myself.

The truth is, certain people produce a violent reaction within me. That reaction is sickness. Physical sickness.

My misguided attempts at discovering the substance of love throughout… wow… ten years of dating, has led to me to decide that if love made me feel this feeling, it’s not love at all. It’s my mind producing chemicals and hormones to make my body feel a certain way to get a point across.

I used to think that love was this intense strength that drives people to do things that they normally wouldn’t do. All that because of the “Power” that love wields. It’s not so powerful. Because that thing we label love isn’t love.

It’s pain.

And when we’re in pain, we try to do anything possible to stop feeling more of it. Whatever works to stop feeling that intense weight and anxiety is what we will do. Which is why people do crazy things in the name of “love”.

No no, it’s not love: It really is pain. It’s your body telling you that this course of action, this path, is absolutely wrong for you and you should be running in the opposite direction. That doesn’t stop the pain right away but it’ll ensure that the pain will remain gone once gone. But instead of doing that, we move to try to alleviate it in whatever way has possibly felt good in the past.

Sex feels good.

But the moment it’s over, the pain returns. The moment hearts return to normal pitter-patter-patterns and the sweat starts to evaporate and blood returns to its regular circulation, the pain returns to remind you that that you are right where you started.

Sex isn’t powerful or transcendent if both parties don’t feel at least the same ballpark kind of feelings towards one another. Sure, it can be good. Because of practice. You’ve had enough sex to be good at it with this person. But that’s where it ends.

And all I ever had, after falling for those men, is pain. Because love never had a chance to really happen.

Love takes trust. And the moment they first hurt me, I never ever trusted them. I tried to convince myself I did. But I didn’t.

Because I would have been an idiot if I ever really did.

So it’s not a shame that things turned out so fucked up. It’s a blessing it didn’t get even worse. The other possible repercussions from my time with them are exponential and I am blessed that it didn’t go in any of those directions.

Too Bad So… Glad.

, ,

1 Comment

Like waterbeds, some things are just a passing fad

first notes
pluck forth unbeatable rhythm
the very cells, the light, inside this

pushing
broken with edges
curves water as it disappears
under

playing with those rays
still there, twisting unawares of the outcome
but always
driving
forward
down and deeper

until gone

——————————————————————————————–

With the emergence of new evidence and life in the past couple weeks, I am renewed. I am overjoyed by the possibilities. The building beat that encourages me to move.

Seen old friends and regular friends and decided who really is my friend and who never really was.
Met new ones who are genuine, real people, with such a capacity to care and inspire. So many stories shared by the beach or over a beer. I’ve been finding people coming to me for thoughts on their situations. I’ve been honoured by that.

I’ve also been bitchy and outspoken and generally unapologetically… me.
One of my favourite moments was being challenged to a fight over dancing with a guy.

I laughed in her face.

I’ve been actively abandoning anything that isn’t good for me, healthy or reflective of the life I want and have.

Because the last two weeks made me realize I do have the life I want and I’m on the way to the rest of it. My other book is motoring along. Connections are being made. The calm I get when I go to the gym or go for a run reminds me to cherish my solitude when I can get it. Which hasn’t been often. Running reminds me to keep moving forward. I only look over my shoulder to make sure those who matter are nearby. Not behind. Nothing holding me back.

Things are rolling off easier. I don’t have time for people who are frequently depressed or overly complicated or who consistently live in a diminishing half-life. If you want my help, I will give it. But at some point you have to help yourself out of the depths as well.

We all choose our paths. We all reflect the paths we’ve chosen in certain ways by certain actions.

My last entry was a conversation with myself. Aspects of myself. I frequently talk about how one side feels this and one side is that. It’s ridiculous, I am whole and one. I am conflicted because I frequently romanticize the past and try to trick myself into seeing something that isn’t there. While the rational freaks out (and is ultimately frustrated) at this process.

I’ve been lied to so much in the last few years. At first it was shitty of them to lie to me. But then, the more I let it happen, it was shitty of me to remain there. It was shitty of me to go back. I helped set up a precedence of use and misuse between myself and these people. They were just as wrong as I was.

Because change takes effort. Takes looking at yourself in such a way that isn’t flattering all the time. I’ve taken the good and the bad. I’ve listened to what words those around me tell me. Because I trust and love them. They want what’s best for me and always tell me the honest truth.

I’m finally getting what I wanted.
Not the passing fad.
The real deal.

, , , ,

1 Comment

Naked at 3AM part: 2

Body and head… all messed up from sun stroke. I’m awake after passing out from dizziness and heat exhaustion at 8pm.

I wrote this whole entry (part: 1) and felt sick by the end of it. Not a good sign. So I didn’t post it. Well it’s posted, right there between this post and the last, in that empty space that’s filled with everything we shouldn’t say. I saved it there. Holding onto the truths within it.

The most I can take out of it is: being in the Pride Parade today (yesterday) with all the enthusiasm and dancing and making people excited and happy made me realize…

I’m a good actor.
And a good woodland nymph.

I’d rather be a good woodland nymph.

, ,

1 Comment

This Is The Beginning of The Second Page

.       Apparently smoking can make you impotent. I wonder if that’s what was wrong.

Maybe we’ll just have to see…

.       The beautiful thing about typewriting, is it’s all based on how much strength you put behind the letters you type. The force and intent with each stroke. I lifted the past page of typing to the sky and could see throught the periods. Either I’m being too forceful, 6r periods are that important. They found their way through the mesh of dead trees, blanced to look white. Nothing is as strong as a period.

.       I wonder if that’s why the menstrual cycle, or the climax of it, is call the period. Because it epit*mises the end of &&&&& the cycle. Or is it the vision of it. This is becoming far too graphic for my masculine side. Yes I have one. We have an aspect of the femini
(let’s try that word again) …feminine and masculine. Mine is centered in the aggression I feel. If we’re going to keep the gender stereotypes alive. But then, we could also say we’re just a mess of one gender. And these aspe ts just showcawe different parts of the spectrum. And gender specific doe nt’t mean anything.

.       Are we all just unisex? Sure there are those iwth pensis*, and there are those with vaginas. But the personality aspects are universal. I am a woman because I learned to be one. I am female because I am one. But our leaned aspects are not unchangable, are they? Or should I say, those learned aspetts ARE changeable. Whichs is what makes us the easily manipulated beings that we are. Because we are manipulated. So why can’t we manipulate oursel9es? We can. We do. We make life decisions that means we are different peoppe. Maybe not inherently. But surface changes. Thought changes. I keep coming back to changing. Change is important. Otherwise we are left with typeing on the typewrit
_er forever. Or not evengetting to the stage of typewriting at all.

.        I’m gettingaway with myself. I need to remember to press the space key. It helps with our understanding.

.                                                 The Space Key.
.                                                 That long bar at the bottom of all keys.

The fact it’s so long speaks to how important it is. Because not only does one hand use it, but both do. (or, you’re supposed to) ..(do as I say, not as I do)

.        I think I am amazed at how easily it is to fillx up a page it is. Oh man my grammar tends to suck on this thing. But I get really into typeing on it. It is. It. I am a machine that wants to work faster than need me. We all work faster than we need to. The evoltuion of the world has been profound. The human existence.

.        I’m doing it again. This is not an essay. This is life.

And soon, it will betime to go. This is also going to speak to the end of a thought process. So why can’t I just sit up andwalk away from a situation much like I can sit up and walk away from this typewriter? Why cant’t we all just leave thepast behind? Is this my leason? I have reverted to type because I yearn for thepast? Just as I suspected. I am reverting to some thing old. Or are we all just lookingfor t e surffce behind thethings we do?

.        My surface meaning:

Is located always, spcifically….at the end of the page. Andfrequently m ispelled.

, , ,

5 Comments

Hold Fast Frenzied Breath – The Pale Translation

“I’m going this way. If you wanna come along for the ride, that’s fine with me. But I’m not waiting any longer than it’s going to take to turn the key.”

Said her shadowed face and forward thinking obscurities.

This is the beginning of the page.

First rule of out door (one word) typewriting, that is…    (numbered)

  1. Check wind direction. Flapping paper is a distinct distraction.
  2. Realize that no matter what direction the wind is coming from, you are going to have to just deal with it.
  3. Tucking the paper (excess that is) down in the most convenient slot hidden behind that thing I have my paper wrapped around.

Second rule of outdoor typewriting (or any typewriting)…
.      2.   Learn the parts of a typewriter.

Third rule:
.       Learn that lists do not need to be numbered inorder to get your point….
.                                        across.

A man just walked by, probably around fifty, wearing the biggest earphones I have ever seen and commented to me, “You need to get yourself a computer.”

I laughed.

————————————————————————————————————

Good to know. Using the dash line repeatedly to create a break in the page WILL cut a long line THROUGH the page. Mental note. A typewriter can be used in leu of scissors.

Somehow using a typewriter makes one shift their language pattern into terms of old. And when I say $ ‘one’ I mean me.

.                     I always mean me.
.                                  I can’t… not.

Maybe I shouldnt find this as fun as I do. Quaint, even. I’m still getting used to using this machine. And even though I can use a computer. Any computer. I still find the transition a step in time. A change in thought patterns. But then, I guess that is not different between everything in life. We change our thought patterns in order to adjust to new ideas. New technologies. New situations. New perceptions. Just to get ahead. But what is the difference between moving f*rward and moving back, if you are still aquiring a new skill? And who’s to say that a old form of technology doesnt deserve it’s renewed time in the sun? Who’s to say that skills we once had, can’t lead us even further into the future? We evolve for certain reasons, of course. But not all of those reasons are necessarily, if I may be so bold as to say, good and justified reasons. Even individuals as well as society can be said to test the waters of our limits of self control  and exploration. Can we all really say the changes we make are for the best? That hose changes have worked for us? Or is it simply the act of change we yearn for and strive for?

.     This is becoming an essay.

.     Let’s try this…:

!  There. I did it. The three stroke combination that allows one (me) to type
… the exclaimation mark. It consists of a apostrophe, a backspace and a period.

.                                         I feel accomllished.      (damn it)
.                                                       (you kn*w,aside from the holeand all the typos)

, , , ,

No Comments

I Do Not Know Anything OR This Is My Ugly Side Venting A Tad

I must remind myself this every day. That I don’t actually know anything. I may have thought I knew something, at a moment, a long time ago… but that moment is gone and this moment tells me nothing of the truth.

Except the fact that now I suspect… that you were never anything I thought you might have been.

Because now I am slapped by the possibility that you are a disgusting person. With no morals and no values and no inkling of courage and personal honesty.

I have been lied to SO much. And everytime I find out another lie, another hypocritical piece of the puzzle, I am always so shocked and amazed. Because I always believe what someone tells me.

So I don’t know anything. Anything anyone tells me is grey. I will still listen and converse with you as if you were telling me the truth. But honestly? I am going to practice the art of disbelief.

The Atheism of Truth. (I’m still working the concept out)

Ugh. I’m still getting shivers from reality. Tiny slivers of space time, needling me repeatedly for my superfluous hope that you were something better.

But, I’m a hypocrite too. I don’t always see it. But I am. I make mistakes. I’ve lied. I’m not a nice person. I’m not exceptional in my morals and values. But I would still consider myself a kind person. Almost always well intentioned with a reasonable conscience. Still sadly, often naive.

The bad ugly side of me. The spiteful and angry side? That side will await you to make the biggest mistake of your life. I’ll have popcorn. I’ll enjoy it excessively. And then I’ll never think about you ever again.

, , , ,

No Comments