Almathea's · Quest

It all always happens at once. When you're bored it seems nothing falls in your lap (or actually, I don't get bored, I just get restless or impatient, or apathetic but...). In that very moment you're thinking to yourself, "well shit, if something happened, or anyone wanted to do anything, that would be great right about now." you get nothing. More empty space or stagnant air. Ain't that the way it goes?

Then, like a fucking rush, a hurricane blows in. All you requested in the previous gap of time was a little rainfall, but no. Goddamn blow down the house hurricane. Best you can do is catch your breath, hold on for the ride, hope it all is over soon and turns out for the best.

Sometimes, a hurricane is the best thing that could happen in the world. Disaster shifts your perspective on things, forces change and reaction. Often, I believe people are too stagnant. I know I am often too stagnant or lethargic. But my hurricane is blowin' in. What it's aiming to destroy are all things I could do without:

A sunless living space that is too small to make feel right
That empty feeling of constant loneliness that's been lingering in my gut
The heavy sorrow sitting on my shoulders
Winter
A feeling of productivity in all the wrong places -shifting to all the right places
A past lover I couldn't get off my brain -the memory is fading fast and I cannot articulate my gratefulness for that

Spring is here and new growth is emerging. Changes are happening rapid fire and this season is gearing up to be better than the last. For me, at least. Better than last spring when I was fighting through the regeneration of my heart. Better one quick hurricane to bring it all in than constant torrential rainfall not wanting to let up and not always washing away anything either.

I thought about this last week, then the other day my friend's father brought it up and it seemed so perfect... it was the word and perception of responsibility. Responsibility - How about response ability? I'm plenty response able, and it's what should really matter. It should matter that I am able to respond to a situation in a manner which is authentic and in line with my values and survival. Well, I value not becoming one big giant stress bag, but rather retaining a joyful spirit and glow. I value questioning, challenge, and being challenged. I value growth, love, and experiencing life. I value change, truth, and compassion.

Sometimes my values require of me a little sorrow. Sometimes they require of me a little slow-down, cynicism. Sometimes they require me to ask for a hug or for you to just hold me a minute, wait for a cloud to blow by, baby the sunshine's-a-comin'.

The hardest part is making sure that I can keep to those values, respond without weakness, fear, or greed and less impulsivity. That's the growing part. I'm doing a good hefty lot o' that right now (seemingly always in these early twenty something years) and though in some places it feels uncomfortable, for the most part, it all feels incredible. The heavy panting, stress on the muscles, depletion of energy storage while climbing up a mountain is usually worth the view. I'm trying to remember that, and climb harder, faster, and more determined. I'm trying to climb with a rhythm and leave out a little more of the bitchin' along the way.

I've a full plate this spring. Moving to a new house in a new nook in Boulder. A new romanique entanglement. Festival season is quickening upon us and I'm in the whirlwind of helping manifest a transformative experience and letting it all transform me.

Shawn in the cafe says, "an arrow went through my heart."
And I say, "an arrow in the heart just openin' up a hole to fill more love in."

I believe that these days. I actually believe that. Maybe it means I'm getting' the filling part.

I am. I'm being filled with a whole world of love right now and being given places to put mine. It's really all I live for at the end of the day.

Spring cleaning and so much at once. It all happens at once and this time I'm dusting cobwebs too. My brain's bout to get a vacuum cleanin' and in the frantic furry of knocking out a long list of to-do's, I see what the view can look like atop this mountain. I am eager. I am ready. Ready to climb.

Bring in the spring. All at once. With love, all at once.



Have I told anyone how much I love daffodils? They're little teacups on flower shaped saucers. One day, I would like to have ceramic teacups shaped like the daffodil middle and saucers like flowers for it. Maybe sit in a field of them for a tea party. It's a dreamy image really, and perhaps one day, you'll be able to join me for it.

Part One: Fresh Pooped Eggs


Ever start your day off with eggs straight from the inside of a chicken? Like just laid them bitches a few hours ago? It's a really good feeling.


So is the feeling of having so many of your friends, acquaintances, and strangers glow in your glow. Something about me last night was so warm, loving, and giddy I couldn't help but beam. I don't know what it was. I was just in love with life, with love itself in essence, with my being and the changes that have come in me, with the moment. I heard so many wonderful and lovely things said to me and about me that I'm frankly surprised I didn't collapse overwhelmed by the fullness in my heart. It felt SO magically wonderful. I felt more in my element than I think I ever have.


Something lately is different. A lot lately is different. I'm healthier, happier, lovelier, friendlier, more mature. Embracing a greater balance between dark and light, grounded and airy, the dream world and what is tangible and present. Taking deeper breaths, eating smaller portions, sitting up straighter.


Falling out of a lust that bound me more and more each day.


Falling into a love with that reflection in the mirror. Not a surface love, deeper.


In the last couple of days I've been given so much. Treated to brunch at The Kitchen, free coffee across the board, paid for drinks, amazingly beautiful feather earrings, compliments enough to explode the ballon of my ego, love. Lots and lots and lots and lots of affection and love.


Deep breath, to sink it all in.


Long breath out that says "Thank You"

Part Two: Touching Deep Enough To Reach The Soul


Nice friendly smiles, simple and appreciative of one another's existence. Not much more. Just warm. With a curiosity not spoken but subconsciously felt.


Gently lace your fingers in between mine, then rested your head in my lap. I run my fingers through your hair as soft and warmly as I can muster distracted by the awkwardness of circumstances surrounding.


Between the deepest gaze I've had peer into my blue oceans and each of our fingers touching tips slowly and perfectly sustaining the electricity between them, you reached for my soul.


Nose nuzzled against my cheeks lightly, avoiding lips but exchanging breath, extending anticipation gracefully, you helped me find my breath so that it may filter down to my heart.




"I love you"
"I love you too"




You opened up doors that had been shut so tightly for a good long time, a gratitude I cannot express with simple and forward words.


It has been now, February exactly, a year since anyone has caressed my soul. My heart is each to reach and many have placed fingers and palms upon it with ease. But the core of my essence -that I am composed of is seldom ever visited. You touched the center of my being somehow. Somehow I was able to open it to you.


Maybe I didn't express that, certainly not in words and probably not in action. My fears may murmur all else. I'm afraid to get intimate beyond physical simplicity. Somehow, in your arms, I embraced it almost with ease.


So, when I said "I love you" back, I meant it. What you do with that is yours and if you never let me know, it doesn't matter. I'm changed for the better with deep thanks to you.

Went on a date last week. I mean, if I look at how thing supposedly work between humans, it would appear that we are currently in the "courting" stage. You call me, I call you, we talk about absolutely nothing fucking important but suggest another hanging out or something. Whatever.

It's the same shit every time.

Either I get all wrapped up and am way "into" some jerk who's really a looser disguised behind a super pretty face. He smashes my little heart, I cry, and great I'm back at square one.

or

I'm bored, restless, can't see this dude -nice though he may be- fitting into my world of adventure, dreams, and technicolor imagination. So I drop him like a hotcake -bad analogy, I'd never drop cake- I drop him like a hot potato wrapped in foil.....yeah....I'd drop that quick like. Point is, I hit the door running because dude isn't good enough.

It's the same shit. Same old shit, new stupid face. New stupid grin, lack of anything interesting to say, hard cock siphoning all the blood out of this little boy's brain.

I want to be a lesbian. If vaginas did not terrify me so with their awesome power and great many complications, I may very well find myself caressing the breasts of a young lady pressing her trembling lips against my neck, running my hands down the curves of her hips and....

But vaginas terrify me.

So here I go. Courting another idiot again.

May god one day give me the strength to be a full fledged carpet eater.

Several wicked awesome things.......


5. Some Old Dudes Are Hip

Bruno Spinner, the 2001 Swiss ambassador, commissioned several graffiti artists to do up their parking garage at their London Embassy. Following that, he allowed them to throw a rave. Okay, so that's rad as hell and certainly puts Switzerland a little higher on my list of places to go/live. What comes as even more incredible is a then little-known artist has gone on to make quite the name for himself. Banksy (and my friends, if you have not heard of him, you need to go look him up right the fuck away and then get out from underneath a rock yo) has somewhere around 10 pieces in the car park and further, the Embassy has no intention of piecing it out or covering up any of the works. They're keeping that graffiti on the walls.



Video clip from The Guardian: http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/video/2008/feb/29/swiss.banksy

4. Demitri, will you marry me?

Last night I was being a lazy asshole after having slept three hours the night before and worked from 5am to noon. It was a lovely sunny day, but a lazy one no less. Browsing around the internet, I stumbled on the name Demitri Martin. I knew that name damn well and thought, "yeah, let's see what youtube has got of that damn genius...it's been awhile." I came across his stand up "If I".

Do you remember in grade school when the faculty would bring in motivational speakers? Like people who ran triathalons, or lost their legs to drunk driving, or used to be heroin addicts and burned down some massive building or something. Matt Foleys of the world moaning the woes of van living sometimes, olympians gloating about the strenth and courage of their awesomeness other times.

Mostly, I fucking hated those days. Sure, it meant not going to class, but I liked class. I liked that look on the teacher's face when I patronized them, or proved them wrong with their own methods of logic. The big gripe I had with motivational speakers was that none of them really spoke to me, made me want to try drugs or drink less, inspired me to run any kind of marathon, or study harder to get into Harvard. Boring yawn fest.

They, the faculty of these bogus institutions I attended, should have invited Demitri Martin. I mean invite some creative honesty dudes. The fact is, most of us won't make much of anything out of ourselves and I pretty much knew that then. I pretended otherwise, but wasn't completely disillusioned. But at least I would have known then I wasn't the only one charting and mapping my progress and mostly, my failure.

3. Yarn is awesome.

I spent over half a year of my life when I was 19 getting fat, drunk, and knitting. What resulted were several hats, a few scarves, super cozy slippers and a big giant blanket. I though, "jesus, knitting is the best and stupidest thing I've ever done." and I still get great gratification and warmth laying under that cozy blanket with those cozy little socks on.

But this girl kicks my ass a million fold. Okay, she doesn't knitt, she crochets, but still you know, same idea: forging shit from yarn. And the ingenuity and craftsmanship behind her work is...welll.....it's goddamn badass.

Had I seen this back when I was knitting, I might have chosen to crochet instead.







Agata Olek's portfolio: www.agataolek.com

2. "I want to bead the whole world"

This one isn't too far from the last one in the sense of taking a simple little craft and making it extraordinary. Being a bit of a renaissance woman, I'v dabbled in multiple fields. Yes, knitting, painting, archery, volleyball, acting, debating, backpacking, singing, playing guitar and jewelry making. I've made a couple quite nice necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and even embroidered with beads.

This woman is mental. The kind of mental that makes me want to give her a giant hug for being mental. Liza Lou began this task at the age of 21 and finished at age 26, with a pair of tweezers placing each bead individually to make a kitchen. A whole god-am kitchen.







1. Aker Molde Stadion - Royksopp

There are a couple youtube videos that give you a little bit of an idea as to the wicked experience that seemed to be had by concert goers at Aker Molde Stadion in Norway. I wish to god I could have been there to see what videos so poorly convey.

I haven't told too many people that I want to do installation art and have for quite some time. Nor have I mentioned that I want to do performance space multimedia art that provides experiences kind of like this. This just inspired the shit out of a tiny little candle already flickering in my little heart.

The most hopefully optimistic romantic sentence ever:
"The right person is going to think the sun shines out your ass."

Well fucking hell, I cannot wait for that lot of awesomeness. I mean, there's this dude, and it's like totally weird because at this point I should be like, "whatever, you're dumb. be all jerk like to me sometimes and act like a five year old. grow up and some stuff." Or sometimes I think I should be thinking, "Dude, do you know how badass I am yo? Like way badass. And you're like, whatever."

But nope. Sun shines out of the motherfucker's ass. I thought when I heard that line, "man, I mean that's kinda how I see it isn't it? Weird. Hmm...."

Maybe it's just a phase. A really long lasting phase that regardless of how much effort or non-effort I put into wiping it off the slate of my mind I cannot. It's like permanent marker on the whiteboard and I haven't the chemical solution to repair the damage. Or sometimes I find a small bottle or whatever of that solution and for a minute I wipe that permanent marker away, and then the next day, someone has graffitied the shit out of it again. Or even if they didn't, there's vibrant faint traces still left on the white. That permanent marker stains a once cleanly white veneer.

Bum deal.

Because either make the white board this beautiful masterpiece or leave it white so I can put up notes of important things like quantum physics or diagrams on the anatomy of a cell.

Man, the heart is kind of a bastard sometimes. When it's left in unrequited ache n' shit.

My last "boyfriend", this much younger kid, who was super cute and way too sweet for the likings of me, I hear has dyed his hair bright pink and purple and is shacking up quite nicely with the lady folk. I won't say I "broke" his heart, but more like dropped it or something. Anyway, it was really good to hear that he's having his early twenties crisis adequately without the complication of an older and aloof girlfriend keeping him from antics.

Tonight a friend, under the haze of a smoke filled room professed his belief that I was always the unattainable because "You're not like anyone else. You're amazing, grounded, just.....eh I don't have any justice doing adjectives". I mean, elevation of the ego quite a few flights up right? On one hand I think it was kind of lame of me not to tell him that I totally have had a crush on him for a good while but avoid the pursuit for two reasons (I think I'd push his delicate soul off the cliff of insanity finally and now I'm still all itchy about some sunofabitch).

I got some bad habits I need to shake. Smoking. Jesus Christ, smoking. Junky food like mayonnaise, cheese, processed carbs, sugary sugar. I need to drop infatuation like a bad habit.

I need to fall in love with my inner process as a distraction from it all.

So a couple months ago I looked up this electronic "band" on myspace after hearing a remix they did on an album this local DJ friend of mine released on his netlabel. So one of these dudes from Drexon Field all starts leaving random messages and we chat about random whatever. I dig their music and it's all cordial convo and super rad. Well tonight I get some serious fuzzy warm feelings sent after the previous e-mail asking if I'd like to do a little artistic collaboration. "I'm just beyond happy that your interested cause I really really dig your artwork."

Woah. Some people actually dig the shit I do? What??

I have little expectations of my art regarding other's opinion of it. In my opinion, it needs a lot of work and there's still a good lot of progression and development that needs to occur before I feel even remotely okay about bringing any of it out in the public eye. Being satisfied, that might never be a day that absolutely happens.

But there's some good feeling energy surrounding the scribbles I make. And that's like a warm cuddle where I'm little spoon, all gently tucked in and wrapped up for gentle slumber.

It'll have to do for the fuzzies keeping me warm tonight because I ain't got arms that believe the sun shines out my ass to hold me and run fingers through my hair until we slip to sleep.

Though often, wretchedly arrogant on the exterior, I am, at my core, a decently humble person. Or I'm sure as fuck trying to be anyway. "Humility," as I was saying to my couch crasher this morning, "is at the core of finding and discovering wisdom. Arrogance is born of insecurity."

"I think it's just fine, and a good quality to be confident in who you are." he boasts rather arrogantly.
"Sure, confidence is great. But one projecting confidence often teeters on the fine line between it and arrogance." I think it's a balance that most of us strong personalities have to reckon with.

In pursuit of becoming a better human being, in growing to be the woman I want to be, I'm working hard at that balance. Too long have I either been beating myself up for my insufficiencies or masking insecurity with an obnoxious blanket of arrogance. So it's time to recognize those things that truly make me a wonderful person, and strive to fix those things which hinder me from my highest potential of awesomeness.

A good friend of mine told me a couple of years ago, "The people and world around you are reflections. We are reflections of one another," and it's one of those things that has stuck with me. It's true. If all the people around you are fucked up, petty, and unloving, it may be time for you to dig in and take a good look inward. Maybe you're fucked up you know? Maybe you're being and projecting ugly. I thought of this a lot last year during some very special moments when I looked around me and saw the people who I was surrounded by. I thought, "Jesus, these are some really incredible people. Sure, each one of us have flaws but for the most part, we're working on them bit by bit, progressing, creative, thinkers. The people around me are creative thinkers. They're fucking beautiful." I cried a few times when these realizations would wash over me, basking in the unadulterated beauty that is a good deal of folks in my life. And by this, I conclude that I must be at least somewhat, if not, quite beautiful myself.

This is a huge leap and bound to come upon. I've spent most of my life feeling inadequate in nearly everything I do. Very little has ever been good enough in my lifetime pursuit to be extraordinary or I've been so afraid of failure to give adequate effort toward success.

So alright. I recognize that I'm kind of amazing. Big blue eyes with wander the depths of the ocean. A laugh that fills a 100 acre radius. Imagination illuminated as brightly as any star in the sky. A heart that loves as warmly as a slow burning fire in the living room whilst a snowy winter lingers outside. Word on the street says I'm a good kisser and I often hear "you're fun!" fall out of cats mouths. I'm a kitten. Kittens are kind of amazing. Oooh, and okay, so I'm not the smartest but like, okay, I know some serious big words and stuff and totally know about like, existentialism and like, biology. I've got me a sense of humor. I've hobbies and interests that vary enough to where I'd like to call myself a renaissance woman.

What I'd like to do in this next year is pursue the depths of my being in such a way that I can progress the qualities that make me who I am, more beautiful, stronger, wiser. Continue on the path of climbing and conquering the mountains of my fear, set forth challenges and master them, put in the extra effort it takes to reach great heights. I'm not sure I have all the courage to reach for the stars that I so dearly dream of reaching, but I'm going to try my little heart out.

Maybe I'll finally grow up a little bit. Something feels like it's time for a little of that. Some wind blew in today and whispered some serious pondering deep in me.

Anyway, enough of that deep shit,

And also, for christ sake....some damn sleep.

While taking a shit at my local coffee shop, waiting for the laundry to dry, I thought to myself (as one often does during a nice cleansing of the colon) "I have not yet seen Hitler's artwork." It was an important endeavor to pursue, to see if my artwork resembles that of a despotic psychopath. If it had, I would know of the great potential I have toward becoming a dictator leading the masses to great catastrophe. Fortunately for me, my artwork is much too colorful and full of many more swirls than his. One could argue that my newfound affinity for cityscapes (though mine are rudimentary and 2-D whereas his were portrait-esque) still may suggest the harboring of hatred for those not in the perfect race, that somewhere deep inside there is a madwoman in me. I will argue that my work is far too laden with magical colors, sparkles, and all the other things that would be deemed as "degenerate art" by the Nazi regime.

While searching for the great works of Adolph Hitler (pre-World War I and also pre-psychopathic dictator/syphilis sufferer) I came across something stunningly wonderful.

The Chapman brothers, who have been labeled as vandals for the defacing of many works have recently taken 13 of our friend Adolph's early works and put lovely rainbows, stars, and sunshine all over them. Pricing the collection called "If Hitler Had Been a Hippy How Happy Would We Be" at five times the original price of the pieces, the brothers have made a lovely little stir about, perhaps, their greatest work of justified vandalism.

Jake Chapman is quoted as saying, "If hell exists and Hitler is there, I think he is turning in his grave."

Mark Brown who wrote an article on the exhibit in The Guardian gives a nice little quip which articulates the project perfectly:

"Adolf Hitler, like so many amateur artists, thought he was rather good with a paintbrush, if not brilliant. After school he applied to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts but was turned down because he lacked a school leaving certificate. He tried to persuade it with the quality of his landscapes and, much to his fury, was turned down again. Hitler's view of art was straightforward - he liked sentimental landscapes. What he didn't like, he labelled decadent. He instructed his minister for popular enlightenment and propaganda, Josef Goebbels, to lead a purification purge against this degenerate art (ie virtually all modern art) as "part of the Jewish conspiracy". He complained that modern artists "see meadows blue, skies green, clouds sulphur yellow, and so on ..." In 1937 the Degenerate Art exhibition was held in Munich. Organised by the Nazis, it was to show how corrupting the art was. If Hitler Had Been a Hippy How Happy Would We Be subverts his work with a sky of rainbow colours."

Fuck yeah dudes. Fuck yeah.

My endless fascination with creatures amazes

This is the avicularia versicolor, or also known as the Martinique Pink Toe Tarantula. Very docile species, though skittish and because of its remarkable coloring, a very sought after species.

Here's another....

Or also I quite like this one:

img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3265/2679619525_d48bf32fbd.jpg">

It's the Greenbottle Blue. What a gnar name yeah?

I think for my next pet I will have to do a great deal of searching. Now, granted, if I could be choosey about which color I get, I would. Maybe I'll luck out. It happens you know? My first encounter with this species since I became an arachnid nut was this summer after a fabulous woods part where a green little misumena vatia hung by a strand from a tree overhead and swung directly in front of me! I was super stoaked and held the little guy with excitement. I called this luck, because I'd been waiting to see one for over a year.

This would be my ideal right here:

Mmmmmm.....sexy.

If I had to make a second choice, and I'll search far and wide in the summer months for one, it would be one of these guys:

Will settle for a general white one as I can put all sorts of pink things in the cage and it is very plausible that the spider will change its color to the pinker hues (they do that...how fucking cool is that??)

So this would be a dream right.....if I were rich and such and could afford having a whole room in a house devoted to crazy creatures....

There would be an aquarium with bizarre species in the wall.

Seahorses would be great. My mother quite adores them and it'd make her giggle upon visits.

It would be the sea aquarium...unless I was so filthy fucking rich as to have a mini ocean attached....but let's be somewhat real in this pipe dream. There would be a little open pond for koi (yes indoors! I've dreamt of having a butterfly koi for years too ), beautiful pond plants, and a little tea table on the ground nearby....woah! Meditation/tea/tropical room. It'd be a mind whirl!

There would also be birds. Now, I can't trust the birds not to eat my fishies or my spiders and other various insects I may partake in hobby keeping, so they'd have to be caged for the most part I think. Lovebirds. I'm kinda set on those guys a little bit.

I mean fuck. Look at those guys! They're too damn adorable!

The creature I'd let run around loose might be a little lizard or two. They'd be at risk though....koi will swallow anything big enough to fit in their mouths! Gluttons.

Sparkly little leaves and things all around. Great tropical plants. The room would have to keep humid you know? To make everyone happy.

Yeah, you want to have a dog or something? Boring.

I've tried helplessly to fall out of this heartbeat I have pulsing your name
I put other's tempo next to mine to see if it changes the pace
It does not, my bones still ache for you
My heart still beats your name



I have yet to fully understand the dynamics of our heartbeats, but I know I feel them.

I have no clue anymore. I'm not a busser, that's just an occupational hazard. I'm not a blonde -anymore. I'm not a model, a politician, a mother, a doctor. I'm a hobbyist. I'm a wanna-be artist. I'm a traveler waiting for the next minute I can get out of this mess and dream in a new city. I'm not a CEO, I'm not a secretary though I could be; I'm not a girlfriend.

That last one, it's pretty much all I want to be.

Pathetic isn't it?

Ever have that song that grabs you, that coincidentally emotes the sentiment your heart is pulsating about? Somehow, just a poem, or just a drum wouldn't do. No, it was the whole symphonic composition. The way the violin hummed, the way the guitar wailed, the way the bass vibrated your guts, the way the songstress whispered your words in melodic hymn. Maybe it was a whole genre that played your mood one night, one season, one dream. The rage in the undertone of that punk music fit your desire for structure fire (hmmm...."Desire for Structure Fire" good song title. If only I were an actual musician). Maybe tonight was classical symphony for your whim about the finer things in life. Oh the nights of deep bass that made you feel sexy. Or that time the indy rock band turned the leaves of fall. The summer the upright bass and banjo put bare feet into a creek.

The songs that made me feel more empowered. Mmm. Tonight they make the tiny little veins in my heart expand for a wider pulse. Thanks music, you rock.

I made a decision tonight that felt...well fuck...I guess if I have to really think about it, amazing. Yeah. Fuck. Fuck yeah. You know, we all have a mound of baggage that we carry around, like it or not. It takes time to sort through it all, and sometimes it piles up just when we think we had it under wraps. I just threw some of that baggage right the fuck away.

Look, I'm not perfect. I don't have a model body. I'm not an uhber genius with some fabulous smarts to woo the scholar. And yes, I have no volume control. You know, fuck. Everyone has short comings. But jesus fucking christ, I'm goddamn amazinG. If you had the time of day to sit and listen to the places I wander off to in imagination land, you'd know there was more going on than meets the eye. If you had time to put your ear to my chest and hear my heart echoing in the cavity, you'd hear how deep the beat of my love reverberates. If you hooked your arm to mine for a blow in the wind when travel catches my whim you'd be in for a ride.

I'm not going to dwell on ego. It's tempting, but it's not me -not really, just insecurely. When I'm telling the whole truth, nothing but, I know I'm not the bees knees, but I'm something out of the ordinary. I'm a gem man, a fucking twinkle that not all stars do. Ain't just anyone going to see the full sparkle of that helium explosion no mo'. Most weren't paying attention anyhow when I solar flared.

Poetry fag vagueness. I digress.

I walked straight out of a man's bed tonight. He's beautiful, loving, crazy, intelligent, and you know, I think he could like me a whole lot eventually. Bitch I ain't got time for eventually, and I ain't got time for hang-ups. Yeah, you know, I got me one of those nasty little STD motherfuckers. Like how many other poor sons of bitches? And what am I supposed to do about damage already done? I cried about it already. I cried about it for months and I can't tell you how fucking scary it is to wake every goddamn morning and think, "fuck, I could come down with a serious case of cancer any day that I have to deal with." I can't tell you how much I don't want that for anyone else. Yet still, I need love. I need touch. I need the connection that only happens when two lovers stare into the depths of pupil ponds and reflect sensory overload, love, trust. That man, he can love me the way all the other men in my life love me, like a beautiful little silly girl -like a sister. Can't love me like the goddess I am. Not many can.

I straight up and left after orgasms reached, after I was reminded that 'getting laid' isn't something I do anymore. He was half asleep as I felt around in the dark for my shirt thrown off in the heat of a passion that will only ever go so far and never far enough.

"Hate to wake you but I can't find my shirt."
"Oh, it's here. What's up?"
"I'm going home, can't sleep, got a lot on my mind. Gonna write it out."
"I wish you'd stay."

I wish I could. But baby, you know I can't.

It's been over half a year since I fucked for fancy, for feeling, for lust. It's been three since I fucked for love, actually.

I'm going to be brutally honest, which is nothing less than I ever really am, but I deserve more than that. I'm not the most amazing creature to grace god's green earth. I'm not divine perfection. I certainly don't have my shit together. I'm not a lot of fucking things. I am beautiful. I do have a spirit that is out of this galaxy....which is where I go in the heat of a good old fashioned love shag --fuck the milky way if you give me enough thrust, I be seein' six string theory other dimension travel. I do have a warm and loving heart. Ask for a real hug and feel that shit yo. I give it all up if you open your arms for it. I see rainbows in cobwebs. I do have eyes like the caribbean, a laugh like a child amazed by the newness of it all, an ass like mmm. And I do have hope.

I hold hope like it was all there ever was, that one day, someone steps up to the plate -that someone can. I want nothing less than the reflection of absolute awesomeness.

Some of us are hopeless romantics. Well, thank god for bottles of wine and tears then. And I'll thank god for the man who plants a dozen daffodils in my yard undercover fall and waits for spring just to see the look on my face when I watch them bloom. The sentimental fuck who loves me real good and can keep up with this sprint for the only thing any of us can figure we are -alive.

Love me like electricity or I flee.

Tonight I bask in the somber music of women pouring their hearts out over a lulling piano, whispers behind an old acoustic, the tears of a violin sobbing into a pillow. It's tears making way for muscle.

Best compliment I have ever gotten in my life:

"You are way fucking smarter than you look" compliments of Mary from Cafe Roma, the most amazingly entertaining 50 year old I have ever met.

And yeah Mary, I look dumb as hell most of the time. Turns out, I know some big words after all. Like equanimity, and postulation, and hypothetical. Yeah. Totally can use them to, in sentences that make sense or something. Like woah.

If I ever decided to become a stand-up comedian, I imagined yesterday, that I would dress very adorable like, with ringlets or pigtails in my hair, maybe even little bows. I'd look adorable, someone you'd let take care of your kids. And I'd start out with PG jokes. Total, PG, tell to your 6 year old kid jokes. Then I'd interject something about fucking dead babies and I'm sure at least a few people would be uncomfortable enough to laugh.

People often laugh when they're uncomfortable. It's awesome. I think it'd be neat to make a living out of making people uncomfortable.

But in the meantime, chinese food needs to get to my belly. I just hope that I don't get rice stuck up my nose again, like every damn time. Little known fact about me: I get food up my nose just by swallowing. Don't ask me what the fuck is up with that. I don't know. But let me tell you, sesame chicken with those hot red fuckin' chili flakes does not feel good when swallowed up the nose. At all.

Upon an every great once in awhile, I amuse myself (usually procrastinating something else) by taking a gander at the craigslist personals (and other various ridiculous hobbies). Dudes looking for ladies can be pretty hilarious. Dudes looking for dudes are usually shots of bare bottoms and hard cocks, chicks for chicks are sparse and secretive, and chicks for dudes tends to be boring. I felt bad for the dudes you know? And well, I didn't have anything better I wanted to be doing. So two months ago, I posted an ad. It was quite narcissistic and described a man that, frankly, I don't think exists. The replies were amusing but none so much as this. This one is promising no?

"65+ retired stock broker, without heirs, interested in marriage. Wife
will inherit large estate. I live in the mountains west of Boulder
Colorado. I am a stay at home guy.."

I mean shit. If I can play on the side, I'm thinking..."sugar daddy, que pasa?"

I feel lost again searching for this seemingly unattainable balance, teetering always on one side or the other of the seesaw. The second I begin to scoot myself toward the center of this piece of metaphorical playground equipment, things shift and I find my ass planted to the ground where I started. It seems as though, perhaps, for just moments in time I get the sense of what equilibrium would feel like, what a stable midpoint could be. But I can't ever sustain it. Somehow, even if every molecule in my body tries to stay in that center, something gives and the platform shifts, falls, and I"m back at one side weighted.

I remember when I was young, sitting on the seesaw alone and trying to see if I could get it to do neat things -if I could have fun, alone. I never really could if I was to be deeply honest. I'd lie and say I was having plenty fun. I wasn't. That piece of flat wood with little handles for holding on was much better when someone was at the other end.

The other side of my seesaw is empty and those who have asked to play couldn't strike a balance. I've had plenty of playmates come catapult me into the sky for rides that made one or the both of us excited at first, nauseous in the end. I'm looking for my new best friend who'd rather see how long we can keep the board parallel to the ground. Every day a gentle shift of molecules and weight swaying to each other's push and pull, perpetuating a delicate balance solid and stable enough to have a tea party and picnic in the center.

I can't do it alone anymore. I'd rather be alone than wrecked by some bully who promises he'll be nice when we play, but just shifts the board until I fall off and scrape my knee. And I'd rather be alone than always have to push or pull extra to find the center because my friend at the other end is too scared to give it a try. Sure. But I'm just sitting on a piece of board, stationary, everything feeling a mess. I'd rather not play at all if I have to play alone.

I'm about to give up. Maybe it's cliche, but tell Prince Charming if you see him, Sleeping Beauty needs to be woken up or she's going to die in her dreamy coma. Tell him I need him to come sit on the other side of the seesaw. Tell him I'm ready to admit a need.

I find my calling about once every two to three months. And it isn't out of my ordinary patterns to find that one calling will flat out contradict a previous exclamation to the "path of personal enlightenment!"

And so, as ordinary patterns follow (because at least I'm consistent in that I'm erratic), I have just had yet another epiphany as to what I should to with my existence, what I should be striving for in my relentless pursuit toward that something to do which will bring personal sustainability, allow me to travel and play often, and something I feel good about doing. What the fuck is that thing? That "job" or "occupation"? I still think marrying a rich dude might be the better plan of action allowing more time for philanthropic activities, artistic pursuits, and going to other countries. I mean, honestly, feeling like a spoiled asshole aside, that's what I want. But okay, given the fact that I can't even hold on to a "dating" situation for more than a few weeks, it may be safer to assume that this marrying a rich dude plan isn't the most secure path to be betting on. Sure. So then what? What the fuck do I do?

Well, I almost cried a minute ago when I thought about it. I hadn't thought about it for a long time, because I was on a rebel mission for the last year and a half. Maybe I almost cried, and well, actually shed that one tear because I'm probably nearing my period. I'm super sensitive to that whole crying activity when the hormones are fucked up. Maybe though, maybe it's because it really felt good to think about doing this sort of thing......

"What sort of thing? Get on with it already Meghan, you're boring us to tears...."

I'm becoming a health freak again. I feel good when I do it and this time, I'm far less "religious right" about it. I understand the great beauty of cake, the magic of a cigarette, the unadulterated joy of a tub of ice cream, the occasional need for a case of fine malt brew ending with face in toilet yoga pose. Every once in awhile, I plan to be an athlete in these sports, a champion, a gold medalist! But by and large, when I'm eating a 80+% raw food diet, when I'm bicycling or jogging regularly, lifting weights, practicing yoga, and learning more about the mechanics of how the human body works on molecular, muscular, and systematic levels I am happy. I feel like, helping others understand the beauty of the human body might be a more worthwhile pursuit for me than, say, managing a toy store.

"So become a nutritionist then and quit yammering on about what you 'might do' asshole"

Eh, maybe. We'll see about that right? I can't do it in standard format, nor can I do it with a complete holistic approach. I think both are only as intelligent as the incorporation of their counterpart. Working in standard medical community: shite. Working as a hippy dippy robe wearing "let the energy of your food communicate to you its importance" yammering yutz: also, eh, shite. I'm not sure that "nutritionist" is the role I need to play. Perhaps there's another alternative, a counselor position, a clinic that helps people realize the beauty of their body, how it correlates with their ability to assimilate their outside world mentally and emotionally from a higher level, how each of us are responsible for our journey, how to live and let go, love and be free, understand and process our experience as creatures on this crazy planet earth with more elation through understanding basic biological principles. I probably need to marry a rich dude for this still. If I want to travel anyway.

Actually, I kind of want to open up a school. One that fucks up our current education system by having a curriculum that shapes kids into actual people, actual functioning, alert, aware, healthy human beings. Wouldn't that be neat? Classes like "interpersonal communication" in high school teaching kids that HOW we say things to one another affects the way our words are heard. Woah!? What? And classes like, "common sense", learning that you are not the only asshole here taught to 14 year olds. Ooh, and a great class would be "finance management". Because, frankly as much as I'm not for the IRS or taxes, if you're going to make me fill that shit out government, teach me what the fuck all those stupid boxes are about okay? Also, kids need to know what paying bills, making a budget, and all that shit is about. Let's face it, parents don't give a shit anymore, they've pawned it all off on schools. Okay then, let's do it. And government, pull your dick out of it. Word. Next class: refining your second language. Because you've been learning a second language since you were young right? Of course you have. Because that's a new rule or something....it should be. Second language gets taught in elementary. Graduation final, has to be completed before graduation is allowed: One month of work in the restaurant industry, two weeks in fast food, two weeks volunteer on a farm, two days planning curriculum for and teaching a class. Write a small two-five page report on each experience and compile in a portfolio.

I mean honestly, as much as keeping citizens retarded makes for the ability to control them, and sure, maybe if I were an ego-maniacal government official I might see value in this mode of thought, it would be far less agitating to have a higher quotient of intelligent people floating around. Actual, intelligent, thoughtful, understanding, human beings. Right? I'm right.

How the fuck am I going to reduce all that down to one calling? Philanthropy. Where's my rich dude husband? Let me know if you find him before I do, I'd love him to ask me out to a raw vegan dinner....you know.....because he can foot the bill for that sort of thing.

One of the most inwardly intensive summers of my life is nearing an end and on the cusp of drastic transitions. In just a matter of weeks, the subtitles of fall will begin to peek out from under the shade and the vibrance of everything basking in the intense heat of the sun will begin to wither and blow away in the wind. We can't feel it just yet, it seems so far away still in the battering of the intense mid-afternoon heat, but it's there if you just listen carefully enough. Autumn is coming and with her comes transition. For me, personally, it means more than even I could know. It means another step in growth, and this step is a giant leap.

I recall days when summertime meant basking in the heat, maybe running through sprinklers or going for swims. I remember when summer meant more play time and vacations. I remember when it meant smiles and laughter in all the freedom one could seek. This summer was exceptional in the ways of what I have always believed summer to be. I ran through sprinklers, dove in the creek, marveled at the flowers blooming with tears in my little blue eyes, and jesus christ did I play! There were great parties in the woods, and times of running around like a child. There were vacations too. I took them, grabbed life and I went to play, oh Montreal and Sante Fe! Somehow, even in the multitude of moments I felt the warmth of my favorite time of the year, I was desperately uncomfortable. I haven't made much progression toward anything that feels heartwarmingly productive. I, as a gardner watering perennials, have not yet produced my most vibrant, most pungent, most abundant blossom. What exactly that will look like, or what it will take is what looms at the root of why, with every passing season, I try harder.

This year, I try harder than I ever have before. I start school in two days, the first day in four years. I could have had a degree by now sure, but it would have been in something I was completely disinterested in and half assed. Whatever learning I might have done then by the scripture of text books would have floated in and out of my ears and little might have stuck. I went to the college of real life these last four years where I learned to feel, I learned to wonder, explore, play, and grow from within. I learned more about who I am, who I want to be, and my perception on this precious gift of life. I learned a bit about love. Now, I approach -admittedly with some grains of fear- the educational community with a new found curiosity, a desire to soak in new volumes of information, to grow cerebrally and build new networks by which I am connected in this world. I'm going to geek out and it's going to be awesome.

I'm looking forward to all this new change. There is so much of it ahead and I can't even imagine what it will look like. Even if I tried, it wouldn't turn out the way I'd imagined anyhow. That's pretty exciting. Pretty damn exciting.