Todays Lesson Kids

I have allowed the opposite sex to take advantage of me. Once I began dating, I noticed some very important details which have evolved to substantial understanding. Men are only interested in one thing. They may be interested in it more than once with the same person(hence marriage), but their concerns revolve around their dicks and the level at which they are wet. My high school boyfriend pressured me relentlessly to fuck. I hardly knew myself let alone if I remotely enjoyed the kids company and yet he seemed to think that sex was what our relationship needed. Sigh, we weren't together long. So I began to see early on what men are about and yet the lesson took so much longer to resonate. If they can't get it from you willingly, the scruples fly out the window and they will either try and take it, or get it from some other unsuspecting chickie whose lesson has yet to hit home. Why as women, are we given these emotions? This need to place a deeper meaning on everything? We feel more, feel stronger, feel in such great detail and depth and yet we are meant to procreate with man and carry on nurturing relationships with creatures who feel nothing if it's not related to their cock and/or balls. Perhaps marriage, relationships, soul mates, are only constructs of the female world. Why though have we created these unattainable qualities and forced them onto men if they will never be able to reciprocate? Men do not feel deeply. Men do not put meaning on events or other people. Men are either hungry or horny...dear God, somebody get that man a ham sandwich! Maybe, just maybe...to sustain the population(we're their people, please stop), men are only necessary for the act of child making. After copulation and impregnation, the women move in to raise the offspring. Than we'd be free to throw meaning around like dicks in the wind. I always thought me mummers was mom and dad enough. Without my dad, maybe I cling to men and allow them to get their way from some child born need of acceptance or something as equally myopic. If I understand men the way I believe I do now, why do I still feel like there is someone who thinks as I do out there, with a penis. Someone who loves intellect and awareness and substance. I should get a dog. He'll respect and love me and demand I place meaning on every little detail of my life...once I get him neutered.

A Funny Thing Happened...

on the way home from work at 4am. I've been thinking about perception a lot lately. How we perceive the world in all its particulars is directly related to subjectivity. What I perceive as cold may not be deemed as such by another, say a crack whore at four am with her coat swung open and I with my scarf wrapped up to my eyeballs...it was minus eighteen after all. Now, objectively, it was a wee bit chilly. The crack whore had probably just left a vehicle and was filled with ooeey gooeey warmness(ugh, that turned my stomach a little), and decidedly high as, well, a crack whore. After I avoided her stumblings, I thought about how we witness the world. Why some things are felt in certain lights and some things in others. I believe I see with eyes that are aware. I explain the world away and hence sadness follows me like, well, warm and gooeey crack whores. She probably just wanted to rob me blind. Anyhow, observing the way in which I do, I notice that I question what makes me happy and why. There was a time I perceived the world as brimming with potential. Perhaps I get lost in the day to day and forget to chill. Perhaps what use to fill me with contentment no longer offers what it did. Should I branch out to new things, or continue to beat this dead crack horse? No one misses her. I also ponder on what other people think of me. Of how they discern things I say or do, or not. As a result of negative or positive occurring in my existence thus far, completely alters how I am affected by occurrences now. To an extent this is good. I've learned that if the oven is on and I place my hand upon it, it will invariably hurt. So I have perceived this as bad. However, being programmed in this manner cannot be turned off. You do not forget that the stove hurts, nor do you forget how people can affect you in very much the same way. I spend my life running from things I deem "bad" or hurtful and bee-lining towards those that contain the opposite. I think if I were to attain balance, I would be bored. Why is being comfortable so awful? I detest it so. Yet, I fear the challenge. Failure has so many horrid connotations but is it so? Is failing just another perception that we give meaning to? I think failure is the thing I fear most, but what makes it so scary? The greatest thinkers/artists/heroes failed all the time. That's how they learned. Perhaps I am not learning because I am not willing to risk whatever it is I'm doing to fall apart. I wish it were simple to flip your brain, turn your world upside down and begin anew. See the world in a new light and take it for the illusion it truly is. Laugh at myself daily, enjoy a moment for what it is, be grateful for everything all the time and smile unabashedly for no reason at all...although, what would people think?

Fucked in the Upstairs

I cried over my peanut butter toast this morning. The toast was fine, slightly dry...and I guess it was no longer morning at one-thirty...I digress....

I am purposeless. Sans purpose. Without el purpo...I don't know Spanish but I'm sure that's accurate. Carrying on a conversation the other day, I realized that I have no ambition. I strive to be creative. To be kind to others. To learn and better myself in any and every capacity. However, I am not driven to anything specific. I don't save lives. I hardly think humanity would miss my recurrent ramblings and humor. I wonder, often, what I am designed for. With billions of others existing just as I, I question if any of us really have a function. Some large and brilliant scheme that affects us all at some time or another. Do we all have reason? Are our intentions really so meaningful to any one other than ourselves? Perhaps if I had some larger goal happiness would rain from the sky and I would never cry over peanut butter again. When I was little, I had such fantasies. I dreamt of being famous. Not rich, but loved and known by all. I would aim to do what I was most passionate about in all the lands and the world would appreciate my undying aspirations. Now that the world in all of its infinite practicality has curbed my imaginative concepts, I am lost. I always pitied those who knew not of what they wanted to be. Those who seemed so aimless and unproductive. I was ahead of them all. I had desires that seemed too tangible not to come to fruition. One can achieve goals that require very little from other people. When your entire dream resounds around one and only one object...that being one of affection from other humans, the bottom begins to drop out. Foundationless and disillusioned, where do I go from here? I exist day to day now. My future is bleak...how could it not be? I have no vision. I spend most days thinking only of the future and now there are so many slots vacant I can't seem to put the pieces together. I love a great many things but none of which would make me a living. Am I doomed to roam the earth living day to day, taking no pride in my occupation? Making casholla my aim and watching tv to glimpse a moment of requited dreams? What should I be when I grow up is not a question you should be asking for an entire lifetime until one day you attempt to open your eyes, 'cept you can't cuz your dead. Yeah, dead. Will I long for fulfillment forever? Maybe that's why I search for completion from the opposite sex because my life is void of stimulation. It frightens me to think that I may grow old and resent my entire time here. Regret is a terrifying mistress...and most only like the top half...you know, the half with the boobs. Boobs are sweet...

I Am Who I Was

I am currently immersed in an exceptionally heavy show....heavy with a capital "challenge even to walk" kind of a show. This production is feeding me in many glorious and inexplicable ways...however, I am learning of my foreignness. I am an outcast. Would not be the first time nor the last for that matter, but for some reason it's hitting me quite abruptly in my feeling place...you know, like my heart and junk. We rehearse in a large garage. It is cold, rapidly fills with our sometimes not so sweet stench of sweat, occasional blood and frustrated tears but houses some of the greatest creative moments I have ever been witness to...and we've only just begun. Alas, something huge is missing. Nobody likes me. The two females have worked on a show previously together and the two males have done practically every show with one another since the companies inception several years prior. I am new. I would think that people would like that. Like I exist as a commodity rather than an obstacle. During our brief and only break within this four hour marathon of physical and mental exertion, the men gathered to speak of shows I've never viewed(and I am super hip by the way) and the women converged to speak of people I've never met. I am the kid on the playground who no one wants to play with. Like the foreigner who speaks not a word of english or the kid who picks his nose rather non-stealth like and wipes it on the girl in front of him. Wait, at one point the director did stop by to ask if I had placed lemon in my water. Ah yes, the pity convo. Like when the teacher catches wind of the obvious error and forces the others to invite her into their shenanigans....
begrudgingly of course. It makes me think, is there nothing of value in me to get to know? If I saw me, would I make the effort? I ask them questions. I am curious about who these people are. I wasn't a lonely kid growing up nor was I sensationally popular. There was always someone lower on the totem pole that I could snag and befriend. So am I now at the bottom? That little piece of wood with moss covering the goods? Invisibility would be super...if I could use it to steal or check in on hot dudes...not so much fun when those options are unattainable. I have stuff to offer...good stuff. If they can't recognize awesomeness incarnate, well maybe I don't want to know them. Yes I do, who am I kidding.

Alone is a Three Letter Word

That one syllable word being of course, SAD. It resonates as somewhat pathetic I know but truthful it remains. Ahhh, sadness...this palpable marriage of letters associated with so many sleepless nights and tear stained pillow cases. I am single. This fact is brought to light daily by the passing masses of seemingly happy couples with their knowing looks of satisfactory smugness. It's as though they know a secret sharable only to those deemed worthy of such whispers. I haven't always been single. It's kind of a new thing for me. I make supremely awful choices when it comes to the opposite sex. I mean appallingly horrendous choices...the kind of choice that can never be forgotten or removed. In the animal kingdom, those who do not "mate" do not survive. Not only are they pushed from the herd of lovers making babies and sharing those clandestine conversations, but they are doomed to wander the plains without love and eventual food. These rogue creatures soon die of exposure, lack of sustenance, or being swallowed whole by some unsightly and gruesome predator just biding it's time til the lone being falls to it's knees in sheer exhaustion and unhappiness...or some other awful end. Survival does not favor the lone animal ostracized from the group. Of no use to the overall well being of the pack, their life is irrelevant as their obvious short comings would only weaken the species. Animals can smell fault from miles away. I think people aren't so different. Perhaps something is inherently wrong with me and therefore I attract broken members of the opposite sex or none at all. The broken ones aren't meant to reproduce, therefore something tragic occurs to prevent that and I am left sad once more. All creatures pair off at some point. Not to say that I want to be paired with a broken one. I suppose I need to adjust whatever the herd is smelling in me and fake a proper mate out, have his offspring and then eat him. If a garter snake can sucker other males to help change its heat signature so as to hump the female first, I can surely work some magic in time as well. I mean for Christ sakes, a garter snake. On a side note, everyone on the bus stinks. I mean everyone. Can you not smell yourselves? You're repulsive. Bathe. If you can afford to take the bus, you can afford a shower. Speaking of natural selection. Bus people should never mate...those would be some stinky, stupid babies.

Whatever Happened To...

common decency? Respect for thy fellow man? Treating others as you would care to be treated? I have my heart broken every day because I care for others so. Does this happen to anyone else? Am I alone in my overwhelming need to make others happy? Feeling good takes nearly no effort at all and yet it seems so foreign to the rest of the free world. I have bad days. I get bummed out and long for someone to release on...but I refrain from hurting others to appease the grumpy bear inside. I do not take out my misfortunes on anyone for any reason. Unless provoked. I am talking to you, leatherface cunt. Yeah, you. Did you have a rough one? Are you so unhappy with your existence that you must force anger on anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into your web of self loathing and intolerable cruelty? Did the three dollar extra charge on your meal this evening (so that you could inhale exactly what you wanted) really turn you into the beast i was to deal with? Or were you just biding your time before striking with your sickening impatience and insufferable rudeness? Was it truly necessary for you then to make it personal because I was refusing your inane requests and angry taunts? How is that a proportionate response? You got your fucking noodles, I explained before paying that a charge of THREE DOLLARS would be incurred and yet you waited, then pounced. Have listening skills gone the way of the dodo as well? When apologies and soft, calming tones are no longer enough to satiate a raving bitch bent on getting her three bucks back, are we really so civilized? I would much rather live on all fours in a dank swamp with not a whisper of light. Then, when someone crosses my turf, I would merely rip off there face and feed their entrails to my many four legged and frenzied children. The end. No stress, no hurt feelings, not a thought of it would linger in my mind cuz you'd be dead and consumed, forever part of my digestive track but out of my brain. It sucks that I am so affected by others. Especially their negativity. "Be the change you wish to see in the world" and I suppose maybe that's all the lesson I need. Self restraint has become such a virtue as it so rarely utilized. Please lord, don't let that woman reproduce...I may be forced to eat her offspring and I'm watching my figure.

Driver Education

There are many things that I aspire to be in my life if only I had the time and conviction. One such aspiration? Driving Instructor. I have been a motorist, a pedestrian and a bicyclette handler in several major cities in Canada and throughout Europe. Ahhhhh, Europe...I love those wine drinking, seafood swilling, dope smoking, syphilis soaked(that ones for Italy), brilliant bicycle riding genius's. They of all the places I've roamed, know how to work together in their travels. Cars and pedestrians live side by side in a world of peace and prosperity. Cyclists understand their role and cars abide by the rules of the road. Sometimes it seems as though there are no rules in place, but by golly it works! I despise the drivers in this country and now in this city. You are all moronic, self absorbed single celled organisms with too many toys to play with. You are operating a tonne of metal fury going speeds designed for those with attention spans. Please put down the eyelash curlers, the meat ball subs and the goddamned fucking Christ on a cracker CELL PHONES. You should have your eyes on the road, your mirrors and the other million people surrounding you. Multitasking is not something human beings are capable of. Seriously. Your brain stops functioning for a millisecond when you switch your attention and can return just as quickly but you cannot, contrary to popular belief, do more than one thing at a time...it's a scientific fact. Science also tells us that lack of focus+sonic speed+one thousand pounds of metal=badness. Wait, that's math. Anyways, I nearly got hit three times in one day, three times...and I mean nearly. When a few particles of your soul leave your body out your ass three times in one day, we have a problem. All three times were lack of driver concentration and understanding road rules. Who is training these people? They should be shot in the face and disallowed a funeral for all of the people they've maimed and killed over the years for granting these assholes a licence. Who does not understand the concept of "right of way"? Driving has to be one of the most pleasant and simple things in the world to grasp. If you cannot back up without hitting something, drive with both hands while watching your surroundings or your anxiety over the sheer act of motoring consumes you...give it up. Taxis, transit or your own two feet are my recommendation. This numbskullary has gone too far. The only reason I am still alive is because of my ability to pay attention. Shouldn't it be both our responsibilities though? If both of us were focused on the task at hand, wouldn't that avoid say, every single unwanted outcome? The next time my asshole parts and little pieces of me escape in fear of fatality, I will kick off a mirror screaming with reckless abandon, "It was you or me, motherfucker!!!"

It's Not Who But When

So it's been decided. No longer will I search, scour, sleuth out the "one" for me. No more Dream Man. No more Mr. Right. No more soul mate who will complete my very existence and make life forever enduring and bearable. Just one day, I may be walking down the street on a snowy afternoon or reading a book on a park bench watching puppies play with their negligent and baby ridden owners, and it'll happen. I will be ready to settle. I mean, settle down.
Whoops. Truly though, some dude will pass by when my brain and heart have met each other and decided to make friends and that will be that. No hunting, longing or failure. It'll just be timing and maybe that's the truth. Maybe it's not the perfect dream boat with the toned body, heart of gold, and wit to match his washboard abs that will catch my eye. I will just be ready for commitment, stability and love. I tend to skip steps. I skip because I don't believe those I skip with are worthy of anything more from me. That is somehow such an absurd and awful thing to admit for the skips I step are often the only ones that make any difference and matter the most. What's even worse is the value I place on odd things over my own body and safety. I was "obligated" into bringing this dude home the other night. His friends had ditched him and his only option was to come and crash(oh, there would only be sleeping) at my abode or...sleep on a stoop. It's funny I didn't see the third option at the time...I don't give a fuck where you rest your fatness cuz I'm going home to eat pizza in my awesome apartment and pass out with a smile and pepperoni on my lips...I was hungry. Sigh...so being the weaker sex in all the wrong fucking ways, I trudged him home with me. What I learned though was quite the valuable lesson...I place no standards on personal space. It was an odd lesson cuz I always felt that entering the Rhandi bubble took time, effort and lots of flowers. Not so. I was more traumatized by this fat and hairy backed beast sweating on my freshly washed blankets with his hippy swass and touching his mouth to my water bottle with his...gulp...mouth, than I was by his constant advances towards my tits and ass. His inept persuasions to remove apparel fell so short that I'm pretty sure I heard his penis retract into his body...not that it had far to go and that was the end of that. I sent him on his way the next day with "Well, you've annoyed me for long enough, time to go," and the lesson was indeed learned-Love and Respect Thy Self regardless of anyone else and their conception of my ebbing kindness. Also, I've seen porn stars, honest to goodness PORN STARS wear condoms and you're telling me that I don't have enough self respect and body consciousness over safety to allow you to perform(I'm sure) delightful moves you've learned from the Yukon on me sans rubber? WHO DOESN'T WEAR A CONDOM IN THIS DAY AND AGE? I mean seriously, you're a dude. You're whole existence stems from you're level of bonerdom and you don't just have them with you? This was only discussed by the way, as I was stalling and hoping for his brain to just shut down and leave me alone. I mean, no chub means minor brain function, correct? You know like amoebas in the split second their not consuming protein? It sounds like I hate men. I do not. I learn about myself by way of their stupidity. I am also coming to terms with the fact that they are all the same and that's ok cuz I don't need to be a part of it. After a sleepless night of hiding my valuables and thinking about hygiene, I woke with a profound appreciation for my physical self and soap. Surely invented by a woman.

Butter is Better

I've decided failure is my greatest fear. Duh.....but not even failure, but the fear of it which motivates me. I like to think that things happen decidedly and without my contribution. Sometimes though, I get these sinking suspicions that I have more control than previous thought led me to believe. For the first time in a very long time I was challenged. It's been some time so I was unsure of these new and dreadful churning's in my gut. I felt lost, and immediately angry. Why is the anger my one and only fallback position? I could be chased by bears and I believe that I would turn and glare at them as the smallest of the three mauled me as his play thing. Of course there'd be three, that's how bears operate. So, I get angry anyhow, all the while questioning why am I angry? Why am I allowing myself to get distracted by emotion and make careless and rudimentary mistakes? I use to be the best at what I did...at least in the locale I did it in. I was the go-to-girl. Everything and anything could be asked of me and I could and would deliver. Now, I am out of my element in a foreign land of talent and skill sets that surpass my existing abilities. Or perhaps I was just a little constipated that day...did feel pretty gassy. I knew in my heart though, that I was working my balls off and coming up short. Don't get me wrong, I wanted this. I longed for a test of my abilities. I just wanted to perform better. It's hard knowing you are the drowning mouse and not the one patiently making cream to butter. I wanna be the butter mouse, dammit. I want to climb out of that cream can, lick myself for hours(cuz butter is delicious) and stroll on ripped and confident. Like a mouse on roids. Will this challenge nourish me in ways never before experienced? Or will I hobble home one day with the realization that I am only as good as I am right now and that is all I will ever be. If it's the latter, whatever will I do? Drown and ruin the farmers butter, I suppose.

Two Weeks Later

Kinda like 28 Weeks later but with much less screaming and not nearly enough sprinting zombie attacks. It's an odd experience walking home and hoping that you reach it safely. I normally never worry bout that sort of thing...I desire that to diminish promptly. Other than some rather vicious and violent dreams, some suppressed and unexpressed anger, and mild crying fits (though I believe those to be unrelated), I am OK. I actually kinda feel like a Terminator...scanning every possible being for violent significance. It's as though I am in constant awareness of who is around me and deciding rather quickly if they pose a threat. Like my Terminator screen says, "Old, feeble man-Threat low" or "Two drunken dudes-Threat Moderate-pepper spray deployment pending." It's awful tiring living in this manner. So much energy expelled just to walk down a street to the safety of my sanctuary. I feel as though making eye contact was not the deterrent I had been led to believe but an invitation. Frankly, the opposite of what is desired. Like if you're in a bar and you accidentally look the way of some dude, he won't leave you alone for the rest of the night. Even if he doesn't have the balls to say hi, he will gawk and be intrusive til you leave. Perhaps that's man language everywhere...and perhaps that's what I did wrong. Speaking of drunken dudes...did you know that dudes drive up and down seventeenth ave trying to pick up chicks at three thirty in the am? Like has that actually worked for you before? Do girls really get that fucked that YOU are their only option? Also, who needs to get laid at that hour? Go to bed you fuck and leave me alone. Your drunken leers are not making my pants come off any faster...in fact, I may become celibate as a direct result of your comments. What happened to romance? Effort? Patience? Do these qualities exist in the 21st century male or have they gone the way of self respect and honesty? I miss those. My new favorite thing by the way...Policeman. I see one, and I want to hug them...regardless of how far up their own ass they've ventured.

Penis Wielding something, somethings...

What an interesting evening I endured. Interesting, or an experiment in the twenty-first century male? The night began innocently enough with delightful beers at my boss' place. The right company can make all the difference. Then we proceeded to take a stroll to some new-to-me night spots frequented by seemingly, my kind o peeps. We began in a house turned hotspot which was inviting and full of delicious dudes to gaze upon. Had some convo that would have inevitably changed the world for the better had anyone in power been eaves dropping...beers bring out my best ideas of course. Once our buzz was brimming, I was led to a sweet dance locale void of people but bursting with some serious block rockin beats. Still, the night had a light feel and I was having a grand time. Once we danced and engaged in some Red Stripe action...a pleasant surprise by the way...we were off to our next adventure. Half Irish pub which opened to a banging club, the meat market began. I was introduced first to this humongous douche who felt the need to tell me "I use to be fat but check out my biceps. Also, I own this, drive this, and make this." Sorry douche, but you're still pretty pudgy, your arms are only defined when you're flexing and turning red in the face from the effort cuz obvious your cardio levels are not up to par and I DON'T GIVE A FUCK BOUT THE REST. Needless to say he was unintelligent and putting on a front that could be seen from space. As the night progressed, I ending up meeting this darling man who seemed down to earth, clever, and had some super moves on the floor. We exchanged some words for a time, until the douche decided to be a cock blocking son of a bitch and intervene. He pushes a beer in front of my face on the dance floor and then just stands there waiting for me to react. The poor darling guy figures this bald fat dude is my boyfriend and scurries off without a word. I don't do well with ownership, entitlement, vapidity or cock blocking, so I told the ass face exactly this, "I imagine that when you were fat, at least you were nice." He didn't take that so well and for the rest of the night made digs at me and attempted to undercut me at every turn. I believe his "game" which learnt from Maxim or some other brilliant bite of what a "woman truly needs" or "how to get hot chicks out of your league to notice your fat, angry, and empty ass", was to insult me til I realized his clearly awesomeness and jump on his guaranteed minuscule genitals. Ugh. As the night progressed, I was introduced to a Kiwi. He was athletic, articulate but he continued to spit on my face every time he spoke. Yet somehow, he grossed me out less than fat boy. What kind of a world have I entered into when "not as disgusting as the other dude" becomes enough to stick my tongue in someone? Part of that was also to stick it to fatty cuz his shocked, insulted face and constant swearing became my goal for the rest of the evening...it was a slow night. We ended the night at the Ship, still playing my suck it you grotesque piece of shit game. On our approach to the bar, mcfatty decided his genius tactics were failing and flicked my breast. It was on. I remained calm-ish as I pulled my keys from my purse, slowly put one of each between my knuckles and said rather sedately, "Do that again you fuck." He was present during my key arrangement, looked at my face and gritted teeth and backed the fuck up. I also had the Kiwi behind me, so I felt pretty confident. He wouldn't look at me for the rest of the night so the game unfortunately came to an end. Drinks were had, tongues were touched and I walked home, alone. Kiwi tried to push it, I remembered his saliva hitting me in the face on every syllable...the decision was an easy one. On my walk to find pizza, I stumbled on a policeman(and a voice bordering stern and frightening), question a man resembling the description I gave to the detective the other day regarding last Friday's events. I wanted to stop by and tell the cop, he's not the guy, but it seemed a pretty intense interrogation so I let it be. The guy was squirming something fierce and being one of those dastardly penis wielders, he probably deserved a little roughing. As I strolled along thinking of pepperoni and cheese, I came across yet another blond, 5'10", mid-thirties dude stopped by police and I shit you not...as I walked further, twice more did this occur. It was troubling because I had a bit of a reliving, seeing all these dudes who indeed looked like the description but none fitting the bill. It was also relieving to see the effort and the serious nature that the city had invariably adopted regarding this matter. I felt as though I was receiving retribution of sort and it...felt pretty good. After passing this nearly absurd sight, some dude, very sweet who spoke of his new found lady friend, bought me a slice, we munched in between his enamored speak and I stumbled home, passing out on my floor. So all in all, the night started out great, took a slight down turn and possible eye gouging, and ended on a high note. There are decent dudes out there and I am grateful I had a chance to spot a few...if only the virtuous ones could keep their dick from doubling as the question...and the answer.

My mom is not going to like this one...

So I am wasted. absolutely....the most I've been in a looong time. Why? Well, I needed some release. Not a positive form of said action...here we are. I became inebriated beyond reproach for my travels up the hillery...specific reason... TBA. I will admit at this point and time that I am still far more sober than most of my age and range...I am typing after all and I apologize for any spelling errors that may incur. I destroyed my liver this evening for a reason...revenge. Sounds ridiculous to me even now. I am torn between lying down and getting this the fuck out. I want this fucker destroyed. Wrong? NO. I purposefully made myself a victim this evening to appeal to the sick fuck who should have been available. I mean really...where are you? Do you seriously have better things to do? I planned it. I planned my level of intoxication...as I planned my level of preparedness. The ringing in my ears and the fact that I need to keep one foot on the floor...indicates to me that I am more far gone than I thought. I did indeed meet a man on my travels up the hill with pizza and napkin in hand...not the one I had in mind but he would do in a pinch I figured. I explicitly told him about ten feet away: "I am going to pepper spray you if you don't cross the road right fucking now." He complied. Nice to see all men aren't what I've experienced as of late. You can be subservient for once and scurry 'cross the road in fear of being attacked, maimed, blinded or royally fucked. I expected fully to get drunk tonight and kill someone...or, see previous. Instead i am home, safe and sound...which I am indeed grateful for and yet somehow disappointed. Not about the safe part but I could have done with a little more carnage. Sorry mom...don't worry, but this was my intent. I will sleep soundly until the realization creeps back in. I met a lot of people this night. They were all relatively friendly but not very bright. Do the smart ones not go out and partake in the savage dance of drunken retardation, late night pizza, and spinning rooms with mascara clinging desperately to eye lashes even after you've scrubbed vigorously? Or is it just the ones who engage me? Does being stupid give you more courage? Or are they friendly cuz they don't have anything else to offer. Regardless, I had a pretty good time and realized as a second to my mission of destruction that maybe not all hope is lost. I was quite rude to a few men who thought it would be in their best interest to converse with me in futility. It felt really good. I probably wasn't even rude compared to most standards but it was rude for me. It is not necessary for a lone girl sitting at the bar, obviously not looking remotely friendly to respond to inane and useless questions thrown at her across the surprisingly comfortable wooden oval by drunken forty year olds seeking company and encouragement. They were let known to this fact abruptly. It was pretty fun. Being hated is easy. It takes such little effort to insult other people and keep them moving on to someone who gives a shit. That being said, everyone got home safe and with their eyes, so males may rest with ease...for at least another night. I feel like a super hero: "The Amazing Raging Pink Pepper Sprayer!" Faster than the freaks who stalk and smarter than the ones who don't. My not so veiled attempt at getting some power back. My ego is still awfully pissed at me and needs a little TLC. If getting wasted and fighting nobodies in a bar is going to accomplish that...well, I guess I am like every other scorned chick that ever was. I think for now, I can be ok with that.

An Open Letter to the Monster in the Shorts at 3am

There are so many words to describe how I am feeling at this moment and not a one of them possessing positivity or the magnitude with which I am feeling them. I am irate. Livid. Disgusted. Appalled. Morose. Slightly traumatized...only slightly. I think the slightly part is what bothers me most. I have always maintained a certain level of naivete' about other people. "People are inherently good. People when put into certain situations will always do the right thing. People who are sick in the head had it rough and need help." I have been proven wrong time and time again and yet this unwavering faith in humanity has given me strength. Now my strength comes from somewhere else...someplace dark and sinister and somehow I knew this day would come and somehow...I am not surprised. I have never maliciously done anything to another human being. Do unto others and what not. I was raised by a powerful and independent woman who taught me the ways of the world and that you don't need to harbor a bitter and destructive attitude just because wrong has been done to you. At this moment, all I want is for the man who I had the unfortunate "run-in" with last night, (yes you, you weak, sick, tiny dicked fuck who feels good about what he did or else why the fuck in any sense would you do it), to become some big and bad mans girlfriend for the rest of his diseased and tormented life. I hope you live forever you cocksucker with holes in you that shouldn't be and the feeling of fear at every flash of movement or wink of an eye. What right do you have? Who or what gave you the right to do that to someone else? If you're deranged, clearly, you should be executed from the first inception of your heartless and fucked soul. I don't care about your childhood. I don't care that you can't get laid. I don't care that not even your personality will inspire someone to relate to you. I don't hate and I don't wish evil deeds to be done, but you...you are something else. The worst part is that you'll never know the effect you had. You bolt, pleased as pie with your actions, not concerning yourself with how you've wrecked another human being. How do you live with that? How do you live with yourself? Who raised you and why is she allowed to exist? Why are you? I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone ever and if there is anything else I could do to make sure you feel responsible for what you've done and that this never happens to anyone again...I will do it. There is so much to do in the world and you spend your days affecting woman negatively, and for what? You selfish, maniacal piece of worthless trash. You disgust me in a way I have never felt disgust. My lesson? I have yet to know. I do know that you don't deserve life if you attempt to destroy that of another. I despise humanity because of your actions and that is the unfairest part of it all. How do you slip under the radar so? How has no one pulverized you into oblivion? Why could I not? I am bred to be gentle, loving, and generous. How dare you attempt to take that from me? This is how you spend your days? I want more so much more than I will probably ever have and this, THIS is what your hours consist of? You don't deserve my thoughts or time and yet I can't shake these images of your horrid, abominable actions. I hope you are caught and the police do as I requested with your carcass. You are a shell of everything that is wrong with our society and I hope you perish without anyone ever loving you. The images of what I Should have done or been able to do will haunt me, but you, You Will Not Be Remembered.

Mr. Right, Mr. Oh So Wrong, and Mr. Jesus Christ What The Hell Was I Thinking!

So, he looked really good on paper. Like, really good. He was a med-student...brains, check...he had superb taste in music...rock and or roll, check...and he could keep up with me in conversation....wit, check check. Unfortunately, his inability to communicate, his level of self-absorption had reached peak levels by the time I got around to him...we are talking threat level midnight, people and he morphed rather quickly into a petulant and garrulous child. The problem being he had never been told no, had no empathy and thought that everyone else was wrong. I despised him far too quickly and yet wasted far too much energy attempting to understand his nature and what I was doing poorly. My bad. Then came Mr. Wrong...by the way, all of this fabulous wasting of time occurred in about two months...is this dating? Ugh, get me the F out. I'm also trying to subdue my swearing. Speaking of subdued, back to Oh So...he was a slightly more mature gentleman...in his forties. I know what you're thinking, ew...but he was hot. Super hot body and not remotely bad in the face. Again though, not once asking me a single, solitary question of myself(don't think he was self-absorbed, just inept) he spoke only of his past mistakes and failed relationships. He was quite contrary. Girls can have that effect? Who knew? So he had lots o money, property, a nice car, all the accoutrement's a man in his forties should have cuz if you don't you're either useless or addicted to something that siphons all your cash. Don't get me wrong, none of this impresses me. It is however important to be stable...shows your maturity level, which this fella had in spades. Hmmm, maybe he wasn't oh so wrong but Mr. Right afterall...anyway...there was zero chemistry. Zilch, Nada, Bupkis. He brought up his baggage in every conversation which would usually kill a mood, if there ever came a time there was one. So, rather mutually, we just kinda stopped speaking to one another. I see him from time to time, we wave and carry on our ways. Then, duh...duh... duhnduhn...not worse than Mr. Right but such a mistake nonetheless. My mistake cuz he has my phone #...luckily though not a clue where I reside...yeah, that kinda guy. Everything is off with this guy...I try to save the damaged ones but this dude is fubar. I may have to change my number...I'll keep you posted. What is wrong with your gender? You refuse to exit your bubble to ask a thoughtful question intended for the opposite sex, you refuse to admit fault, and your ability to manage a life with stability and normalcy seems a foreign concept. Perhaps it is I who needs to accept fault. My "picker" is off. 'Cept, I do not choose to make the move on these dolts. They come to me, I acquiesce and end up having to hide where I live and change my phone number. All three of these fuck-ups were terrible kissers as well...just bloody awful. Company is no longer going to suffice...my dream man is on the docket now. No more wasting precious moments and my awesome kissing techniques on self-centered douche bags who were pushed off the tit too soon(maybe not soon enough for some); Boys trapped in a man body with no bearing on life, love or communication. I offer a lot and expect at least the same in return...no more slumming.

Certifiable

So I'm still kinda on the insanity bit and I'll tell you why. As my last post presented, I believe I may be out of my head. As I was bawling and writing, there was still a part of me that did a spell check before posting my thoughts to the world wide web. Seriously...spell check. So I'm a deranged lunatic who cares about proper spelling.

Really what I want to speak of though is not whether I am certifiable but what I am capable of. Not me specifically either, but humanity in general...which I suppose includes me to a certain extent. It surprises me what a person is capable of. Still. I know shocking that any kind of human depravity could shock anyone cuz it's all pretty much been done...to me mostly. The sheer amount of trauma we can cause in another persons life, especially the people we love. I guess if you're gonna destroy somebody, you better make it count. Shocking how able and willing we are to preserve our own meager world at the expense of someone else and theirs. I often, too often, put every ones needs above my own. To such degree that I end up the broken one to avoid the hurt in another. Not a lot of people feel or act in this way. A person does not nor will ever understand what types of scars they've left. Not sure if they want to imprint a series of negative images forever on a person or if it's completely unintentional and purely out of fear and loathing...those words are so intrinsically one. I don't want these imprints, these scars to never heal...to always be visible to those new to me and even those not so. I want to begin anew and take every individual as such-an individual and not connected to my past experience with tragedy. When something is over it's done. I feel no need to make myself feel better by making the other feel worse. I want to heal. I want to move on. I want to be new. That's why babies are so great. They smell funny and the smugness on their parents face makes me want to punch them so...but they do offer an important concept. I hate that all I do is hate. Even when I'm not hating I feel like I'm barely holding off a descent into this negative void I've grown so accustom to. No one should feel comfortable in this. I somehow can't seem to escape. I deny who I am to most but mostly myself. I want to be reborn, born again...I should become religious...those people are great at contented falseness.

"Insane in the Membrane..."

I believe I am insane. Why else would I have made the decisions I have all the while expecting something else...some other more favorable outcome? The problem is, insanity is not usually followed by emotion. So how far gone am I really? So far in fact that guilt and loathing have become a staple to me like cheese or chocolate. Or perhaps I'm not completely broken because i still maintain feelings that wouldn't ordinarily exist if I were truly mad. I live in a constant state of fear; Fear that I have created and than sustained and than perpetuated. Fear makes a person do crazy things...so maybe this path of insanity was paved with good intentions...nope...cannot even pretend that that's the truth(at the very least I can still tell the difference). This path I've strode with blinders and blinkers on, letting those of less madness pass on the left, was paved in selfish concern for only I. Afraid of how things would affect me. There is a point when taking care of yourself first, turns into a one women show and you are left standing on your path, that you chose I might add, cold and more frightened than ever before. I continue to choose poorly. All out of fear. Afraid of what others may think, or do, or say...or not. I've learnt that damaging others is only short term as the true damage permeates the "damager." The only time I've told the truth is when I've had to. When truth would no longer sit idly by and watch the carnage unfold. What good does speaking the truth do? Well, if you prevent the lies in the first place...a lot. I want to crawl from my skin, forget the awfulness that is me, or at least became me and never be known again. As anything. I am so lucky and yet so very undeserving. How did I get here? How is this what I've become? Pretend. Lie. Imagine better but never get past pretending. I want to stop pretending. I want to stop lying. I want to be everything I've imagined and more and yet I'm afraid. OF WHAT!!!!!????? I don't even know anymore. I've spent so long pretending that my existence doesn't quite seem real. Like even if I did exist, I don't. I've fabricated a life that never was or will ever be. People like the pretend me...I've learnt early on that people get along well with pretend Rhandi. She's smart. Cute. Well read. Funny when the mood allows. Entertaining and never stricken with the usual horridness that is a girl. Never emotional. Always calm and collected. A mystery to be unearthed. There's no mystery...just deceit and rot. A rotting pustule of slyness and regret. Welcome to the truth...the reality...the insanity...it's scarier than you thought.

A Repeat

I am once again questioning every choice I have ever made and every path I have ever strode upon. Why? Once again, someone very clever and becoming dear to me has brought to my attention that I have entered myself into a futile profession. Not in those words mind you, but he certainly brought up some very valid points...or were they? I, when growing up and performing in my back yard(whilst dictating my sisters every move), not once, not ever pontificated on the matters of money. Did I ever worry how I'd support myself? Did i ever wonder how others would see my choices and development? Did I ever think that somehow I was lacking in my choice of career, nay, passion while others had the "right" idea? Nope. I dreamt of stages lit with white light and my talents. I thought of roles that entertained the world and changed the hearts of a rare few deserving of such knowledge. Money was never on the radar of my hopes and goals. Was it just because of my youth that these thoughts never surfaced, or was it that money does not equate value. If you were a young lad growing up and relishing a life in a field as invasive as medicine, AND, you were not getting paid for it...would you still voluntarily enter into such a daunting choice? Of course reverence would come to those who chose this profession as with acting, but if the money were never a factor...would people still do the maniacally insane amount of work it takes to enter such a field? Sure you love what you do and you affect other people which inevitably aids in the world remembering you, but would you still do it? Is it wrong of me to want to get paid to do what I love? Is it almost an obscene idea to try and put money in the same sentence as what I love? Does money belong in a conversation about passion and involvement? Perhaps it is I who puts all the emphasis in the wrong avenue. I just feel pressure, from nearly perfect strangers apparently, to convince them of the benefits of being in the arts. I would love not to ever serve another human being again in any capacity other than to entertain. I would need money for that...payment of sorts...perhaps return to a time of mercantilism and receive an arm load of beans for a performance...magic ones of course, but it would be some recognition of sorts. The world would know I have purpose and my struggles would not go in vain. I long for the days of flitting bout my back yard, doing magic shows and Beach Boys air bands. I never worried about convincing anyone of anything...maybe cuz I didn't have to convince myself. So why am I so intent on making money such an integral part of what I love to do? Cuz everyone else does? Cuz i secretly do but refuse to admit it on principle? Or cuz a doctor wants to know, "Where do you go with this, exactly?" Why do I need to know where it goes? How will that help me lead a fulfilling and positive life? Am I only bothered by his valid questions because I feel like I am not accomplishing what I should be and am only deflecting so I don't end every night in tears with ice cream pouring from my eye sockets? Now I am off topic, I'm afraid. Anyways, the point is I long for a day when I could say to someone upon meeting them, "I am an actor" without hesitation and looking away sheepishly cuz I see the same old question rising in their throat and i'm embarrassed by my admission.

The Unicorn

It is brought to my attention on pretty much a daily basis that I have exceedingly far reaching expectations and standards when it comes to people I choose to care about. Is it though that I expect far too much or that people have become lazy, complacent, stubborn and provide far too little. Far too little effort, far too little of themselves and far too not fucking good enough. I want a man in my life who with his shiny, thick, and luxurious locks has the ability to sweep me off my feet at a moments notice, listen to me without hesitation and a glazed look to the eye(hey, I have interesting stuff to speak of), oozes confidence from every orifice, emanates maturity, stability and confidence, fears not the unknown and can stand beside me as an intellectual equal(if that's remotely possible). So all I want is everything I am in a dude...ahhh, the Unicorn. I don't think that's too much to ask. For those of you who don't ask for at least that, you're selling yourselves short. I declare as of this moment in space and time, that I shall never settle. I won't ignore potentially disastrous elements of a persons nature cuz "I like them". Nor will I attempt to rectify any personality traits I deem teeming with incongruity with my list above...you either have it or you don't. Why must we always be forced to choose one or the other? You can have the great guy but he has serious commitment, or stability, or financial, or maturity, or or or... issues? That's not so fucking great. I believe it is entirely possible to have it all. If I have the ability to look at myself, proclaim, hey...this is what's wrong with me so I am going to take great measures to fix it...why can no one else? How do you not see that you are totally fucked and should be alone to protect humanity from your inevitably fucked spawn? Lost people do not raise right offspring. Unless it's like eye color and the fucked gene can be somewhat repressed in like, oh I don't know, every other child. If you are fucked, you should be scarlet lettered. What right do you have to run around all willy nilly, making people fall in love with you and than announcing for all the world, "I AM FUBAR!" I want my unicorn and I will bide my time until the day comes when I can hop on that stupendous back side and ride him home to momma...who by the way, will instantly alert me to the fact that he's probably just an ass with a stick taped to his forehead.

Ellen Degenerate

The current source of my anger stems from this dyke acting like a complete dick. I am very unhappy with a great many thing but at the moment i confess that most my frustration is spawned by television and its purveyors of nonsense and filth. Now normally I love filth. I am a great proponent of anything that stirs a little o that dirty side of me however right now i exist in sheer disgust and frustration. So as a talk show host i understand your role in tv land: entertain that ever increasing stream of slack jawed seal-like sadists who love nothing more than to scream their lungs out at endless applause signs and accept hand-outs as though they were owed that new car, pile of cash, or big screen. It's a fairly simple yet brilliant equation of making stupid people falsely happy for brief moments in between commercials, keep ratings high with top talent and dance, laugh, fucking irritate to no end. How many 12 year old aspiring singer/songwriter/dancer/useless ability/ must we be witness to before somebody stops the insanity? Unfortunately these poor kids will be 45, broke and wondering why Ellen was the highlight of their miserable "careers?" There is nothing at all wrong with hope or nurturing someones dream but come on? Not every aspiring actor on your day time show has the stuff to make it in anything other than a dinner theatre slinging prime rib to people who have as equally as little intelligence to spot who has "it" and who doesn't. Why not have on your show the 45 year old man who spent his life chasing a dream, getting nowhere near where he wanted it to blossom and how he's had to come to terms with living in his parents basement sucking cock to buy bus tickets to reach his monthly audition for Cialis and hemorrhoid commercials cuz no one else will look twice at a 45 year old who lives in his parents basement and sucks cock for bus tickets. Are you really helping these kids realize anything? Are you doing more for them then the damn internet could? Have you ever checked back years down the road to see if you've opened any doors or is rejection something that wouldn't boost ratings during sweeps? I wonder why you don't have kids on your show who read a book every week or watch their little sister while their single mom drinks and gambles her life and her families savings away. Those people deserve recognition not some little punks who learned that if they copied someone famous and posted a web video, Ellen will support you whole hearted. This is only one small example of how you disappoint me. The other day you had a woman on who had five children, a sixth one on the way and a husband who was unable to support his existing family let alone the newest additional travesty. Not only does Ellen bring her on the show, a gracious surprise in itself, but she showers her in gifts and TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS! Does your depravity know no bounds? Why in the fucking christ hell are you rewarding this daft ridiculous woman and her immensely obscene family with anything??? If nothing else you should have given her a lifetime prescription of birth control and stopped the madness in its fiendish little tracks. Really? You can't afford a SIXTH child so you write Ellen for help? I understand that prescriptions can be pricey but more costly that another child for the rest of your life? I would have given her a free hysterectomy, maybe thrown in a lobotomy for good effing measure and brought out the next guest. Why are we rewarding people who have made their bed, fucked far too many times in it and than cried when a baby was the final result? If you can't afford the children you have, STOP FUCKING! Be smart and prevent the tragedy that is quite frankly inflicting our world like a plague of hungry and unstoppable locusts. If you feel the need to have children so you can give them everything you did not receive, adopt from an impoverished country...they'll still be a tiny version of you even if you didn't create them and they'll appreciate your shit ever so much more. Than we can all benefit from your infinite wisdom and generosity. If you are stupid, stop reproducing and if you are Ellen, stop supporting it.

The Question is the Answer

I have been told on many an occasion that i ask far far too many questions. Questions about anything, everything and the meaningless stuff in between. I don't see how that could be possible. I believe super strongly that questions, even those that shall remain answer less for perhaps eternity, are the life blood of why we were given the gift of thought. We have evolved and will continue to expand our brain power beyond my wildest expectations because of questions. Asking why is how our brains leap forward in every facet of its function. Social change comes about by asking the tough ones, even though answers may be hundreds of years away. We do not affect change by following those we have elected into "power", listening to those who claim to want change and progress and than strolling yet again saddened and bereft to the polling station when those "leaders" have failed us once more. I do not claim to know how to solve the ailments of our society but I do know how to start...by asking why. Question why our government instills such fear in its country when our leaders should be asking its people how the system should work...why the politicians spend more time wrapped up in elaborate and brilliantly organized schemes of scandal...why the media portrays not just the facts but facts with intent and purpose designed to capture, entertain and distract our world so we wouldn't know the truth if it knocked on our doors and asked us to vote for it. The ability to question the actions of others is a gift not to be taken lightly. We should have more reverence for our talent to ask. We should realize that we have more power than the media screams that we don't. We should remember what it feels like to stand for something and than stand for it. Member? The fifth of November? People asking the questions and demanding the answers and if they do not suffice, we send those who we "trust", to run every inch of our lives back to the god damned drawing board and start again. We've stopped questioning why we are here. If this does or completely does not matter. Why we so willingly sit back in subdued stasis, waiting for our lives to change and our world to fix itself. I question with the hope of answers but more so because the question opens doors to more unanswered thoughts. That's okay! At least my questions keep me flexible. At least my questions keep me from acting any way other than I should. At least my questions keep me occupied so as to avoid the thoughtless path of action so many other fools take. Why aren't the people in power asking questions? Where are the questions for us, the people of this land? They have become so entrenched in their lies and deceit and scandal that they are lost to us and most, like a good soap opera, follow along and speak of the latest travesty as if it were the sunny day upon us. We have taken the bullshit that's been set upon our plates and gobble it just as greedily as the bullshitters have dispelled it. Why are we not asking anymore? Are we so lost? We must start some where...so I ask, Why are you pretending? Let it go...start anew, find what is most important and ask...for Christ sake, ASK!

Everyone's Stupid But Me

I feel as though I've wrote about this elegant topic before...perhaps it's just that I've thought about it for quite some time or that all of my rants consist of some form of stupidity or another. Why is it so easy to hate...and so very difficult to love? Maybe, as most of my revelations are, it is just my inability to project happy wovey dovey feelings because of the way in which I was raised, but it seems like hating on others is so effortless, it's practically fun. Maybe that's why it's so easy...cuz it seems so fucking enjoyable. I hate because I don't understand. I cannot fathom how stupid the world has become. I see so many examples of sheer unadulterated stupidity everyday that its presence practically overshadows any other occurrence in my life. I see stupid people driving...jesus christ there are bad drivers riding rampant paths of destruction through our streets. Idiots walking are just as prevalent; Stupid people eating, talking, laughing, shopping, and several other verbs that carry us through our daily existence and equal to nothing. Why do these people not understand their obvious level of retardation and just stay home? Or, take a perhaps harsher yet I think more positive stance and strangle themselves to death in the comfort of their dingy basements...unnatural selection. Sure it sounds awful, I can hear you judging me, if you morons understood what I just said...however think how much better off society, nay the effing world would be without you dolts running around mindless and numb ruining every system set up to aid you, (although without you to begin with we wouldn't require said programs), scarring those individuals who attempt to understand and pity you, and breeding as if your genitals owed you money, spawning yet another generation of ridiculous human beings who understand not and care even less...WON'T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!? I think that's the worst part: People who should be having children are not or even as far as incapable of doing so, while the retards run a muck with thirty idiotic offspring to generate only more hopeless thought and action. How do you people function without falling down? Honestly. It sounds funny but I think a legitimate question. Not only do i work with stupids all day, I am forced to serve the stupids and somehow that degrades me to a status painful to think of. I find also that these people who seem more prevalent at every turn of the head, is that they are less respectful and obscenely more rude than the normals. I believe their lack of brain function either does not permit them a conscience or their ego driven existence forces them to be hostile and filthy to others they perceive as an intellectual threat. I am also super cute so that could be part of it. Why are these people here, and I use that term "people" very loosely. Troglodyte shells of energy stored in a cast of skin and bone...amoebas have more sense. Are they created to make us 10 percenters feel better about our selves when the world seems to tear us down? Do they transform my world of brilliance and perfection into something I can complain about cuz I don't have enough to do? Have they the ability to evolve and learn and grow like the rest of us and I should cut them some slack...even attempt to help them advance? Are they purely a joke sent by some mischievous force for endless mocking? Maybe, they are here for me to evolve and learn and grow from...to be more tolerant, compassionate and forgiving? Than again, maybe it's just Camrose.

There are times....

where I have left my body. Not the "I" that I see in the mirror, nor the "I" that shows herself to the world...but the "I" that never grows weary and is always present. It's as though, and it always comes on quite unexpectedly, the silent witness that dwells within chooses to be seen; Not by the world but felt ever so strongly by me, or the part of me that I listen to most of the time. This being who is me, in me, and yet completely separate from me, slowly and gradually emerges and just observes. Her movements are always noticed because her speech and manner are reflected as perfection. This emotionless and freedom filled experience is most uplifting. My ego is at bay, content to play along and this silent yet boundless entity just seems to hang out for a bit. There is no caution, fear, anger...just observation. She seems to create this glorious invisible yet impenetrable bubble of safety and quiet peace. It's as though in those moments I am eternal and truly living from the source that created me and can never be destroyed. The Rhandi I know that could exist in perfect, limitless potential, pokes out it's head of heads and listens to the absolute ridiculousness and yet beauty of it all. This being cares not for control. It only watches my movements which have been programmed for so long. There is no judgement, no criticism. It sits quietly observing yet a part of everything and involved in nothing. These times seem so full and yet so void of all. I relish these brief periods of unequivocal silence and calm because the world comes into focus and everything makes complete and utter sense. Often only achieved by meditation, these moments graciously come at unexpected seconds throughout a day and bring me, the me that matters but is rarely viewed, such happiness and content. No need to silence the needless chatter or escape from my repetitive thoughts...the witness allows complete freedom and warmth. How can I learn to live from this energy at all times? As soon as I seem to recognize that this visitor is making an appearance, it disappears as quickly as it came, to the recesses of my essence. I long for a time when this creature from the beginning will choose to stay present and in my waking consciousness. It excites me know that I am able to live and act with perfection, to know every answer to every question that has yet to be asked. If only I could remember these feelings and keep them open to every situation...if only we all could. This level of understanding frightens my ego cuz she feels she is no longer needed so I must constantly reassure this fragile and temporary side that she has purpose yet. An integral part of my survival and yet obsolete when reality is thrust into this experience of non focus yet brilliant clarity. I am really digging this sober thing.