Fake Right Go Left. . . .

Faking right and going left can be used as an escape tactic in many situations. Avoiding fighting friends, leaving uncomfortable potential make out sessions, skipping out on your tab, and the ever popular just want to go home without saying good bye.

In the last week I've learned allot about humility. Strange adventures in the jungle with even hotter stranger mornings on the beach swimming in 90 degree waters. Just when you think everything is awesome, life comes and throws you some curve balls to make you reel back and think.
Curve balls that look like a green eyed 25 yr old Canadian hockey player living in Korea with a bad tattoo on his left upper shoulder. Curled exhausted on my bed naked as the day he was born. I can only open my eyes to the still playing music and the misquito net fluttering in the breeze and stare out blankly into the wooden bamboo hut that houses my disgust with myself.

What a big fuck you you are, to him. Proof that I can and will have anyone I want. Proof that nothing about you or myself was special. That I can take just as many people to the same spots we've gone. Take the pictures, hang the ropes, climb the faces. I hiked you to the other side, broke the rules and showed you sparkling crystal caves in the dark. Played you music, and stripped you naked. Risked arrest when we couldn't find a place by stealing the keys from behind the local discount bungalow main desk. We defiled that room for hours, unoticed. I liked it. Id do it all again with you... but only for the point of it all.

Think about the long walks into the dark, and how bright the sun scorches a broken heart when day breaks and him and my heart he holds hostage are still a thousand miles away. But lets be honest you don't care and neither does anyone else.

I'm gonna fake right and go left now baby. ....and keep going.I think as I stroke your perfect 25 year old Canadian skin. Its been nice to know you, and you, and pools of green eyed soft skin lay like the after wake of a speed boat as I walk away. I don't want to fall into you and I didn't open a door into me. I felt the sting you ignored and I stared blankly out into the water when you were studying the intricate details of my neck skin. If only you knew what really lies here for me on this shore, why the glowing shrimp look so amazing to you but are lacking charm when I touch them. Ive buried a treasure here for sure, but I wont give you the map.

I'm glad your going back to Korea, London, wherever your from. It doesn't hurt it doesn't even sting...a little bit. I felt nothing. I used you...like so many have used me before. I cant see anything in your eyes....because I don't want to. I'm laughing at you yes yes I am. When I think about our memory Ill be laughing still.

I guess you could call this my selfish phase, I just call it the great abyss, and Im going to stuff you into it green eyes,beautiful skin,perfect lips, musculur build and all. I'm not afraid, and Christmas didn't make me wish for anything this year. Santa didn't bring back a happy papered box with a new heart piece in it or fix my sun damaged skin. I'm here right where I want to be in my own head, sitting on a beach watching the tide come in and the fireworks drinking Sangsom. Waiting for tomorrows that never come. True love that has died, and something real. Throw me the ball Im ready to go long, and make the touchdown.
Score.

‎"Ah to be the unicorn in the traveling circus ...is not the life for me."

Bangkok, used to be one of my favorite cities away from home. Its big its menacing and it stinks. It stays open until well....it never sleeps. There actually are tons of citys around the world that never sleep...it always amazes me that NYC made that their slogan like its the only one.

Sitting at the Gekko bar on Cosan, nursing my first beer for the night and watching the interesting travel crowds ebb and flow through the street. Luggage bags rolling, backpacks slamming into each other, travelers looking dirty and honeymooners looking star struck or confused.
I sit, humbling observing the passing traffic and wondering where this night will take me. Not expecting much from the Cosan antics, as I have seen this show before, I wait.
A group of travelers gather around a table behind me and begin the nights revelry. A loud man off to the far end of the bar area is throwing beer on his friend and demanding more whisky from the tiny Thai bar lady.
I eventually end up getting an invite from the table behind me to join in their fun. I figure why not, and end up sitting at a table with two spanish, one itailan, one french, two americans, and a sweed. A group of aging Goa Trance hippies once at the heigt of the travel circuit now clinging to the last of their group, headed once again back to Goa for the season. Selling jewelry, and a dream that has as it seems died ten or so years ago. I run accross these people every now and then, and I often wonder if they can see, that time has passed and they as much as they continue on they have forgotten to change with the times. Lost souls....living on the road, clinging to the dream.

I spent some time in the reggae bar dancing with rasta spanish men and german women teaching english. Watching the angry bangkok Thais fighting with the farang. Smoking hookas on the street until dawn and helping the drunken idiots stumbling around find their guesthouses. In between marriage proposals, and pool games I saw the light, invites to goa to sell jewlery on the beach sound so great on the outside but I would just be a unicorn, a single girl in the traveling circus of freaks left out in the cold. This is not my path...but I wish you all the best.

Time in Pai

Ive been in this tiny northern town of Pai now for about a week, I believe I blew into town last wednesday, but I cant be for sure at this point. The days have blurred and the nights have run together. Ive seen the waterfalls and laid in the sun. Soaking up the rays and smiling at strangers.
Attended a party in the jungle on monday night, filled with crimials and travelers. The criminals injesting large quantities of illicit drugs and the travelers injesting whatever liquors they could find. Smoking bong loads of tabacco in a tee pee high in the hills. Drinking with the moon and talking with the stars.
Hiding my broken heart inside, and attempting to drown it in thai whiskey. Watching the night turn into day and the fog roll over the valley. Like so many parties in so many other places the music goes until dawn and everything looses its appeal after the sun begins its ascent back into the sky for the day.

Tuesday was a blur, waking up at 2pm with no pants and dirt in your bungalow is always an interesting feel. Taking a short trip to the corner for mexican food in thailand, complete with margaritas and a CNN newscast on the bigscreen. Downloading movies and staying in....in your hut for the night is a concept only some share.

And then the next night I find my self back at the bar where it all began, making small talk and reliving the events of the previous two nights. Sitting by the bonfire with people from around the globe listening to various laungages and senarious. Watching faces and actions, having one to many beers just because the company is intrancing. Listening to the river flow and catching the occasional glimpse of shooting stars. Learning more hebrew and exploring the fact that goosebumps mean I shouldve changed into my pants at some point hours ago.
And there is love, all around me. No I am not holding your hand, and no we dont stop between buckets to make out like the couple across from me. But if I stop for just a moment and just be still....its there...in the air like a warm blanket on my cold heart just waiting for me to let it in.

I woke up this morning, with the urge. So the time has come. My bag is packed again, and its time to move on. I will see you all again Pai, and Im sure as it always is it will be a little of the same and a little of the new.

This too shall pass

Why open yourself up to being torn apart again? Because some of us apparently have to learn the hard way.

Even as I wake up in them midst of sunshine and lush gardens, my heart inside my chest is ravaged like a set of hash brown potatoes sizzling in the pan. You wont show up at my window again, and we wont share a day of motobikes and waterfalls. I have no choice now but to come to grips with the reality that even here on the road, Ive picked a damaged fruit. My love as strong as it maybe cannot mend you, or fix the past and even as the sun beamed down on us for a few hours happy and care free. It will not last. You will always leave, and I will continue to cry.

So without you around, I will plan my trip again alone. I will discover alone and be alone once again. Figure out how to hold my head up yet again, greet strangers and try and not let them see how detached I really am. I am offically lost, theres no getting around it. There is no place for me, here there or anywhere really. At least here it is warm and the clouds they part for moments at a time. If I could just forget you, things would be so much easier. Wipe you out like a wave clears a lovers name from the sand.

The next few days will be bad, I can see them coming already. A tiny bungalow, and a huge gaping hole in my chest. Ive sutured it up now on several occasions, but I manage to tear them out each time as if it never happened. Maybe as you get older its harder to let go, as the prospect of love is a scary one. Maybe Im just as damaged as you, as lost and frightened of the real as you pretend not to be.

Dont cry ....you tell me. I watch as the last of your colored skin flits past my window and the pain sets in.

Loy Kratong in Bangkok

Touch down in Bangkok again. Cant exactly say how many times its been now. This city never seems to be the same every time I come here the experience is so very different.
This time I spend four days work/shopping and crashing on my friends floor. Celebrating Loy Krotong and learning that sexual tourism not only can overwhelm some people but can become an all distracting force that ruins their life.
In a small garden apartment in Sukhumvit my friend has spent the last year, doing the basic farang (white people) activites customary to bangkok. Sleeping with underage thai women, teaching english, and overindulging in all kinds of drug and alchohol related activities.
I am not impressed by his hovel like apartment, or the stuffy days filled with exhaust and ciggarette smoke he shouts to the rafters about. Party here and party there and falling in love with this thai girl or that massage worker. Hollow exhistance for a hallow confused person. I find myself having trouble adjusting, the city traffic keeps me up at night and the days are spent sweating through the shopping markets for goods to send home. The whole time I cant wait to get out of there. The ciggarette smoke and floor sleeping are not helping my acclimation back into Thailand. I insist we do something more interesting than stare blankly into our computer screens after day two.
Saturday night we go to the flower market on the river for purchase of flowers and materials to make our Kratongs, The following day is the Loy Kratong festival. The theme of this festival is to create the Kratong a floating tiny raft made of a bannana tree stem covered in bannana leaves,flowers, candles and incense. Then place it in the river and light a floating lantern into the sky. You are supposed to ask for forgiveness when floating your Kratong for any bad deeds you have done that year and give blessings to the water goddess. You can buy kratongs along the street for pennies but due to the lack of creation in my friends life I insist we make ours from scratch.
We spend half the night wandering drunkenly through the flower market along the river collecting flowers we will need. Then make our way back to his apartment where I begin assembling our Kratongs. He sits staring into his computer. I cover mine in flowers and candles and start on another, somewhere around here the beer and boredom get the better of me and I insist if Im going to be sitting on the floor I at least have some company. A half hour later Opal a thai gogo appears at the door. She is beautiful and in traditional Thai style very interested in helping with the Kratong. Only however if she can have some drugs. By this time I am wasted and not interested in furthering my intoxication more with Yaba or speed. My cohorts take part intensively. The house is alight with cigarettes and Opal swirling around. Our Kratongs get bigger and bigger and more elaborate. Im trying to find a way to keep occupied but really just doing a good job injesting beer.
The morning finds us, me throwing up from injesting far to much beer and cigarette aftersmoke, Opal sitting in the bedroom doorway fighting with her boyfriend on the phone and my friend staring still into his computer typing feverishly.
I am tired and over this scene so I curl up in a ball on my sheet on the couch and wait for morning.
Sunday dawns and my hangover is immense, all overtaking. I crawl to the corner and eat my rice with egg as quickly as I can. The heat is making me sweat out all of last nights beer in a hurry. Deciding that the fear has crept in I pack my bag, the overwhelming stench of the apartment and debauchery is to much. I make my way to Kosan to a familiar clean fresh bed and room. Its loud here with revelers for the festival. The fireworks have started and tourists are crammed on the streets. I call my friend who is confused by my recent vacating of the apartment to the other side of town. We agree to meet back up and float our Kratongs across the river together. By this time I am so tired I fall asleep for almost three hours undesturbed. I wake just in time to shower and make my way back across town for the festival.
I float my Kratong down the river flowers incense and all. Take pictures of my friend and his Thai girlfriend who blew into town sometime in the evening. We watch the fireworks and mayhem on the river bank. I miss my mate.

Time Travel

A ten hour layover in Souel South Korea can leave one feeling a bit empty inside. Flying in around 5am to a desolate airport in another country with nothing but your backpack and a stale airline muffin. No one to meet you at the gate and no one expecting your call. Thousands of miles from where you came, and still a few hundred from where you are trying to go. A wandering time traveling zombie, hours ahead of the time zone you just left.

Watching the city lights twinkle as the plane pitches forward and the lights flicker on and off heading in for a landing. Sitting between two Korean men for 12 hours has taken its toll on me. Sleeping on my arm and twisting uncomfortably between one side of the hard arm rest and the other. Fading in and out of consciencness earphones plugged into my head to try and drown out the snorts and sniffles of the man sitting next to me. He seems to have contracted some sort of snorting disease uppon entering the plane. He sits next to me uncontrolably snorting like a mad horse. While the man to my right seems to have forgotten to wipe. Odd fecal smells loom around him, or could that be the fact that we are sitting next to the airplane bathroom? The fact that the fecal smell seems to be mixed with a stagnant kim chi odor leads me to believe he just forgot to wipe. Plus its too early for the recently cleaned bathrooms to smell like that. Limbo is interesting,boarded the plane on Wednesday its Friday here already, still Thursday where I came from and when I arrive in Bangkok it will be Friday night. So here I sit, in limbo, waiting for the jumped hours and days to catch up. The sun will be up soon, and the quiet will disappear as the local flights fill up and go out.
Everyone is speaking another language and the airport looms around me ominusly tall and bright. I catch my breathe and then begin my marathon wait for my next departing flight. The hallways are empty and quiet, no restaurants or food vendors are yet open. I tug at my backpack straps nervously as I make my way from one hall to the next.
People come in waves, filtering out of the planes and into the terminal, waiting, the rushed,the hurried and the sleeping.
The huge red sun begins to show itself behind the tarmack, and it rises up above the flight tower in all its glory. Bringing in a new day in Korea, I stand in the window a speck watching the red ball of fury rise, in between flashing signs for boarding Istambul, Turkey, Singapore, Washington, and New York flash around me. For a minute it feels like a strange game show. Pick a place, and the door opens. A completely surreal experince happens in airports if you pay attention. The world becomes your playground, and anyone with have an imagination can spend hours entertaining the possibilities.

For now I need to stay awake. Badly. I can feel the jet lag creeping towards my brain, begging me to close my eyes to fade into blissful sleep for hours while I wait. I have played this game before, and I know all to well the doom that impends should I give in and sleep here in Korea. The depression and lag will follow me for days into Bangkok and kill my motivation and ambition. Leave me confused and twisted for longer than this layover. If only they were serving beer now.

Sleep dep is starting to blur the real and whats next and my movements have become slow. Watching my backpack and making sure to keep putting everything back is key now. Losing your mind is one thing but losing important documents is completely another. The walls beging to wabble and shake, and I feel like Ive just run a marathon. Outside the planes land and take off one after another. The sky has turned to full daylight and the tarmack is a bustling center of activity.

Asian airports have a host of ammenities lucky for me creating pleanty of distractions and tasks to take part in during my layover. I quickly lay out a plan for the day before the sleep dep completely drags my brain into a stagnant lull. First stop will be the shower room, what an ingenuis idea. A bathroom with nothing but shower stalls private and complete with hot water. Perfect for wasting an hour freshening up and pouring water overyourself to stave off the halucionations. Eating and reading are out, both require to much sitting. Eating especially rides the line a bit to close. Everyone knows all you really want to do after eating is take a nap. Having a resting lounge complete with reclining leather loungers doesnt help either. There are tons of stores in the airport unfortunately they are all the same. Its a bit like a cartoon you walk and the backgrounds change but only in a loop. Burberry will appear again in exactly six more stores. Stores are good for staying awake though, lots of activiy and harsh lighting dont allow for alot of sleep related problems.

Right now nothing really makes much sense, my brain is offically melting. Wandering keeps me moving but I fear I will get lost if I dont watch myself. With all the stores looking the same and only one information desk with my boarding pass held hostage for the rental of a universal adapter. I must keep my wits. I watch as people like myself wander around the airport. Dishevled and lost, "do you speak english?" "can I buy a CD player here?" I field questions from other brain strained travelers.
There are people milling, standing staring into space and vacantly idling here all around. Children are screaming somewhere far away in the vastness of the airport and I flash back to my last day in LA.

I shuffle on back into the stream of traveling people bustling about. Watching the Asian girls furry boots and sno hats in front of me as I aclimate to the other-side of the world.

One Colic filled day in L.A.

I planned my trip with a 24 hour layover in Los Angeles to visit a friend who had in fact just birthed her first child. I had previously thought that two or three days would be a more appropriate time frame for hanging out with the baby and seeing her but as fate would have it airline tickets were not cheap for the weekend and I ended up having only a 24 hour window between my arriving into LAX and leaving out for BKK flights. This was a blessing in disguise.

Before I left SF my friend and I chatted on the phone about our current situations, of course most of this conversation consisted of updates on the child's looks, smells, stomach issues, and bowel movements. She mentioned that the child seemed to be suffering from colic and cried all day and all night due to gas pains. This sounds to me like something no one should have to sign up for. Still I wanted to share in the magic of my friends child and spend the day in L.A.

My arrival proved uneventful, welcomed by her stressed looking babies daddy in a later model gold Toyota corolla at the airport. Bags in the trunk and myself in the front seat we drove to the outskirts of Hollywood to their apartment. Nestled in the concrete wasteland that is L.A. their apartment is everything that I dread in a place to live. Wall to wall carpeting, blank white walls, sparse furniture,the hanging plastic blinds, a narrow kitchen and tiny bathrooms. All the blinds are closed lending the inner sanctum of the apartment to a grey sad sort of light. However opening the blinds means a wonderful view from every window of some sort of concrete or stucco sidewall, the parking shed, or the front street complete with more stucco buildings directly across it.
The baby is crying, from the time I walk in the door. Wiggling violently and crying. Tiny and pink, eyes closed and mouth open screaming. My friend explains to me that the crying is due to his stomach cramps and these cramps are caused by her lack of discipline in eating. Breast milk absorbs everything you put in your body and transfers it directly to the baby. So spicy Indian food for lunch means tiny Timmie's belly at dinner is going to be burning.
Why on earth someone would not change their eating habits for just a few weeks to prevent endless hours of screaming child I have no idea. My friend welcomes me into the house and sits me down wth the screaming child. I am horrified inside, but I instincively know what to do. Rocking him I try and ease the crying but to no avail be cries harder. My friend has lost her ability to speak in normal adult voice, and now speaks to me and the baby in this strange sing song baby voice. I cant quiet tell if its me or the baby shes talking to at any given time. She is huge. Buldging in all the wrong places from the pregnancy, she explains in detail to me about what its like to have a C section instead of a vaginal birth. She said Vaginal by the way, like I need to or wanted to know this. The child looks like a tiny smashed face version of its father. It kneads my neck with its tiny fists, and crys again in fits of pain I am sure from the feeding.I can feel the babies stomach a hard rock full of gasses and I can hear it crapping in its pants right next to my ear. Ten minutes in and I am ready to run for the door. My friend contiunes to speak in tounges at us. I am pretty sure at this point that something may have come loose in my friends head. My suspicions are confirmed later in the day when we take the baby out of the house in the stroller for a walk to the closest strip mall we can find for lunch.
L.A. is one big strip mall.. if you've ever visited you know you can drive for hours through endless beach communities one strip mall after another. Subway sandwich shops and Safeway's rule the landscape and cars are the main stay in droves.
The child had to be fastened into a car seat which then was attached to a stroller bottom. The baby had to be wrapped up and wrapped up again and then tucked into the basket top of the stroller and covered completely. My friend bundled the child up like it was snowing outside, an Im staring that the news reporting a 70-80 degree day. I say nothing, I don't have kids and I begin to wonder if putting more clothing on the child will make it quiet down somehow, clothing to screaming ratio effect. The sweaters and blankets unfortunately do not change the screams.
We embark on our walk, around the block and into a strip mall. The child has stopped screaming for a minute apparently lulled into sleep by the potholes and bumps in the road on the way to the strip mall. My friend insists we eat Indian food from the strip mall, I hate Indian, haven't eaten it since I returned from India and have no desire to. Plus I'm thinking to myself after the horrible reaction the baby had to her eating pringles and breast feeding why on earth would she want to eat spicy ass Indian? But I'm not a doctor and I'm not a mother plus I'm trying to be as helpful and accommodating as possible so I agree to the Indian. We wander in to the strip mall restaurant, my skin begins to crawl as the scents of Indian curries waft from the buffet style counter.
Everything is vegetarian, and made with watery curry sauces and fake meat products. Nothing looks appetizing, I choose three things from the choices and defeated take my seat next to the sleeping child outside on the patio strip mall restaurant enclosure. With a lovely view of the street traffic whizzing by we eat our lunch and chat about people we used to know and places we used to go. The child roars to life once or twice during lunch and then settles back into sleep. I count my blessings. I eat some of my food as to not be rude, but getting it down it hard. It tastes like cold porridge all of it, and the fake meat product isn't helping with the textures. My friend has finished her plate minutes after sitting down, while I am still pushing food around trying to make it disappear somehow. She upon seeing that I have called it a day on the dishes takes my tray and finishes my lunch for me.
We make our way back to the apartment, the stroller will not close so we spend about a half hour outside trying to collapse it until a woman with three toddlers in tow walks up behind us dragging one child with two broken feet home from school. After depositing her broken child into her house she comes back out and attempts to smash the stroller closed. With all her muscle and attempts the stroller will not give she tells us in broken spanglish the stroller is broken, returns to her apartment and slams the door. I drag the child and the stroller into the apartment and inform my friend that she will need to figure out how to close the front door with the stroller sticking half way out. The apartment is tiny and not allot of room left for large strollers that wont collapse it stays fully blocking the entrance.
The child begins screaming as soon as my friend disturbs it, I wonder again, why she would voluntarily wake the child when it was so clearly sleeping quietly in its car seat. I suppose taking care of infants in my teen years has made me appreciative of silence and taught me to let sleeping children lie when they are asleep. My friend appears to enjoy the screaming or at least not mind it as she drapes the child across her back and starts burbling it again for no reason. It screams and gurgle screams and screams some more.
My head is starting to hurt, and there is a pang of something in the back of my neck I cant quite put my finger on. I don't think I would make a good parent and immediately decide that I will never have children once again. My friend feeds the infant, it attaches itself to her breast for what seems like ages. She burbs it, which means it projectile vomits on her repeatedly for about twenty minutes. Then she feeds it some more. I cant help but think how this is just a scene of constant torture, I am clearly to selfish for child rearing.
This feeding process goes on and on, the worst thing is is that the child clearly after eating is in pain, from his gassy stomach situation so as soon as the feeding ends the screaming begins again. This is not normal screaming either, this is the shrill, ear splitting, violence inducing cry that only small children in pain or extreme uncomfortable situations can create. I watch and learn, and go over reasons to never had children yet again in my head. Im saddled with the child allot during my twenty four hour visit, holding him as he screams uncontrollably while his mother takes her first shower in three days. I put him down on the floor and he stops crying, TV seems to be a great pacifiers. I then begin to see a horrible pattern coming out in my friend. It seems she cannot leave the baby alone, never once will she leave the child and walk around the apartment. Babies are able to be left in the cradle, I mean I have done my fair share of time taking care of infants. She however cannot seem to understand the child is continue to scream if he knows every time he does you ll come pick him up or feed him. Sometimes letting them cry out is the best thing. She doesn't seem to understand this advice given from both me and her mother in law on the phone. I finally get her to put him down to sleep again, after eating hes passed out mid disgusting barf burp on her back. Babies actually sleep allot during the day if you let them. She hoovers over the sleeping child like a hawk. I'm completely creeped out. I tell her he should be fine, and I will watch him but she refuses to leave him alone. Dropping more blankets on him, moving him, rearranging the stuffed animals near his face. I'm now sure my friend has gone insane.
I'm sitting quietly trying not to wake the beast again and my friend is poking at it with a stick. I just don't understand. I would be using this time to clean up my apartment or myself, do some laundry and clean the dishes. She stands and stares down at the child.
The day creeps by, the child wakes, screams, eats, barfs and craps some more before it is all over. I am subjected to a full camera of images of the birth. C section and all, I view horrified the images of my friends warped body during the pregnancy. Images of the half section of her stomach as the child is removed by the doctor make me almost loose my mind. By the end of the day I'm so tired of watching and hearing about the child's poops and seeing my friends engorged milky breast feeding I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
My friend used to be a normal person, I think this happens to many people Ive seen the expressions of insanity on them after birth. The father always seems unaffected and able to see things in a sane and normal state of mind but the mothers go all nutsy with the first child. I couldn't do it and its a sad state of affairs, I watch my friend waddle down the hallway three times the size she used to be, with her spandex support panties showing and baby barf all down her back. Screaming child face staring back at me from the wall to wall carpet hallway.
My plane for another country leaves in less than six hours, I have never been happier to escape L.A. While most people are happy for my friend I can only feel a huge lump in my throat and sadness in my heart for her. I see the long road of nothingness expanding in front of her. She tells me its different when its yours, and I agree. It would have to be.
I have respect for her, doing something I could never and will never do. Wandering head long into pregnancy and child rearing.
I cant wait for my flight.

Where will you go? When will you come back?

While I dont know where I will go or even what I am looking for. I know I have never been happier than at the begining of a journey with no defined end. - C.F.

I woke up from the most amazing dream.....

When a dream starts out with a kiss... you know your in for trouble. This is the loose interpretation of an on going dream I had last night. When I say ongoing I mean I woke up repeatedly during this dream and went back to sleep to the same dream.

This is strange as this is the first dream I have had in months, possibly the move into the front room has changed my sleeping environment into one that is more feasible for dreams.


Kiss
To dream of a kiss, denotes love, affection, tranquility, harmony, and contentment.

Stuck
To dream that you are stuck, represents a feeling of helplessness and not being able to escape from life's problems or stresses. You have lost confidence in yourself and in your ability to move ahead in your life. Your lack of clear goals and low self-esteem may be a common cause for such dreams.

Cabin
To see or dream that you are in a wood cabin, indicates that you will succeed via your own means. It suggests that you are self-reliant and independent, yet still remain humble. You prefer the simpler things in life.

To dream that you lose your passport, indicates that you are trying to find yourself and get a sense of who you are. Alternatively, the dream means that opportunities are closing off to you.

To see your boyfriend in your dream, represents your waking relationship with him and how you feel about him.If your boyfriend is away and your dreams of him involve a lot of touching, then it signifies how much you are missing his presence and having him nearby. The dream is telling you not to take the day to day things for granted. Learn to cherish the smaller things in life.

Rocking Chair
To dream that you or someone is sitting in a rocking chair, signifies a life of ease, comfort and relaxation. You have no worries.�

To see an empty rocking chair in your dream, represents sadness or quiet contemplation.

To dream that your mate, spouse, or significant other is cheating on you, indicates your fears of being abandoned. You may feel a lack of attention in the relationship. Alternatively, you may feel that you are not measuring up to the expectations of others. This notion may stem from issues of trust or self-esteem. The dream could also indicate that you are unconsciously picking up hints and cues that your significant other is not being completely truthful or is not fully committed in the relationship

To see hair in your dream, signifies sexual virility, seduction, sensuality, vanity, and health.�It is indicative of your attitudes.

Sunset
To see the sunset in your dream, indicates the end of a cycle or condition. It is a period of rest, contemplation and evaluation.

Sad
To dream that you are sad, suggests that you need to learn from your disappointments and just be happy. Try not to dwell on the negative. The dream may be a reflection of how you are feeling in your waking life.Happy
To dream that you are happy, may be a compensatory dream and is often a dream of the contrary. You may be trying to compensate for the sadness or stress in your waking life.

Stars
To see stars in your dream, symbolize excellence, success, aspirations or high ideals. You are putting some decision in the hands of fate and luck. Perhaps you are being too "starry eyed" or idealistic. Or the stars may represent a rating system. You are you trying to evaluate a situation or establishment. Alternatively, the stars signify your desire for fame and fortune.

Sky
To look up at the clear blue sky in your dream, denotes hope, possibilities, creativity, peace and freedom of expression. As the saying goes "the sky's the limit."To see a colorful sky in your dream, denotes romance. To see a green colored sky in your dream, symbolizes high hopes. The strange color of the sky helps to instantly draw your attention to it. The color green and the sky itself both represent hope, nature or creativity. So these are the qualities that you need to focus on. It is also indicative of a positive outlook and prosperous future.Clouds
To see fluffy, white clouds in your dream, signify inner peace, spiritual harmony and compassion. An issue in your waking life may be clearing up.

Love and understand

Similar stories, in a sushi bistro...on a Tuesday night. Your tattoos tell more about you than you will ever understand. I come from a point of view...obscere....sereine in its extremity. Something I cant understand. Another type of experience. I cannot let myself succumb to you although some parts of me want to all on their own...but you end it yourself....out of guilt you shouldn't have and places you would've been hours ago. You cling to me, and I stutter back, something about my energy....but that's not you. I can see all of this from afar. Letting you in was purely out of boredom. My lack of a Petra dish...led to the containment in a jar. Where will our night take us...people seem to forget the pure potency of a single night. The monetary value of a 16 hour period spent with the most random of character's on a roof in a city. Somewhere...could be anywhere. This scene will play itself out to you. The inspiration is what you come for...maybe you feel it. Maybe you are aware...or maybe you just find yourself there..either way can you argue.You both end up in the same spot. Is there then something to our futures? Not really. Actually ours ends more abruptly than you expected. The morning brings the sun, the realization that I have somewhere to run. The overextended feel of your spirit belongs to no one but you. I don't blame you and I cant judge you, we are all beautiful as we rise to face the world each day. Finding love is all encompassing...dealing with your drama and ignorance each night is trivial and localized. A problem you quickly mask disguise and don't patronize. Some days, I find myself surrounded, others at the north pole. There are things to understand about everyone. The simplest of ticks are the most important, the little things are what sail ships and leave the empty vast.

Green Trees and ten foot giants...

After my teachings in Dharma, I walked on a cloud home...the whole three blocks. My phone which I had left on the bedside table was jumping of course. Missed texts and missed calls all within minutes of my entering the house. How exhausting this little black box is, always ringing at the wrong moment and documenting the texts and messages as it goes.

I am being summoned to the mountain for work it seems....so much for my cloud floating and general state of well-being. Time for work and lots of it, but with a grey heart and a recent peak surge of positive energy I decided to run with it. To the forest, the top of a mountain. To the house of a "friend" we shall call him who in this day and age is in the business of providing greenery to the masses at top notch prices.

California is a strange place, in the midst of what we call the "green gold rush" which is clever terminology for the planting, harvesting and selling of weed. There's alot that goes into that process actually and a whole industry of people working behind the scenes to get that nugget to your pipe so you can smoke it. I am one of the workers behind the scenes. I am a miner in the gold rush...or if you like a farmer on the land.
My job description varies from month to month and week to week. One day I may show up and do nothing but trim the cola buds until my eyes are crossed and my neck is crimped. The next week I may be sent out into the farm land to gather supplies,dig holes or run trash to the dump. Sometimes the sun is shining and the wind is hot and others the rain is pelting down and you cant feel your fingers inside your gardening gloves.
One consistent is the dirt. There is always dirt to be collected...on your person, in your shoes, hair and any other place exposed to the outside. Between the trim dust and the resign sticky blobs regular farm dirt collects. The water is rusty so showering never quite fixes the issue.
There are numerous people on the farm at all times, for security and also because there are numerous jobs to be done immediately at all times. Ever wonder why farmers have ten kids... because there are ten jobs to do that's why. This is no different, sometimes you get along with people and new friends are made. Other times the scene is strange and silences ensue, the general understanding is get your work done and talk later.

I drink matte I smoke pot and I work my ass off and that is my relationship with this farm. A place high in the mountains, far from my daily city life beneath the trees and immersed in silence. Headed by hippies, and passed through the years down on to me.

It was strange at first...I didn't really understand what was going on. My friend was sleeping with the owner of the farm and we were there. Little workers toiling endlessly in the rain and mud. Hauling and scraping and cleaning busting our asses and paying our dues. As time marched on we did too...in between our trips to Thailand,Peru,India and Philippines. I made pilgrimages up the mountain to work and save money for traveling. I sweated in the sun and dug holes in the green house. I pulled weeds and constructed beds for organic produce in the yard. We chased chickens and wrangled dogs. Fought with the neighbors about property lines and through it all harvested and planted and harvested some more.

Now I arrive and sit at the table, I smile and laugh and I find myself with more dignified duties around the farm if there is such a thing. I have friends and Ive seen everyone's "babies" (babies are little grows or plants) I know the layout and Ive heard the secrets. People have come and gone...and new ones continue to pop in and out of the old. Its a community and a family and I am a part. Every time I return I find myself with a lot of time to think. To make decisions about my life and to sit with those decisions for indefinite amounts of undisturbed time. I all to often push aside these thoughts and decisions due to my busy schedule and bustling city life. So In a way its like a little mini travel session to the outskirts of me.

Ive contemplated so many big decisions there on the property...it seems almost like a typical weekend at this point. Everything seems to come to a head and get resolved for me there. Money is being made of course at the bottom of everything I am there to work. The things that happen in between are what make it so interesting.

For example on my return trip this summer... having arrived conflicted about the prospect of leaving for Thailand again possibly without my so called boyfriend that has indeed caused much turmoil these last few months. On the verge of buying that airline ticket or staying safe in the USA behind my desk job miserable. Fresh from the Dharma lecture, and confused as all hell with myself.

I found myself face to face with a huge green house brimming with trees. Sticking out from every side were large tree sized plants. Stretching themselves into the sun, lurching into the harvest. The job at hand was overwhelming. The only way to really navigate this maze of trees was to crawl hand and knee bound through the underbrush. Sitting there on the ground in the middle of the forest stretching 12 to 15 ft high over our heads. My friend and I sat staring upward watching the rays of sun filtering down through the madness above. Our shirts and skin sticking to each leaf and bud as we crumpled up across from each other to talk.
There under the leaves we conversed as if by secret meeting of the minds. Like small children hiding in the barn or up in the tree house. Catching up since I had last been there...speaking about quitting my job and helping again full time. Our dreams of traveling and creating on the front burner. Staring at each other and trying to read the new wrinkles and folds our faces had acquired between our last meetings. "I would never leave you out in the world..my friend" she tells me "we would always bring you home. We need you too much here to leave you somewhere." she shakes her head and stares out over the ledge to our left. Her reassurances aside we still converse about my formulated plan of travel and the fact that I am going to be very much alone. I haven't faced this yet...in fact Ive been avoiding it. The world does not scare me here at the bottom of the forest however and it seems a hidden spot enough that maybe I can hide from my inner questions for quite a while here in the underbrush, twirling a leaf in my hand that has carelessly fallen to the ground. Things are simple...days are short and the time flys by far to fast. The people are smiling and the over all attitude is good.

There is a tiny cabin on the outskirts of the property and I stay there. No bathroom no TV and nothing really but a bed and a portable heater. There are large glass windows on all sides of the cabin so you sometimes feel like you are sleeping directly in the trees. I think alot in there.. and things get real. This weekend was no exception. I tossed and turned all night plagued by strange dreams and self doubt. Sitting up in bed and contemplating my sources of pain, this went on all night. Like an Indian sweat lodge gone wrong...cold and damp instead and alone. Thoughts racing through my mind, "what have I done with my life" "I'm almost thirty and I cant find a mate" "I'm leaving my house, my job, and my business to travel the world ALONE" "what will happen to me?" "am I going to be okay?" "Is this what I want" Is this a dream? who am I? What have I become....what should I do? Is this the right path? How do I know? I am alone now.....I am alone.
The words came pounding in...through the forest at break neck speeds. Infiltrating the walls and covers the glass and wood. Nesting deep within myself. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear, and I cried.
Alone and cold in a cabin on the ridge of a mountain somewhere in this world is a girl, a woman, crying in fear of the unknown. Trying to find an answer the courage and a friend to share it with. Never in my life have I had such and intense horrible introspective trip. All the psychedelic drugs combined all the late nights on cocaine in the mirror wishing my boobs were perkier or my jawline less defined paled in comparison to this night spent in the cabin with myself.

I passed out on myself, at the peak of my fearful episode. Somewhere in between the bouts of fear and self doubt a little voice came out of nowhere and placed a thought in my head. "Have no fear" and the lights went out. Like an invisible switch somewhere inside just flipped off or maxed out. Someone overseeing this whole ordeal must have tired of watching and decided to put me out of my misery. I woke the next morning feeling like I had been through a war. Almost expecting the cabin around me to be in shambles..as a result of the turmoil it harbored inside that night.

I stepped out into the morning light a bit confused but with no energy to fight or process fearful thoughts. I receded back into myself and just went about the day. I smiled and laughed and played the game at the farm. When Sunday came to an end and it was time to go home, I ended up in the car with my mother driving through the last light of the day. Over the orange bridge to my blue house in my little colored by number life. I sat down in my room exhausted and decided two things, one I would not attend my office job tomorrow. Secondly that instead I would buy my ticket and take a ride into the unknown...and live by the words that came in the night..."have no fear." something is out there for me...and its calling.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is simply follow through with your desires. To grab onto what you want and take all the steps to getting there without second guessing your path. Sometimes the person you hate most is you standing there with a huge bag of reasons to not take the next step. The dragon sized doubt cloud surrounds you...and you spend the night fighting. Sometimes its those nights that make us just that much stronger for the journey.

Times they be a changing

"be a simple kind of man...wont you do this for me son if you can."


Things have started riling up for take off...I cant wait to be on a plane flying far away from all that has happened here in the last year. To clean the slate and get on with my life. The last year has been one long winding confusing road with all the pitfalls of vietcong jungle during the height of the war.

I cant wait till an ocean and half the world is between me and everything here. Unfortunately the thing Im running from is following me, bringing baggage and bullshit along with him. While I cannot change that he bought a ticket and has an agenda that no longer includes me. He still insists that " of course we will meet up" and as those words come out.. I find myself cringing in the corner. There is no love or romance for me there. Just empty words loaded with uncertainty.

How much eight months can change a person. Make you feel older, more confused or more certain. Less of one thing and more of another, all in contrast. Im glad I took the Dharma training classes I have taken during these eight months. Ive learned to passively over look people and their hurtful bullshit. Coming back to the I cannot hold onto things you love teachings and that my actions are all I have. Follow your heart and nothing else...you can do this baby...if you try.

I cant wait for the beach, the sand, and the heat. My heart will have to hide for the time being in my caved chest tattered and torn the fuck up. I really don't see stitches holding it together at this point. Maybe some staples and a blowtorch are in order.

Dharma on a sunday afternoon

Last week was a long one, riddled with quirks and undertows. Speckled with tears and long hours of sleep. I lost about seven pounds, my self respect, a bottle of wine and my will to live. In the end, I drug myself to work every day, I even entertained people and fooled them into thinking I was okay at some point.

Thursday I had a fashion show in which I was supposed to arrive, show my collection and appear well adjusted and network. Im horrible at networking, I always arrive focus on the collection and getting the models dressed and when it comes to the time when the networking is supposed to be happening, I lose interest. I know I supposed to puppet myself around the room posing for pics with all the models and handing out fake hellos and hugs like business cards...but for some reason I cant ever seem to make this stick. Instead I want to vomit violently.

This show was no exception. The people were vapid the room was too well lit, and the "vampires" were out in full force. I hadn't eaten in days at this point, four bananas and two apples was no exaggeration of my food intake total in the week up to that point. Needless to say I was not drinking...no one wants to watch me go from barely holding it together to crying mess on the floor in five seconds. I got to watch the whole show unfold completely sober and as if I was detached from my body. Floating around a shell person.

The dressing room or lack there of, was stank. Even from the beginning a hallway in front of the venues bathroom was never a good spot for dressing and fitting models. The stench of bathroom was in the air, combine with the 20 or so models all trying to scamper in and out of changes. Soon body odor and that strange vagina smell permeated the air. Sweat was trickling down our backs, foreheads and ankles. A beer was spilled and the whole area became a swamp, further adding to the cornucopia of smells and sights in the backstage area.

I watch the lights flash, as the models walk one after another. Stark blasting white light, flash after flash, cataloging this night, these people and the whole strange event. Posted later on every social networking sight for everyone to judge and mis judge and opinion form on.

The heat is making me dizzy, or maybe that was the lack of food? My broken heart poking at my insides? All of these combine? Who will ever know. I puppet myself up to the front of the room and plaster on the best "I'm totally awesome" smile I can muster. Smile for the cameras and escape from stage as soon as possible.
Back into the side rooms and back space to collect up my art and whats left of myself and make my escape from this hot cramped smelly area back into my life.

The night air is cool, and the smells are muted by a sea breeze blowing fog and damp out over the city. All I can think of is let the ocean wash me off, and take these empty insides with it. Would I even feel the cold sting of the sub zero ocean at this point? Would anyone even care, I feel so alone. Floating.

Friday goes and comes, Im still numb. Waiting to get home to sleep it off....wondering how much longer I will be here waiting and pacing in my own head. Unable to stir myself out of this. The phone does not ring, there is no sign of life from the outside world. The fog sets in and takes hold of my rotting brain and body. Time has stopped for me. I curl up in a ball and watch Hunter S Thompson on the TV screen and try to get excited. For some reason I always find myself reading, watching or otherwise listening to him in low times in my life. Its like a phenomenon I have no control over. Like the world is trying to show me there are people, out there just as depraved and strange... you cant be the only lone fucked up tiger in this box. Get weird and get outta here.

Saturday dawns, and a strange foreign thought pops into my head. Like a long lost message in a bottle. It floats to the shore of my mind, dusty and covered in sludge. A few weeks ago I had been in such a good place I wanted to seek out a more structured mediation practice for myself. I had already gone through the trouble of looking up the times and dates for introduction and had nothing left to do but arrive. Coincidentally Saturday morning at 830am was the time to arrive. I woke up at 730 with just enough time to pull it together and walk the two blocks to the Center.

I have no idea what to expect, I'm lost and alone and lets be honest on the verge of suicide at this point. I haven't eaten, I have slept to much, Ive been crying on my bathroom floor as an after work hobbie for the last four days. To say the least I was up for anything at this point that just wasn't any of those activities.

I wished I was back two weeks ago in happy health and clear mind. Wizzing from task to task happily singing love songs under my breathe, but I was where I was.. and I went.
The door was locked and the entrance was menacing. Red brick with opaque glass windows. Institution whitewashed wood and black rot iron handrails, I almost gave up and went home. When out of nowhere a surprisingly normal looking lady walked right past me and unlocked the door. "here for the meditation?" she asked. I was able to get the word "yes" some how over my suddenly parched lips. It sounded like I hadn't spoken in years.

Inside there was a table with the usual sign in book and flower arrangements. Stereotypical ZEN items placed in the corners. Buddah statue in the middle of the wall space. The greeter/door unlocker motioned for me to sit in the cozy window bench area, and then disappeared. As I sat people fluttered in, confused and disoriented. Or inquisitive and overbearing. Some in high priced yoga wear others in sweats. The room began to fill up. Two piping hot tea pots appeared in front of me with a perfectly lined row of cups.

I wandered into the outside courtyard as more people filled up the entry way. I watched in silence the goldfish in the fountain front and center of the courtyard. Marveled at the simple beauty of the water plants unaffected by me or anyone else. Bells were chiming from somewhere deep within this temple. Robed figures moved quietly down the halls and walkways. Somewhere pots and pans were being cleaned as every so often a bang or chang would break the peace and quiet.
Somewhere around this time a bald sprite of a woman in black robes made her way to the front entrance. I heard the commotion and moved back to the entry to listen. Apparently the introduction to meditation really didn't involve a whole lot of meditation at all.

Mostly we walked through the halls, learned that the bells we ring and why how to bring people to meditation and where to deposit your shoes before entering the meditation chamber. At the end we were led back upstairs for 10 minutes of meditation in the main room. Feet in lotus position, eyes open sitting, thoughtless and quiet. This is what I came for ....things settled.. and the energy wound around me and washed away all that confusion like a dry eraser on a white board. I stayed for a dharma lecture and kept the words in my heart for a month after. Let go of all the pain and thought I had been given the tools to move on. I wish my heart would listen and follow I wish it would stay in a center point and leave me alone with its fluttering.

Leaving....not caring and other refuges for the scared.

I found it impossible today to pry myself from the clammy grasp of my bed. My feet hit the floor with a resounding echoing thud, my usual pitter patter a clomp towards the bathroom. My body a million pounds of skin, hair and teeth all piled on top of my cold and empty insides.

I went through the motions today, pretending to be "okay" and happy because I know that's what the world requires. No ones a sour apple, or grape or sour anything otherwise. Always project your happiness onto others like a disease. Don't let them sense your weakness or your world will crumble around you as people flee in terror.

I made my way to work, feeling naked and so very alone. Thinking about how little this whole drama effects you miles away. Wondering if you pass by signs of me as I pass by a million of you. I answer the phone, and listen halfway...watching my screen for signs of you that never come. You really are quite heartless, pulling your love out from under me like a circus act, not spilling one precious piece of china from the elaborately set table we made.

Lunch time comes and the sun is blinding, I sit and attempt to read but thoughts of you creep into my stomach and rob me of any feelings of hunger. I sit in the baking sun, smelling the acrid stench of San Francisco and watching the trucks and bikes rush past. In a bubble...removed from the world around me waiting for something to smack me back into reality. Before I know it the hour is done, and my icee beverage has melted into a puddle in front of me. I clamber back to my desk and sit...helping, listening wondering. All the while a million miles away.

I take a long walk home, pathetically checking my phone. Hoping, wishing, but knowing I will never hear from you again. You will fade like so many things into a sun stained picture in an album I run across years from now. A bracelet, a necklace, a bottle of sand. Reminders of you still lurk, landmines now of pain and anguish. I think about the card I sent and the necklace in the mail...slowly inching ever closer to you even now. I can see you tossing them aside and scoffing at my penned I love you. So childish now and wasted on you.

You are a closed door, a sailing ghost ship...no one good enough to last on your crew. I remember the sunsets and the water, waking up in the trees with a humid sweat already formed on our bodies clasped together. Thinking back I can see you a million miles away as I try and real you in. I was just a passing piece of flesh, another person who didn't understand. How sad for you to never see the way others see you...standing there so proud as you are a man. So proud and stubborn...and stuck in your ways refusing to try, and make a change. Refusing to understand, and instead leaving running a lost soul on the lam.

You never fooled me and I suspect you always knew...I could see right through you into the vast lost emptiness of you. I tried to fill you up with happy thoughts and laughter but you resisted at every turn. Clinging to your petty issues and arguments like the last remains of your sinking ship. You were no chameleon, no adaptation did not reside in you. With all the traveling you are still frightened of the new, and running like a cowardly soul from the past. I watched the sun set on us.....what a clouded mess it was. From beauty and potential to the vast unknown and empty.

As I rounded that corner and the sun hit my eyes...I realized I will be happy...moving into the sky. You will stay in your prison and keep searching for answers there. All the while we keep beckoning to reach out and be pulled to shore. There is no evil here on the shore, no lies or discontent. Just happiness and love which you were to proud to represent.

So Ill leave you there, another one I could not help repair. Ill hope you will find me here some day or out there in the world. I wont be in the same house and I wont be walking sad...maybe youll forget me? The life we never had.

Its never a good time to say goodbye, and its hard to pack it in. Life had so much beauty for us, and now we begin again.

I made it home today feeling like Id been through a war, clinging to each passerbyers smile for dear life. Treading water, hoping the tears did not win. Each day will get easier, I hope as your memory fades to gone.

Sentimental Time Warp Mock Three

A life less stressed. I'm tired of all this talk about stress, stress management, stress release, herbal stress remedies and everything else related to lowering your blood pressure and remaining calm. Lets all face it there unfortunately is a certain level of stress your going to have to deal with just being alive. Handling your day to day life, is at times going to be random, unexpected, upsetting and strange. Life will without a doubt throw you curve balls, sideways balls and underhand low blows when you least expect it. None of this can be avoided, all you can do is live in a positive way and do your best to prepare for the inevitable times you will be called apon to react in a mellow and controlled or not so controlled way to whatever you are manifesting at the time. Relationships while enjoyable fall into this endless void of confusion, a place where stress can easily dominate the landscape if two people are not in complete agreement at all times. (this notion of complete agreement by the way is absolutely insane and not logical at all) Relationships translate very simply into work. Another relm of potential failure and success. Of dice rolls and choices, situations and outcomes. While we may try and get along as much as possible the inevitable misunderstanding or tense moment is going to pop up. How then should we proceed? Are you an arguer? Taking every chance to escalate the issue to a screaming match in public for all to see. Are you a stubborn passive agressive....with little to contribute but alot to hold against people in the private corners of your mind. Scared of possible rejection and heart break, so you cautiously do your best to accommodate your partner and end up a door matt in the end...someone the other cannot stand to look at, and disrespected at every turn. Maybe you are the abuser in your relationships, taking all you can without a thought about the other person. It seems in this game the lovers are so clearly doomed, why would anyone try? The odds stacked high as the skyscrapers in opposition to your simple plan of happiness. How then is it possible to remove the stress factor from this dance of love? Love is a tightrope bellydance of compromise and continuous humility. Even the basics of relationships require you to spend a good majority of the time thinking outside of your bubble and doing for someone else. You have to be ready to test the waters and retreat to your safety zone for comfort if necessary, stand the judgements of another person into even your most personal of spaces and accommodate and acclimate your own views, beliefs and habits to mesh with another. Seamlessly. Stressfree, and at just the right time. A bit like a jigzaw puzzle, you test the pieces, you find a fit...then realize that piece while it looked right and it fit...actually belongs on the other side of the board. All the chances to fuck things up really put pressure on people, and then god knows how you will act. Adding pressure to anything will cause an explosion. So why then do people still have the unrealistic and completely unfounded belief that Mr. Right or Mrs. Right is simply going to fall out of the sky perfectly matched and synced with your life ready to rock and roll into forever without a hitch? The cinderella stories and sleeping beauty rif raff have infected us. Love is work, work is love, and in the end there is a fair amount of grief, strife, stress and embarrassment that comes along with merging yourself with another. No matter how well adjusted you may think yourself to be. If you happen to communicate, (which by the way men and women are known to have completely different ways of communicating their emotions to each other) your at least one foot down the right path. There is nothing worse than being in a relationship with someone who cant find the time to speak to you about their thoughts, dreams or ambitions. If you can manage at moments of trouble to calm down and see things from a different point of view you can also pat yourself on the back. You have a chance! If when a problem arises you can find it in yourself to just handle it, instead of placing blame. Your leaping ahead and avoiding the blame game prime time victim show with your partner. Apologize, take responsibility, and find a solution, instead of wasting time arguing about it or placing blame. Placing the blame only furthers the issue and nothing was ever solved by playing whos fault is it. Let it go...if you've argued over something more than once and you've come to a solution or a plan of action moving forward. Stick to it, remember you talked about this. Move on....don't go bringing that shit up again in a few months. There really is no point. You talked about it....your still together....you'll find a way...or your out. Either way...beating dead horses never brought them back to life. Get over it or get lost. Stress is unavoidable at times, and yes its unpleasant. No one wants it its unfortunately a bi product of living. You learn to manage it, and breathe, let things go and move on. Ebb with the tides and flow with the rivers, and hopefully let the little things go as to not effect the bigger picture. I don't cheat, I do my best to be honest and give supportive feedback and loving words. I wouldn't leave you, take your money or ask you to buy me things. I wouldn't bad mouth you to my friends or yours, I can communicate in a rational and adult manner. I hate to argue, and hold grudges.....so where.... and why do I keep running to so much opposition? Is it too much to ask universe? For a simple man? someone to pull out a chair and fix my sink when it needs it. To help me paint, and fix my car. To eat the food I cook, and sleep beside me in my bed. Someone who will let me do their laundry and wash their dishes after dinner.

Eargasim....times ten...

There is music.....that you either love or hate.....but when you love it....its pretty amazing experience.

Shadow Dancer

why is it that I never seem to dance as well with anyone as I do myself. Shadow dancing in the moonlight, grass beneath my feet. My shadow dances alone, and I watch the blurring figures near me meld into one and other in the grass.

The moon illuminates us and the woods ebbing blackness creep in all around.

This Side.........

I made it to fashion week without a form fitting bodice, without a sponsor, without a pattern. No formal schooling, no measuring tape, no technical training, no logistics no human resources department.
I worked hard, I stayed in every night for years, I wondered what it was all for, I waited and I was disapointed. So many times.

But were there, were going, we were there and we are coming. You are in I am out...they are undecided. It all melds together, in one big colorful conglomeration of experiences.

The smell of warm skin after dark. The listing silence of day...and the bright stark generalizm of the railway. The squares in order, and senseless monotony. Green blue yellow red, morning phone calls from beyond. Yanking me out of sleep to discuss the loss of a shirt and a missed flight to Mexico.

Someones 24th birthday in the backyard, unexplected party appon my return from the north. Young faces, unknown places. The eager attitudes and opionions, the take the world by the hand approach. How I remember my spirit then... how I didnt care. How it was everyday for itself. Everything is possible, tonight.

My adjustable professional grade black felt toy. The sunshine swap meet in santa rosa... all afternoon Im still without groceries but I will live on love this week.

Rock Island

The long July 4th weekend is coming, and due to the horrific sunburn I encored last weekend. I think I will opt for completely garden variety household chores and possibly a yard sale for big plans.

Somehow the thought of a big hat a lawn chair and selling all my useless junk for cash to the highest bidder sounds like a grand idea. Plus with Octobers travel deadline lurking the more money I can hoard the better. Strange how making money takes on a whole different scene when you have set a date on the end.

I can see the end now and am over half way to my goal. Which is the best place to be...everything before half way is so transient. Your still spending your still not thinking you'll get there. Half way puts it all in prospective.

So rock island... I am on my way... half way to the middle of nowhere never felt so good. Now if I can just remember to call the Canadian Consulate about that dual citizenship.

Order pizza ...call it a day.

Social networking something I have not grown to love in the new millenium. Sites where you can see and they can see and everyone can lurk and search and other wise invade your life. Endless hours of letting your imagination run wild creating fake scenarios of your boyfriends or girlfriends with recently friended "friends" How I wish I was back walking in the sun, down an endless road into wherever the hell I want to be. Outside of the mundane boring online social scenes and everyday bus rides. Watching the sun rise and set on the beach with your friends, having "no plans" none. An empty planner for months on end. Seeing whats to be seen and never proactivly confirming with anyone. Spending time with people I want to and finding comfort in the warm arms of a traveler. How quickly the dream shatters with a post about muffins. The door slams shut and the social networking age creeps in and slams your face into the wall. I say...I have canceled the show, not posted a topic and signed off for the day. Im ordering a pizza and calling it a day life. You have won for now...my imagination will stop here for the time being.

Distractions

The days go by, the sun rises and the sun sets. I take the train to work and walk myself home again in the evening. I wonder and I try and stop, try and focus on something anything. The focus is lost and Im not sure when its coming back. Im overwhelmed by thoughts of fleeing the country again. Wishing the ticket was booked and the room was rented.

I miss my travel companion who seems to be slowly slipping into oblivion on his end of the world. If I had a car I would drive far away and leave myself by some stream in the far outback.

With fashion week coming up and everyone demanding an outcome... I continue to take a juevenille approach extending my middle finger in the face of preparation and planning. Feeling the last minute looming I am aware that the next week calls me to become extremely creative.

Somethings gotta give here.....Im not sure what its going to be.. All I know is I wish I was sitting on a beach somewhere and not emersed in San Francisco. Meeting after meeting day after day.

Easy for you....

Love is definitely a twisted lie.

One day your flying high as a kite, lifted off the ground on invisible wings. Stomach all fluttered with anticipation of your next meeting. The whole time feeling guilty secretly in the back of your mind because feelings like that are surely always followed by the deepest darkest realms of sad and depressed.

Floating you walk from moment to moment so privileged and lucky the envy of everyone, blissed out on your intimate moments and secret games. Staring into each others eyes is a past time and feet touching under the covers you fall asleep in each others arms. Nothing can touch you and nothing can crush your happiness. Everything is possible and the world becomes bright with possibility.

At times it feels like the world comes flooding in on you and your secret games, your intimate moments should last a bit longer the secret touches should remain indefinitely. If not one thing in this life is love....LOVE ...not safe from the blasting cold winds of normality, or the mundane.

Do the trips to the grocery store for food week after week and the familiarity of each others smells and shapes kill the blissful flower blooming for such a short time? or is this just the nature of the beast? Is it then more sensible in love to loose all sense for those blessed moments of full bloom and then tear fearfully away at the first sign of morning dew?

To never recognize someones smell, or silhouette in the doorway. To only be for as long as the magic is fresh and run hard and fast for the nearest mountain as soon as things become familiar.

Love is a lie my friends .....I know for sure these days, that traditional Suzy homemaker you are looking for...shes gone...just like the polyester and black and white photographs that idealized her in her day. Those men, hell bent on marriage and kids and a green lawn they disappeared with the rolling mower and model T. The gentlemen who hold your doors and bring flowers to your first date, are a myth. Something designed to entice breeding, hope and all the things that in the end leave you crying in a pile on the floor.

I'm a loner, a stoner, and a girl without a clue. Ill walk alone into this tangled web woven all around us...and I wont look back. I wont ever wonder again which way is up, or which side of the bed is mine. Where you went or when you'll be back... Ill just remember ...love and all its bliss is a lie in its truest form.

My hallway is so long, and the sound of that door closing was the loudest sound Ive ever heard.

Summer Shines

Summer hits with a bang and the sun is out one day and the clouds are sealing in the humidity the next. Rains wash us down every other weekday but the weekends are so beautiful.

The sun is shining, art is rampant, beautiful women are showing signs of spring faded and summer full bloom. Sly looks from the corner of thier eyes so inviting. Tanned skin, and sun bleached hair waft from room to room.

Sweat beads on our foreheads as we dance under the dim light, and vaulted ceilings of summers hottest hidden afterhours spot. My dress rumples, my boots are wearing in the strangest of places and my muscles are regaining strength with each beat. Unfurling like a fiddle head in the dark, music takes us away.

The water is warm the wine cellar is empty already. Champange flows like water, ketamine is all around. We float....and we float...the world turns fuzzy on the edges. Naked skin in the night air....and Ill never see that girl again.

Oriental rugs, and a room with too many windows. The smell of wood polish and a five story mansion with your picture on the wall. We look out onto a city rampaging in front of us. The world is at our feet...literally. The light wont chase us here. Theres enough money now that the curtains are thick and the couches luxurious. You could hide forever ....here in the fog.

My friends lay a crumpled heap, as I fumble in the early morning light for my dress. My dress, and my boots....take me home. Curled up in my bed the next afternoon finds me in no time. Like it never happened, a night vision. A dream. But the warmth, inside and the smiles the feeling...it lingers and I know. I was there...and so were you, and we didnt fall.....we floated....and Ill never see that girl again.

Fabrics turn to dust, the wine glasses sit empty and the models have disapeared...

....and I was by myself.

What a beautiful night.

Dancing by candelight

Summer sunshine just around the corner and the earth moving in waves of up and more up. So many tasks each attached to a million more like an avalanche each time. Simple beats push me through another night of managing my small ....miniscule ...even a spec of a business. Handwriting the hang tags with descriptions in twenty words or less of my time energy and work. Watching the fireplace warmth turn to ash, candles burn to empty wicks.
Wiping plants, organizing fabrics, setting up a window display for the world. Listening to the sounds of life, the silence of my own, and decorating things in a way I see fit. Someday when these days are far behind, I wonder what will I think then?
The beinging of another month.....Summer looming around the corner. Talk of grass trees and long dresses. Hiding under that weeping willow tree next to the lake.

Will I fall in love again there....do you ever fall out of love with places, memories or ideals. Do they just stay there, as they were waiting for you to check in on them from time to time. As the clouds coast over head and I make my way into the world each day wishing I could crank the hourhand back each minute. If only to stand against the flow to watch a moment I will never get back slip away.

Strands of ribbion, strips of silk, fabric dye finger tips, splashes of skin, dark eyes and red lipstick. We all walk beside some version of what should be.
So I dance in my studio/front room to long lost 90's rave music and try to not loose myself in greed envy disgust and lonliness. Focus on the grain of the fabrics, the sunbeams through the dust and the curl of long hair on the subway in the morning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64liF2VuLxI

So pure and untrue.....

The music Friday makes.

This video and musical styling are absolutely amazing. The perfect sound of a Friday night.

Hating it. ..

Standing on the corner watching the loud abnoxious trucks roar by inches from my face, sitting alone on the cold cement round "seating area" aloted to me by the corporate gods that be inches from the constant humm of the E trade building, watching as a bum pantamimes at me for money. Passing the firestone tire center only to realize they have painted over the colorful murals of dancers with a drab grey monotone color. If they are hoping to pull in more business with that I can definately say that was the ONLY thing that made that place decernable from the other drab disgusting buildings on the block.

Passing by pile after pile of human feces on the street, and wondering why it is that every homeless person on the face of the planet seems to shit on San Francisco and still the city refuses to have public restrooms. Yeah people are going to do drugs in them....people do drugs every fucking where... what really is the difference. Is a public rest room not a more suitable place for the shit to be? Or maybe the populus of SF keeps voting no on the public restroom issue because they like human shit covered shoes and feces smeared streets, walls, and alleyways.

To me ...it all screams, cold heartless and uninteresting. I know I know... try and find the positive in it. Look for the bright side....and on and on. Ive been trying and I can honestly say...it takes a lot San Francisco. Alot of energy to go out everyday and attempt to exchange a smile or a laugh you really are not the most friendly place. While I want to talk up your many secret charms...these days those charms are becoming so overpriced and over crowded with rude hoards Iphones stuck to thier faces screaming into thin air.. its not really even worth it to try.

I want to walk to the park and enjoy the sun lay in the grass and read a book. Instead the grass is trampled the flowers are riddled with beer bottles and homeless excrement. I dare not venture out again in a skirt as the sheer number of complete wastiods it attracts is staggering.. and extremely uncomfortable. No drunken out of control fucking homeless idiot, a girl wearing a skirt does not mean she wants to chat with you about stealing her purse at the stop light.

Black is not the new year round fashion statement. Its great if you cant come up with anything else to throw on...and possibly if you are colorblind it weeds out the possibilities of embarassment. However, dressing in all black everything accented rarely with dark brown is hardly a fashion statement. I see so many wanna be trendy people walking around drenched in every black item they could pile on. Its boring, and spring is here...hello? Black in the spring is like wearing red or your favorite black to a wedding. Spring is a time for color...all those colors you usually dont wear during the winter. Flowing dresses, hats, tiny sweaters...skirts yes all the things San Francisco tries to make us feel bad for wearing. I dont care how much you accessorize your black faux leather jacket... its still a drab black baggy thing in the middle of the summer..looking horribly out of place and backasswards.

Uggs, San Francisco...Uggs are just that Uggggly....even if they are black...they are winter slippers. For use at the cabin. ONLY. You cant wear them with your mini skirt, you cant wear them out of the house, and you most defenately should not arrive anywear with those things on your feet expecting to dance. All I ever think of when I see that is chunky ankles and sweaty feet. Awesome combo ladies...yum. Really.

Its a moving city, Thats all I have to say...move here...move around ALOT...try to stay as busy with your own life as possible. Make a move somewhere else before it wears on your soul and sucks the energy out of you.

Numbered Life.

God another week has flown by, funny how the time goes into the unknown so quickly. Spring is fast approching and I cant belive its been a year already. It seems like only a few days ago I was planning my escape from San Francisco to the other side of the world.

Now I'm back and submerged deeply in the city grind again. Walking my same red brick path to work everyday. Saying hello to the same over paid bums, lining the civic center sprawl-way. Watching the market street gentrification project in full swing, as one art store is closed to make room for the newer better version in the newly renovated next door.

Pondering the use-fullness of hipster culture ...is it even considered a culture if a subculture only lasts a few years and is centralized in one place on the globe? I suppose so the hippies did it now didn't they? The 80's were hilarious, and we all know the revolutionaries and summer of love were a riot to watch before that. So you could argue that sub cultures are in fact supported on the fact that they have a short shelf life.

Trying to find inspiration in the way sunlight transfers across the office floor each day. As a sunrise turns slowly, almost with out notice into another evening. The way leaves tumble past my feet with the last rays of the day on the red brick path home. Watching the ocean fog blow past the sky freakishly fast from the tenth floor. The moon peeking out during the day, as if to confirm that time has officially lost its grasp. Lost hawks circling the Hobart building small and so fragile looking against the towering brick and steel high-rise square pegs that make up downtown.

I am a number, a living breathing social security, tax id, background checked, certified number. Living in a city full of other numbers, all searching for relivant job and life placement. Experience relative to their number of years on earth, and a pay point to match. I watch them ...talking to themselves...or into the thin air. Blue tooths engauged....ties straightened, hair tied back in smart buns. Everyday...they pass by me these numbers, nothing breaks their self serving agendas. No smile, no signs of life, just numbers. Faceless scowling numbers....to busy to remember yelling into your blue tooth means everyone in a tri county area can hear your conversation. To oblivious to walk in a way that you shouldn't ram into every other person on the street. Assuming that everyone else is less than them....numbers I see you everyday. In a way you are inspiring...you make business life possible and you care about these mundane hampster wheel tasks that fuel the CEO's and CFO's of your world. Ill give you that... the blatent focus of mind it takes to block all else out is amazing.

I know its where the money is... and everyone needs a fall back. So Ill trudge on ...getting my life experience and job training to match my years of life. To look good on paper, and blend with the populus of rapidly growing consumed numbers. Holding my breathe for sunny weekends and Mondays off.

Gloomy Sundays

I awoke at 5am this morning, listening to the snake thrash around in its cage. Filled with stir crazy bordome. He wakes every night around 3am and thrashes untill 11am the next morning. Provided noone plays with him, which I try and do every morning for at least twenty minutes.

Laying there watching the clock tick, listening to the silence of my room and the stillness of a listless Sunday morning. The tickle noises coming from the small gap in the walls between condos informs me that it is in fact raining. I sigh reliefe. I know with the rain the photoshoot that is schedualed for the day will be canceled, and that there is now no reason to get up at the god aweful hour of 530am to start preping outfits and laying out the work space for hair and make up.

I roll back over and slip back into sleep. The easiest thing to do in the morning, is just sink back into your covers and enjoy the lagtastic pace of a quiet sunday morning. I awake a few more times still half dreaming of the photoshoot and giving myself mini heart attacks thinking I am late. Only to remember the rain has saved me and sink back into the pillow top abiss that is my mattress.

I putter around the studio entertaining the idea of sewing, but wondering exactly where it was I stopped on the projects before the pinical of my last creative binge, the lovesick fashion show. Staring into the calendar, scribbling the new deadlines for shoe lines and custom orders. Budgeting the money I have yet to make for the next few months.

I stare out into the rainy day ahead and watch the teardrop shaped drips collect on the leaves of my garden. They drop onto the ground and further saturate the dirt, my baby tears are thankfully coming back from the dead. I check the computer for any signs from you. There is nothingness staring back at me.

Looking for guidance, and some spirituality I play the buddah book turn page crap shoot and read a passage. Strangely in tune with what I am feeling, the buddah book bestows its pearls of wisdom into my brain. Living with nothing, appreciating people unto the last.

The studio still looms its disorganized head, I cant make heads or tails of my projects. Cant nail down a start today. I look to the calendar for an answer and it reads "photoshoot" back at me. I think about this shoe collection and how silly it may be, but what a concept Id like to create. The solution to my newly freed time becomes clear. The thrift store is calling.

Community thrift on the corner of Valencia and 17th, is the new Goodwill of the city. The dumping ground for mission estate sales, and hipster trustafarian kids with too many pairs of designer shoes and jackets. The perfect combination of cheap spandex and vintage polyester. Its usually not busy, and since I had already scoped it out a few days before I knew or hoped it would still be ripe for the picking.

The smell of old closets and dusty wardrobes overtakes you as you walk in the door and I am greeted by two men fighting over who is going to buy a bent fender six string. After sifting through stains and faux snakeskin boots, I settle on three pairs of shoes for my collection, some random vintage jacket find and a shirt I can turn into a spring dress for resale and book it out.

I walk in the rain, paper bag disinegrating slowly under the misting rain. Nervous about another job starting tomorrow and listening intently to my headphones. Blasting out music I try and think of something other than how far away it is you have gone, and how quickly it all took place. Wishing you were here next to me, my walnut face.

What are we now? When will I know? Do you already know? Why does life have to always throw curve balls when you don't even feel like playing a game.

The all emcompassing feeling

Well this blog is offically completely updated. All my entries from live journal hidden away are now up. Everything from 24 on, an entire few years on paper is a completely interesting thing to fall appon at another date.

Why love must be such an all encompassing feeling I will never understand. It starts with such an overwhelming sickness. Invading your thoughts, your mind, your body, your spirit with joy and hapiness. The adventure of learning a new person and sharing yourself with them.

Slowly they become everyday living, you get used to their snoring, and bodily functions. Thier habits and hatreds. Needs and wants become issues and a realationship is borne.
Feelings will be hurt and tears will be shed. Yelling will ensue at times, and I will find what my father has always told me about holding my temper a lesson I am still struggling to learn.

When its over, this love emotion, or even when for reasons of the outside world pushing in it must be taken and pushed to the back behind our everyday lives. The level of all encompassing pain is amazing. It comes up like a wave overtaking your mind again, and your emotions this time are the horrible ones. The tear enducing, deep sob creating heart wretching emotions we all hide from. The complete loss of rational thought ensues, and actions like eating and talking become so difficult. The sense of being alone takes over and you for an instant forget who you are. Left there to rebuild...alone. Yourself.

There is no way to block it out. It over comes. There is no way to run away...it finds you in the darkest night when you least expect it.
Somewhere in there and here in SF is lost the magic I so desperately love. The sense of adventure and wanderlust. San Francisco, once my inspiration now drains me of happy thoughts and leaves money grubbing social conscience ones in it their place.

So now I sit, with a love so far away. Encompassed by the sense of freedom that I do not want, and the long road ahead to rebuilding. Rebuilding something from afar that in person needs to work. A theory of love, that in practice sometimes strains the soul.

What then...is this love... like a disease. It affects us all.