i’m sick of this record already
let’s wreck all the preconceived notions they bring to it
check all the baggage or better yet burn it
and start all over again
let’s start with your life as you know it
we’re back in our mothers’ wombs folded like notebooks
we had no idea of all the tote bags and meat hooks
waiting out in the world
one september in boston
i lost the will to live
i was just like an astronaut cut from the ship
floating and waiting to die
i was sick of my ordinary life
i was so sick of ordinary life
i was sick of this ordinary life
the human mind gets sick real easy
the human mind gets way fucking sick of beauty
and i know, and it’s happened to me
again and again
again and again
you’ve gotta make it new
you’ve gotta keep it new to keep it true
and you’re allowed to do anything you’ve gotta do
just cause you’re sick of your ordinary life
doesn’t mean you should bottle up and die
lose your way completely but stay alive
ditty bop sha lang lang
ditty bop sha lang sha ditty lang
ditty bop sha lang lang ditty lang
september was hard. i got back from switzerland and suddenly found myself refreshingly busy at work, but also entangled in nebulous work politics that left me feeling unsure of my instincts and hesitant in my choices and – this is where things started to unravel – slow to stand up for myself. the stress and anxiety swirled, the sound of an old friend’s voice brought me to tears, and i quietly wondered what i was even doing here. it’s funny. in new york i could only handle 48 hours of feeling weird and uncomfortable before i had to do something about it. in portland? weeks, nearly a month. maybe new york really is faster than portland. maybe new york is already at capacity when it comes to weird and uncomfortable. maybe there’s no difference or reason or rulebook and life is whatever the fuck it is and sometimes things are just hard a little longer than the last time they were hard. okay. so september sucked. so what? when i was ready, i took a deep breath and trusted my instincts and wore a lot of black and put on heels and blasted beyoncé and made it abundantly clear to myself and others:
i am. i am. i am.
the mistake is thinking
there can be an antidote
to the uncertainty.
back in february i chose “go through it” as my 3 word thesis for 2015 (full breakdown of my previous 3 word theses here) and maybe this is one of those “ugh shut up this horoscope could vaguely apply to anyone” eye roll inducing coincidences, but “go through it” has been a really on point personal compass for me. i started thinking about it this morning and realized i’ve gone through a lot of very real [late late 20-something] life shit since february:
negotiating my worth
letting go of new york
packing up my life
moving two thousand miles away
finding a new apartment
dating long distancing
breaking up long distance
producing long distance
forming new and meaningful friendships
feeling lost, obnoxious, alone
feeling smart, strong, capable
feeling nothing, something, everything
i get asked uhhhhlot whether i (a) love it here (b) miss new york. i think people really want to hear (a) yes! (b) no!, but neither of those answers feel totally right and i have absolutely no poker face when it comes to my personal life (or filter … sorry family). every time i meet someone new i brace myself for the inquiry and when it inevitably comes up i end up rambling emo-laden nonsense for 15 minutes until something along the lines of “ummm i don’t know i’m ok” blubbers out. the truth is, i can’t answer these questions because i’m not done yet.
i’m going through it.
people say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. i don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. i think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually
i’ve been struggling with a triple dose of severely limited attention span + blogger’s block + work life imbalance since mid december, but i wanted to tell you that i miss you so much it aches, i think about blogging (and the act of not blogging) everyday, and i finally figured out this year’s three word thesis:
go through it.
“in the 2000s, there will be only answers. the demand will be such that there will only be answers. all texts will be answers, in fact. i believe that man will be literally drowned in information, in constant information. about his body, his corporeal future, his health, his family life, his salary, his leisure. it’s not far from a nightmare. there will be nobody reading anymore.”
in 1985, marguerite duras gave her predictions for the future to the french publication les inrocks and the translation is as prophetic as it is poetic. i haven’t finished a book in years.
go outside of yourself.
look at yourself walking down the street.
make yourself tumble on a stone and fall.
watch other people looking.
observe carefully how you fall.
how long it takes and in what rhythm you fall.
observe as seeing a slow motion film.
ps – the quotes above were generated by what-would-i-say.com. if you have to come into work tomorrow and need a delightful time suck to get you through the [inevitably quiet and totally ghost town-y] day, i highly recommend a gander over there. spot on stuff.
here you will be free
to stretch yourself to your limit,
to find the beach that is yours alone.
but sooner or later
you will be sitting on that beach
wondering what comes next.
dug through my feedly today and was kindly awarded with some slow, magical good vibes from the above two pics and a nice midday zing! from bobby mckenna’s awards page. all in all, a monday well spent in my corner of the internet.
guess this means i’ll be some sort of french bulldog instagram account aficionado / recluse … brb gettin’ vvv excited about my srsly promising future. oh, wassup dog ppl?
i’m a bug
is my breakfast
along with tea yeah
i’m a bug
i got a stinger
so do you, baby
let’s wing it.
interviewer: do you ever get bored?
werner herzog: no, never. the word is not even in my vocabulary. i seem to scare and astonish my wife by being capable of standing staring out of the window for days at a time, even when there is nothing happening out there. i may look catatonic, but not so inside. there might be storms raging inside. i think it was wittgenstein who talked about being inside a house and seeing a figure outside strangely flailing about. from inside you cannot see what storms are raging out there, so you find the figure funny.
some people make us feel more human and some people make us feel less human and that is a fact as much as gravity is a fact and maybe there are ways to prove it, but the proof of it matters less that the existence of it—how a stranger can show up and look at you and make you make more sense to yourself and the world, even if that sense is extremely fragile and only comes around occasionally and is prone to wander or fade—what matters is that sometimes sense is made between two people and i don’t know if it’s random or there is any kind of order to it, what combinations of people work the best and why and how do we find these people and how do we keep these people around, and i don’t know if it’s chaos or not chaos but it feels like chaos to me so i suppose it is.
miserable, darling, as usual.
hello, pre-holiday short week.
bracing myself for the vvv busy.
hoping some answers will follow.
drinking coffee at mcdonald’s
out of a paper cup
is almost more victory than we can
nov. 15, 1971: “it’s that time of year, when ethnic society, homesick for its native accents, gets together to whoop it up,” reported the times … “pepe, as he is called, not only produced a sumptuous buffet, but he also emerged as a superb flamenco dancer. at 2 o’clock in the morning, after having served a breakfast of churros (ropes of cruller-like fried dough) and hot chocolate, pepe danced to the guitars and mandolins, losing his white chef’s toque as he whirled.
may we all lose a toque as we whirl.
“more and more i really believe that doing our best isn’t about loving unconditionally but about just saying something truthful. and letting the other person have the rare advantage of knowing what we’re feeling uncloaked, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the feelings are confused, even if there are conditions. because making things seem uncomplex, making love seem easy and unconditional is just another deception we sweet-talk ourselves into, with all the should-ing that never lasts.
so there i was on the subway, picking feverish fights in my head with some stranger’s self-help book. and feeling like we’re all missing a better point here. a point not about love or conditions but about something simpler. about trying to be good and kind and patient with each other and knowing that there are always conditions, that we’ve all got our knots and bends in our brains, and holes in our hearts.”
these two paragraphs,
especially that last part
on being kind, having knots.
that’s where i’m keeping things.
for a while.
how i think about you,
how i hope you think about me.
sometimes i can’t crack my own code.
bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
but to be young was very heaven.