So, fun day: was robbed at gun point this morning downtown, had several hundred dollars taken, and had to walk over an hour to get to work, thus arriving late and sweaty and ornery. Received some help with bus fare from a coworker and two customers, for which I'm thankful; have to conduct "damage control" with rent and my P.O. box renewal. ( Read more... )

Particular circumstances are driving me insane; rumors being spread like butter confuse and annoy me; inexperience and slap-dick attitudes make me grate my teeth; I'm expected to hold my head up, smile, kiss ass, let the bullshit continue to seep through the skin, not stir the pot, not ruffle feathers. I'm beginning to regret I ever returned to ( Read more... )

What is the purpose of investigating Timothy Leary all of a sudden? Are you THAT desperate to trip on LSD? Or is this just another branch in the tree you want to climb?

It was last week, a Monday of sunshine and dark memory clouds . . . I sat in a bar, in a corner booth hidden from the door, drinking Guiness and coffee, and waited . . . Photographs lay spread out in front of me, stacks of papers, lists and outlines of years and months . . . Disbelief, that a brother could kill a child, his own child . . . Cold ( Read more... )

Annoying, awful coworkers . . . A murder case . . . A meeting with lawyers, defense attorneys . . . Images from a past I never wanted to remember . . . Quiet moments walking beneath lilac bushes, late at night, wondering whether I should take chances or not anymore . . . I taught myself to make spinach-artichoke dip, and the results were smashing.

I am starting to second-guess my choices, and wonder if perhaps I jumped the gun and made assumptions.

Pondering the images and ideas of Jung's "Psychology and Alchemy", and wondering how my interior world relates to these. As if struggling to maintain balance in the exterior world weren't a struggle enough . . . I just don't know the direction ( Read more... )

I could hide behind these images forever, burning from the inside, and shroud my smoke from your piercing gaze.

Today was the funeral for my friend Ricky. I am emotionally exhausted, unable to stop crying inside. I don't want to work, to wash clothes, to clean, to walk, to even sleep. All I care about is crying, holding people, crying, crying, crying . . . I never realized how much I loved him, how much our kindred spirits had joined together, how giving and ( Read more... )

I am weak, alone. I am faced with silence. I understand yet refuse to believe. Let me scream far into the night: I don't get it, I don't get it, why Ricky, why?