NEW ORLEANS, LA- HALLOWEEN, 2015
FLYING AWAY FROM SAN DIEGO
SAN DIEGO IS SO BRIGHT. THE SUN SHINES EVEN WHEN THE RAIN IS FALLING, THE PEOPLE ARE WASTING AWAY INTO SOCIAL MEDIA MADNESS. BUT, I CAN APPRECIATE THE BLESSINGS THAT ARE BEYOND THE WORLDLY MADNESS.
I PUT MY PHONE INTO MY BAG AND LOOK OUTSIDE OF MY PLANE WINDOW…TIME TO SEE BEAUTY, SEE THE UGLY, AND REMINISCE ABOUT THE POWER OF BOTH.
As we rise on the highway 10 towards hotel ste helene, I look at the superdome and feel an immediate sense of sad nostalgia. Just a few years ago there were victims of nature floating across misplaced bodies of water, anonymous in name but at one point someone’s child, parent, sibling. I close my eyes and imagine this place looking like a third war country, torn into bits and pieces with humans lying around and an entire earth of people surrounding them to offer very little assistance. Hotel Katrina and Louisiana, I come to visit you, and I can still feel the pain.
Today, I lost 20 dollars.
Even better though…
Is that today,
Someone found 20 dollars.
Life is like magic,
And I am the magician.
So, side note:
I sit in my car, right outside of the
Home I am renting. I always sit in my car and think, write about stuff after i get home from work. Always curious about change, I think back on this date exactly one year ago. I wrote something that sent chills down my own spine…here…I’ll post it below:
I didn’t know it before, I’d never seen it before
I knew that it existed, but it was an observation of the person next to me, in front of me,
never inside of me.
I am angry.
I first noticed the signs when small things would well up this burning ball of fire, an immediate need to reach
How do you know that you are living or simply existing? Hoping that your silent screams are heard
loud enough through the speakers of your writings, to share the remedies of both mental and emotional
heartache through the tip of your ink pen?
Reading this freaked me out, because as I sit in the car, I want to write the same exact thing. Same emotion. Some fear, just a different year. Makes me think. How much have I really changed since September of 2014?
I’ve forgotten that I had to breathe just like the rest of them. That, I had to live just not like the rest of them. Never happy, just surviving. Unaware of what is the best of me. It is Friday, 9:33 pm. 3 pills in and I am waiting for my head to start spinning, For my heart to stop racing, slow pace it’s way back to human speed
I am far from a being. Or yet maybe a being with anxiety so ritualistic that it’s like my chest has dubstep on repeat… waiting for the unknown moment anxiously. To get away from this feeling because it is destroying all things around me.
Why do we tattoo our bodies?
Is it in the name of art, or because we feel that we have to?
I think that, like love, it hurts us but we want more;
To feel the pain and let it settle enough to scar beautifully onto us
To showcase the signs of torture in us.
Our own personal warrior paint.
Then again, when I look at my tattoos, I don’t see art. I see experiences. Bad times, or good times with bad people. I let it set in, I guess in a way it’s me never letting go of her, that time, or that feeling.
What do your tattoos mean?
i have to keep reminding myself that things are better than my untrained eye can decipher.
I feel cold at night but there’s a blanket on top of me, my heart feels wary and my mind is dreary but I remind myself that just 2 months ago I was worried about any and everything that would cost money, and losing the closest person that I’d ever let next to me.
The battle to recognize my triumphs is a daily affirmation for me. I am too familiar with lonely and it makes me think of who I’ve lost recently but then the daily affirmation continues…
I continue to chat in whispers, I consciously exercise my breathing.
I’m just not for everybody.
My next move is so strategically planned that I scare myself, nothing else can go wrong or I’ll blow up like a building full of terrorists who are trying their hardest to prove something…
I am a terrorist too. My mind is full of bombs created in my own bedroom, restless nights of roaming the internet trying to research the tools needed to create my own explosive changes, I want to blow up myself into tiny pieces, come back to life with a whole new set of eyes, thoughts, and cares, that would be my prize for my martyr sacrifice. Paradise; it would be heaven…
Titles, they die.
In a bed of roses on
Top of its grave.
I’ll write this broken
Dream a letter,
Until the feeling of reminisce
Hoping that the
Thoughts, can maintain
Like saying goodbye
Being a weakness, instead of
Rest in peace,
To this love.
What is mine.
No moment, nor human, is solely yours. Moments are to be shared with the universe, also, another person can never truly be yours wholly, as they hold an entire entity of power that isn’t attainable, but can too be shared if they so choose. This is a human characteristic that is crippling. You focus on controlling ownership of another, and you lose focus of yourself. This is a struggle I am now trying to get a hold of.
I know that I do not “own” you.
But, many times I find myself painting bright colors of my ideals onto your image in my mind, becoming an artist just so that I can sit back proudly at my creation, this sounds completely selfish and unrealistic, but my acceptance of this behavior is my way of fixing it; fixing me. You
ARE kind of perfect, because your unpredictability gives me a fire that I am sure wouldn’t exist if you were to follow my every command. Like a poem that I finish I may nod my head at the finish product but I would soon get bored with the finished product and look to re-create.
I’ll leave it to the universe to share with me the best and not so best moments, and I will hope for the continued opportunity to share in the world of your continued self-ownership.