yo.

i'm still here. just not ready to write yet. my apologies. i'm blank like this big white screen. and i'm alone cuz i feel like nobody's good enough. then i look in the mirror. there was a good line from a rap song i heard recently- "nobody hates you more than your reflection." anyway, he's right. how did we get to hate ourselves so much? or is it just me? who knows. it's all one big mind fuck. this life. with alot of color and beauty.

yours,

it's about time.

well, my loyal blogettes- i really don't have anything to say. or rather, i just don't feel like blogging lately. i'll leave last minute what i'm doing right now lines on facebook, but other than that, i've been feeling exhausted and my inspiration to tell you more stories has fizzled out like the seldom cleaned fryer at the waffle house. sorry- i'll probably jump back on in full force after i score some good anti-depressants.

love to you all, and happy mothers day to me, biatches.
-dyva

brilliance.

ok. i feel like a dumbass posting this somewhat trivial post, but please. trust me. yes, trust me. if you know what's good for you, you will. so you know all those assholes out there that keep blabbering on and on about the show "lost?" well, they need to quit their jobs at denny's and smell the roses. the most brilliant show ever created on any network, on the planet for that matter, was "six feet under." i'm not one of those crazy people who watched every episode of every lame citcom on tv. no. but i did look forward to my six feet under on HBO when i got home from work. maybe it's because i want to make movies myself, but the characters were brilliant. the acting was brilliant. the plot was brilliant. every single episode of that whole fucking show was pure brilliance. and the artistic aspect of it all! just fucking brilliant. the soundtrack. aaahhhh...you have no idea. i got sucked in and hypnotised and brainwashed all at the same time. i cried during the last episode of the last season like my dog just died. the end of my six feet under left me empty and incomplete. how could they all leave me like that? i needed them. they were my family!! christ. bring me a bottle of cheap white wine. and make it chardonnay. they even threw in a gay couple. keith and david. god, i miss them. where my gays at?? come back! i need you.

anyway, please buy the complete set. cuz if you rent it, you'll want to own it anyway. good. do what i say. and quit telling me every time you wipe your ass on facebook.

uuuhhhhh #2

hey. does anyone out there want to hire me to do something and pay me at least 40k? i'm getting burnt out entertaining seniors. i think one year of calling bingo and leading 50's karaoke is enough. please let me know.... PLEASE! i'll start in june. and i'll need to bring my dog. thanks.

restaurant owners need not apply.

MJH

Dear Missy,

I'm sorry about your mother. I'm sorry you grew up without your mom and dad. I wish things were different for you. I know it was hard. Thank you for the sleepovers, for the mac & cheese, the big glass of milk, the laughs. All the times you made me laugh. There were so many. Living with you was so much fun. Sharing make-up and clothes, our boy stories and battle scars. Listening to Alice in Chains in the morning while you took 3 hours to get ready. Playing spades in the middle of the night, making fun of people on tv. We had the same sense of humor. You had the most beautiful smile. We were so young and rebellious. We had so much fun. And then he came.

He came into your life, this force of evil, this man born and placed on a path that crossed yours and sealed your fate. Why didn't you make him go away. Why. It could've been so simple. And now you're dead. You're dead.

I wish you called. You always called. I wish I went to see you last month. I wish you tried harder with me. I could never tell you no. I wish you would've called. I wish you grew up happy. I wish he never met you. And there wouldn't have been another. Not like him. I wish you had the strength to make him go away. I thought you did before he met you. I thought you did. But now it's all over- all the pain, all the tears, all the fear. Your scars are gone, your arms are smooth. You can start over. Next time. And I'll see your daughter again someday. And I'll tell her all the wonderful things about you and how much fun we had when we were young. I'll tell her lots of things. I'll make sure she understands. I loved you. I'll be missing you. More than you know.

So.

aaarrrggghhhhh.....a loyal blog reader of mine said i'm too depressing. if i don't start saying something happy, then they'll stop reading my blog. fuck you. fucker.


SO! i'm happy! ok?? can't you tell? i didn't even have a nervous breakdown at kroger today! AND it was a new one, and i didn't know where shit was! but i was patient and found my shit! ok?? and there was only 1 checkout line with a human on it! ok?? and i didn't even complain or break a sweat! so FUCK YOU and your happiness. ok??

what if i'm ADD? or have a chemical imbalance in my depressing brain that i can't control? what if i'm fighting clinical depression and don't know it?? are you racist against people that aren't looking HAPPY? you fucking racist. happy bitch. i'll show you happy. let me put on my happy glove.

well, i'm tired and need to get some sleep to get up in the morning for a job that has nothing to do with what i want to really do. unless i can make a porno there. hey! seniors in porn! and seniors can get a senior discount on the videos! i'll open up shop with an early bird special! i'll patent something that turns your dentures into a sex toy! i'll turn polydent into a lubricant! i bet there's a market for that.
gunnite!

CHICKEN SHIT.

so, can somebody tell me why i'm so fucking scared to be myself? ok- that sounds a little lame. but really. i walk around so fucking terrified to do what i want to do. too scared to be where i want to be. jesus, i found myself on the couch just needing to breathe deeply because my back was caving in. i thought about how every day for me here is the same. how i haven't been able to find anything as calming to me as the ocean. how when i think about how beautiful life is i think about california. i sometimes look around my house and think about selling it all. getting an over-priced apartment that won't kill my dog. i think about having a shitty day at work and coming home to sit here and vent and do it all again tomorrow. then i think about having a shitty day at work and coming home to put my flip flops on and head to the beach to unwind. wow. feet in the sand. hands in the sand. the sun. where's the fucking sun?

holy shit. this can't be it. i need to make some decisions here. i asked god for help. really. i haven't felt that compelled to pray in a long time. i gotta be desperate. sad, isn't it? am i the only one who feels like every decision is wrong?? this job i'm in is like working in a trash compactor. i feel like my 4 walls are closing in on me and death is right around the corner. before i know it, i'll be living in a nursing home with a view of a broken down swimming pool. i gotta make a move. right? whatever. i'm going to sleep. SO glad tomorrow's sunday.

IN HONOR OF MONA

christ. here i am at 4:30 in the morning. yep. watched 4 hours of my favorite show, six feet under. drank one beer. lit some incense. some candles. sat on the floor and pet my dog- (who may be dead.) put in a yoga video after that. tired. it looked like a bad porn. a bleached blonde named lisa with big tits and a guy who appeared to be michael bolten in a leotard. i just did the poses my body easily allowed me to. stretched the back a bit. now i'm talking to you. or me. or the computer. anyway, so i'm sitting there watching my show and i swear to you, there's something up with that show. there's no way that many people, as in the ones who create and produce this show, can be that damn brilliant. there's just no way. maybe scattered around the earth, but not all together to write and direct this one show. seriously- you need to watch it. trust me. just pure brilliance. i'm in awe of it. i mean, i don't watch tv or tv sitcoms or even the news. i especially wouldn't buy the complete set of all 5 seasons and watch it AGAIN. but i did. when i was rich and had HBO, i started watching it and it sucked me in. i even cried during the last episode. call me crazy. i felt like my best friend just died. i had no one to come home to anymore. now i can sleep with a dvd under my pillow and have sweet dreams of waking up to yet another episode. oh, if only you little people understood.

For the Most Part,

people are assholes. i have a few friends that are generally kind hearted and would probably never utter a cross word to my face, but for the most part, people are assholes. why, after all these years, am i still slightly surprised when someone i call my friend suddenly turns against me, turning into a complete schizophrenic freak? weird. i'll never know. but the ones that have these freaky episodes are also very lonely people. probably because they can't contain the asshole within. i think that old tv show "the hulk" was like that. it was about some weird white guy, who most people perceived as normal, until someone set him off. but instead of just freaking out and being a dick, he morphed into this huge, green monster-guy, with big muscles and destroyed shit. wonder why they chose green. i mean, they could have chosen black. or pink. i wonder what the critics would've said if the hulk was pink. maybe i should create a gay spin-off of the hulk, only make him pink and call him "the hunk." every time he got a bad blow job, he'd get pissed off and destroy shit- i'd keep that the same. but my show would have higher ratings because all the gays would watch it. and to be successful, you need their support.

How to Waste an Hour (in honor of Brigette)

1. open my laptop.

2. wait for damn thing to come on.

3. enter password.

4. wait for damn yahoo web page to appear.

5. check my facebook with shame.

6. think about responding to people.

7. switch to my blog to remember latest story or see if brigette read the latest one.

8. sit in front of computer for the remaining 40 minutes,talking myself into pulling up my checking account to see what's left.

yep, that's about my hour every day.

Dillusion.

you seduced me
used me
squeezed me and juiced me
we stood up and fought
called it a truce
we-

you. looked into my eyes

you. taught to deceive
gifted your tears
and made me believe
we

could do this
could chew this
but
too often said screw this

can't do this

i'm dying and you-

There's nothing you have that I need.

Breathe.

There's nothing you have that I need.


we.
lied to ourselves
warped the paths paved
now truth has arrived
these destinies saved


we denied us joy
we denied us life
we denied us freedom
i saw me in you

and you.

on the day that i die
my heart's resurrection
this longing. the longing
poses a question- we.

It's not do I believe in love

It's does love believe in me.

There's nothing you have that I need.

Breathe.

There's nothing you have that I need.

BLESSING IN DISGUISE.

it was a blessing in disguise because I was fooling myself into believing it may last. it was a blessing in disguise because I needed to do some things for myself. it was a blessing in disguise because it was hurting my family. it was a blessing in disguise because i needed to write. it was a blessing in disguise because i needed to read. it was a blessing in disguise because i needed to be more responsible. it was a blessing in disguise because i needed to be respected. it was a blessing in disguise because deep down i was unhappy. it was a blessing in disguise because i wasn't treated right. it was a blessing in disguise because i was ashamed. it was a blessing in disguise because it was holding me back. it was a blessing in disguise because it made me not like who i was. it was a blessing in disguise because i couldn't be myself. but with it i sometimes laughed. with it i sometimes cried and it felt good. with it i'd sometimes think about life and appreciate it a little more. with it i got to share my thoughts and views. and with it i sometimes felt happier. and with it i wasn't alone. but it was still, without a doubt, a blessing in disguise. i needed to let it go. i needed to change.

Resistance.

"I can't do it. I just can't do it," I said. "Yes, you can", said Nate. "I think my parents have beat me down just enough to keep me here," I said. "I mean, I try to tell myself to be motivated. I try to tell myself I can do it. I try to better myself, eat better, work out more, write more- and I just don't. I can't. I don't like myself. I don't like who I've become. I hate looking at myself. I can't seem to shake it." "But you're not that person. And you can do those things," said Nate. "I know you can."
"I grew up with a mom who only told me what I can't do. 'You can't do this. You can't do that.' My parents never cared what I did. I never had anyone to back me up as a child. Back me up in school. They weren't around. I mean, they didn't protect me when I was little. A little girl. I was one of five. By the time I came around, they just didn't give a shit anymore. What kinda shit is that? I just don't get it." Nate looked at me with those eyes. He didn't say anything. He has the most amazing eyes. I like to cup his face in my hands and rub my thumbs along his high cheek bones. Just staring into his eyes. He's a good listener. He always has been. I like that about him.

short stories

patience. it doesn't exist in my world. if you're in front of me, get the fuck out of my way. i can't seem to get a grip on it. control it. the driver's seat of my car is a haven for anxiety. MOVE! christ.
the grocery store. can't do it. i can't walk up and down the isles slowly dodging other people and their kids and their carts. the indecisiveness of it all. the SLOWNESS of it all. standing in the checkout line. forget it.


what did she think of me? i just said "hello". she gave me a look. a look of disgust. as if she were scared of me even from a distance. before i even spoke. is it my clothes? can people see through me? do they know where i've been? what i've done? is my face posted somewhere? fuck. gimme a fuckin' break. i hate this shit. i hate people. that stupid bitch. i was treated better in lock up. respected. i'm not respected out here. people don't give a fuck.
i don't wanna be here. i don't wanna be here.

Time for Change, part 3

i'll get back to you....

untitled

i don't think i will live a long life. i believe god has marked me as one who does not appreciate what i have, therefore he will one day soon strike me down or create an incurable disease inside of me. the sad thing is that i wouldn't have a difficult time accepting it. i cannot seem to get a grip on my reality, whatever that may be. it seems as though i will never be happy, especially living with the circumstances i have created for myself. i too often look at my daughter with resentment and regret and thoughts of what could have been won't leave my mind. i'm living this robotic existence and cannot seem to find love or anyone who i could share the rest of my life with. today is a bad day for contentment. it's just not happening. i want to go away for awhile. somewhere hot and sunny and full of water. no mailbox. no car. no noise. the only thing priceless is silence.

peace and panic.

guday, mates. so in my quest to find peace, i've been sifting through some books given to me over the holidays- "the power of now" and "you can heal your life". gee, i wonder what the common theme in these books is. thank God for dr. phil and his endorsements. with the anxiety of everyday life, and my inability to acquire xanax, i have been attempting to focus on my breath and the very moment- not the moment 2 seconds ago, or the 2 seconds into the future. just what's happening at the moment of each breath, and giving notice to the breath, as if each one a gift. the effects of this practice have proven interesting, you see, because what has happened is that i'm going through frequent "hills" of peace and panic. one moment i'm at peace with the present, then the next i'm having a slight panic attack and want to swerve my car across a highway median, and straight to the airport. my breath has now become breathe in peace, breathe out panic.

can i find solace after 6 months in a fat camp? or a yoga retreat at yogaville?
swami asalamalaykem, please hear my cry.

i'm tired. i have homework. i have work in the morning. i should go to sleep. i don't want to do any of it.

God, i need to thank you tonight for the stars and the moon, and the music that gets me through the day. there are no words to describe their beauty.

in the words of my late uncle steve, be well.

My rap.

in the words of our ol' school rapper, Ice Cube- Today was a good day. And I didn't even shoot my AK.

Goodnight, Mr. Cube- wherever you are...

believe in your fortune cookie- if you know what's good for you.

i hate stopping for gas. i put it off until my gas light comes on, then i curse over and over again until i must be driving on the last drop, my eyes shifting from road to little orange light, road to orange light...then eventually, there i am, in all my gas pumping glory, standing in the cold and wind, angrily watching the digital numbers on the pump fly to the heights of the universe, dollars flying out of my bank account. god forbid i must pay first, needing to use CASH, of which the last 20 numbers on the pump drip by, like a barely leaking faucet, my impatience literally killing me. i must sell the car.

and oprah. on the cover of a magazine, standing next to HERSELF, about 50 pounds lighter and 12 years ago, in a cover-story before-and-after photo. after 40 years of her public yo-yo diets, who gives a shit about her fat ass now?? YOU HAVE A PERSONAL CHEF FOR GOD'S SAKE! tell him not to make the fried twinkies for dessert again!! doesn't he cook healthy?? wouldn't you make him?? JESUS!! go pump your own gas for a change! can you squeeze a trigger??

i'm fine. i'm listening to a new cd- "healing waters" by dean evenson. the massage therapist i can't afford anymore played it once and i loved it. it has the sounds of the ocean, and you know how i love me some ocean. finally, someone who values the water as much as i do. which brings me to fortune cookies.

i've tried over and over again to figure out this quest for peace. i fight through each day trying to be at peace with my situation(s), my environment, my job...and call me stubborn, but i'm just not happy here- well, most of the time. i know how i am blessed, and am grateful for those things. but my true happiness lies within freedom from all things which bind us, and exists near the water. i need my ocean, i need my people, i need the sun. it's just not here. simple. i keep going back to the two best fortune cookies i ever got. when someone tells me "if you're not happy where you're at..." or while i'm punching a 40 hour clock and missing rare times with my family, i think of these:

ONLY YOU KNOW WHAT IS IMPORTANT TO YOU

NO MAN IS FREE WHO IS NOT MASTER OF HIMSELF

and i think about the beach
and the people
and my smiles
and my love for life
and my passions
and look over at my tropical island calendar hanging on the wall
next to this computer
and i put myself there
someday

and try to go to sleep because i must get up early for my job because my job pays the bills...
so goodnight, all. maybe you'll appear in my dreams. where i'm not bitching. i swear.

outer space

wow. i'm in a deep zone with radiohead right now. i don't even know what to say to you people. brigette- how's that poetry comin' along? mike- why the fuck are you suddenly unlisted? dave- how can you be so good looking and so damn nice at the same time? cheri- i miss tai chi in the park.

i spoke to my friend brigette tonight. she said she put some poetry on her blog. it got me thinking about my old poetry tonight. then i laid back in my computer chair and daydreamed with my music.

i gotta go to sleep.

i think 2 hours just went by while i was going through some old shit. i found some old journals and stuff i'd been subconsciously trying to forget. i read some of the entries, some ranting, some poems. damn, i was really depressing. but i loved san diego. i loved the ocean, the bums, the bus, the inspiration. so much inspiration it was the sweat from your pores. here, my skin is bone-dry.

i didn't realize how often i used to write. i wrote all the time. i read poetry and followed it around. i was passionate about it. hmmmm...inspired and passionate. an unusual combination.

i was going to leave you with a poem i wrote in california, but i couldn't find the one i wanted. damn- it was a funny, one too. but here are a few good lines from 4 different poems out of a poetry magazine i found called "The Drumming Between Us"- a creation from Peter J. Harris, a poet among other things, then living in L.A. i met him while taking a poetry class in san diego. he's a bad-ass dude. wonder where he is now.

anyway, some pieces from a few poems, Harris' magazine, written by various poets:

in fact, its even unscientific
not to evolve
not to love, not to
grow & give back
the only humans who actually evolve
are lovers
all others
just simply fuck and reproduce


why is it that leaflets
handed out on blustery march mornings
never discuss the injustice
of loneliness?


being with you is like being high and floating into my own groove
its like living free and doin what i want without having to watch every move
touching you is like touching satin, my hands glide to a rhythm all their own
its like that feeling one gets in a small dimly lit jazz club listening to a musician play the saxophone
kissing you is like having a dream so good you wished it was real


we sat there drinking miso soup
and tea
and eating sushi
in the darkness
of an empty theater
i looked over at her
she was smiling at the film
she is lovely
even in the dark
and i realized
even if she became a toothless old gypsy
or something
i would always love her
i held her hand
and it was good
i hugged her
and it was good
She's gone now
I'm going through withdrawal
I cried for her
and it was good



this magazine consists mostly of love poems, and in the back of it there is a passage that tells of a writer's workshop in L.A.'s Leimert Park Village. they read love poetry. i think that's pretty cool. it's dated 1997. i hope they're still there.

well, thank you Peter J. Harris, for the inspiration tonight, even if i get no sleep. and although you wouldn't remember me if we met again, i think you're the shit. it was an honor.