Imagine yourself naked. Naked in a glass box suspended 15 feet in the air in an auditorium full of people. The light glaring off your naked skin. The audience completly full. Imagine the laughs of the audience, seeing every weakness, every crinkle in your polished exterior with exceptional clarity; with stark, cruel vividness.


No, really, take a moment. Reread the last paragraph and really put yourself there. Drink every word slowly and imagine every moment drawn out like an eternity.


Imagine yourself completely vulnerable. Every inch of your imperfection visible; every mask removed. Imagine every skeleton in your closet was placed openly before the world. Imagine every terrible act you've ever committed was read aloud on that stage of vulnerability to an audience of the ever judgemental and callous. Imagine, and look into the eyes of those who judge you.


And then think of the once person you could put in that auditorium who would make it all not matter.

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Just to be clear my doctor put me on a new antidepressant last week. I'd tried out another before it for a minute -and to be fair it worked great- but the side effects were a little too much for me. Because of all this though, my emotional stability is a wreck. I've never sympathized so much with crazy people.



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I know I've already written today.


I don't want the last entry to be so exposed. It feels like the monster, the other side of who I am. I am ashamed and proud of the monster. As I am with all of myself.


I had a though about what our love is like...


It's like facing two mirrors against each other. And then attempting to fix the image in the middle.

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A therapist told me to write down what I'm thinking. I'm thinking I'm incredibly numb. The truth is I'm absolutely paralized by fear. I can't seam to do anything at all. And all I want to do is fling myself from somewhere everyone can see me. Have everyone either catch me, or be forced to recon with the idea that their inaction lead to my pain. I want to be caugh, to be rescued. 


But the truth is that the only person to rescue me will be myself.


And I just can't seam to.


I spend most days wishing I could just lift the giant imperceptible blanket of worry that has me so very stuck and DO ANYTHING. I usually succceed for about an hour of the twelve I spend trying. But I never do any of the things that are supposed to make my life better in my own head. The story I write for myself is that even if I do them their wont be any one who recieves me. No one will buy my art. No one will watch a video with me in it. It's not that no one cares. Its that I feel so very invisible. Like no one can see me.


So why bother trying to mime? Why jump and rant and make a fuss? Why work, when it wont make a difference anyway?

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I finished the Secret Life of Walter Mitty.


I tryed to stop thinking.


I found some other inspiration to get up off my ass and do something.


And I feel the pull to fly. But I can't seam to find the wings I used to soar. Like Icarus didn't die. He just fell to earth and only had a love of the air. Crippled by some imperseptible homesicknesses that he didn't know how to cure.


I wish I knew what flying was for me.


I wish I could just find home.


Writing feels good. But it also feels incomplete. Its a sort of different kind of numb. I wish I could spend all day in a different kind of numb until someone thought my numb was beautiful and hung me out where all the world could see. I wish I could connect with everyone. I could stop and say I feel everything you feel. I'm so in pain, and so in love, and loss, and beauty. I wish I could just find a way to sit and say that. But I think the only time I ever hear that is when I'm stairing at a blank canvas. (that would be my modern art). Its not the the canvas has anything to say. Its that the canvas is listening. And perhaps thats the most beautiful thing in the world.

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I made my coffee this morning with a packet of hot chocolate mix. I'm trying to cultivate little moments of happiness. I've been experiencing a HUGE amount of anxiety and some fairly crushing depression as of the past couple of weeks. So the little moments of joy really matter.


Last night I finally finished the secret life of walter mitty. I had a hard time getting through the first half but when I finally finished it I was rather struck by it. So much so I made myself an early A.M. to do list. More on that to follow. I also took a midnight stroll down into the little section of town I live near. Mind you everything was closed. But it was a good stroll. If everything hadn't been closed I would have probebly walked into the little tattoo parlour nearby and gotten whatever a hundred bucks could get me. It was one of Those kind of nights. I'll let my to do list elaborate:


FUCK YOU! Yeah, you. You're the overthinker. Stop thinking so god damn hard and just make shit happen!


Start your day by rewatching walter mitty.

If you're not feeling it. DRINK TIL YOU DO!

buy a fucking pinky ring

plan a vacation

call up that god damned interior designer you don't know yet and take a fucking risk.

Tell someone how much you are worth.

Make an artists profile on houzz

Just buy the fucking website

Look for a job.


Yeah, my to do lists are a little explicit... But I'm drinking a quasi~moca and now I'm going to rewatch the secret life of walter mitty.

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Just airing some dirty laundry

I feel like there is so much to say but all I can do is stare at the little flashing cursor. I'm about one threatening glance from a breakdown and I can't help but feel very very broken. I wish I could say exactly what is causing all the fear but all I know is that I've wound myself up so tight that everything ticks the wrong way. It's a whole lot of not functioning. I've spent today doing nothing. And somehow I feel worse than if I'd moved molehills. Moving Mountains is a miracle, but moving molehills... Thats just hard work.

I'm not very good at taking care of myself. I'd love to say that was a miscalulatedly pessimistic view. But if there is a miscalculation, its the other direction. I sometimes dream of what it would be like to live a mediocre life and just follow the parental outline of "get a job, pop out babies, grow old, tell your babies to pop out babies..." The truth is I don't think it's ethical to perpetuate a life built to simply "keep on keepin' on." So here I sit, freaking out about every sensory input; wound just a little bit too tight to sit right. It's been an especially anxious week for me and I don't really have a reason why. I'm not so much experiencing the crippling depression, just the neurotic anxiousness and endless what if...

I spent monday moving wood to build a table. I hauled 40 or so two by fours up to the loft and my body is feeling it. Which is good because I haven't had much excercise. I've tried to cut back on a lot of the unhealthy food I've been eating although I self medicated with several handfuls of swedish fish about half an hour ago which may be a bit of a set back. I'm a little worried (my word of choice for the day) that I might have irreparably damaged some process in my body. Too much sugar/alcohol/processed food. Not enough REAL food. I think I've been living off yogurt, microwave pot pies, mountain dew, and mac and cheese for about a month. On sunday I nearly had a fainting spell. That in combination with my growing gut, a sensitive stomache, and some wierd back itch has lead me to think I might have a real problem. That or I'm just too anxious for my own good.

There really isn't much to share. Which makes this the most boring entry I've written in forever. No threesomes, no death, no marriage woes (I'm woeful, but things seem stable enough). I sold a painting two weeks ago. It really sold itself. But It was some cash at any rate. I had said I was going to save it and get back some of my legendary savings, but I bought a smart thermostat instead. I had been looking forever and I am still mostly glad I bought it. Savings would be nice, but now I can turn up the heat from the comfort of my bed...

It's nice to get the dulldrom down on paper. It lets me start to sort out where I am. I spent most of last month ignoring my parents and sister. They called very frequently and by the end of the month it was usually at least twice a day. I eventually answered a call from my mom. She called from her work and I answered thinking it was an art call... Cheater! It was nice to feel a sense of isolation from them. Like I could pick who I wanted to be a little more. But it wasn't easy and I could feel the fear of some sort of familial wrath build up in me. I realized in that moment that every person I let into my life takes a little chunk of me. I wonder what it would be like to be whole. It'd be nice to commit to myself and not have to feel anxiety about the roles I play for other people. I think I need to plan more for myself.

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Ode to a mouse problem

I picked up your broken little body this morning.

And last night.

And your commerades before that.

You all were placed rather ceremoniously into old grocery bags and then marched to the garbage.

Its as much a funeral as any.

You're all desperately trying to get into this shitty little basement while I try and find a feasible way out.

This must be how a celebrity feels...

Not realizing that they have it made

Just clinging to there sanity while every other god damned living thing scratches at their belongings.

All while trying not to get eaten by the cat.

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I'm sitting here, and I can't help but wish my life were the beginnings of some manifesto. I feel so strongly that the world is lost, and I don't think anybody disputes that. But we are so far beyond change. Society is like one great big jack-ass, and anybody that tries to pull it towards anything unifyingly beautiful is just making the problems worse. I've been watching "Sam Crow" alone while I avoid life, and I can't help but feel more alive when I do. I'm sure some writer somewhere would feel ultimately flattered by that concept. I wish I had the words to change the world. I wish that life was really all about family and bortherhood and those irrevocable ideals of justice based on personal good. But I know those are the words of war.

Maybe thats what we need. It's hard to think about but maybe the only time we humans are fulfilled is when we are fighting for our life. And there isn't much about the average life thats worth fighting for. I mean it, tell me you'd shank a bitch over your netflix habits. Maybe the entire idea of a unified society is only possible if we numb out everything that makes feeling human something valuable. And maybe the entire concept of value is a protagonist for violence, the idea that not everyone can have it is why its worth anything at all.

There's always a lot of maybe, but if any of that resonates with people than the idea of socialism is shit. And any other society is just about who's willing to take the biggest risks. 

In personal news I've been feeling supremely down lately. I finished summerfest and have painted very little since. If it weren't for other peoples financial support I wouldn't have even broke even. As is I'm still not so sure if I did. I'm not sure if it's such a stretch from being a starving artist.

Summerfest was more or less what kept me going. It kept me grounded when all the other shit in my life was up in the air. Now that it's over I don't have much ground at all. I still can't say I trust Caity, and I know thats not her fault. I know she's trying hard. Our relationship has stabilized and now is back to just us two. It's nice, but it feels hollow. I don't think either of us feels any urgency to be in the others life and it's a constant struggle to act like newlyweds when we clearly are not. Reinforcing the bounds of an old relationship after it was so radically stretched is not easy work, especially without the chemical motivation that newlyweds have.

I noticed yesterday that neither of us has made any commitments that last longer than the end of the year. It rubs me the wrong way because I don't know where I'll be living in a month and a half. I worry that Caity secretly is sticking to the deal we talked about in January. At the end of our lease the gig's up. I suppose I don't blame her, I'm not exactly a functional human being these days; today I woke up after 13 hours in bed and didn't even have a reason to get up.

At the end of everything I've said, I suppose it comes to this: I wish I could live every breath in a single identity. I wish I could just be one person, one version of myself, and serve my own disire constantly. And I wish that person could still be good for those around me, and be attractive, and beautiful, and moving. But alas, Identity is always mutlifaceted. 

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The things that haunt my waking.

I know the answer to a great many questions. Questions that only lead to more questions.


You still love a woman. Still want a woman.


You don't think that means the end of our marriage. But let me explain it to you.


You can't wrap me in your arms with the sensuality I crave. Your love won't comfort me when I am lost, as men get lost sometimes (and need to be found between the legs of another). Making love to you is mechanical, and I am not.


You say you want to be my wife, to be the best wife for me. You want to be monogomous. But even while you say this you clench tightly to a relationship with the very woman who tears us apart.


Your love still outweighs your hatred of Valerie Fuller.


And you lie to me, and probably yourself. But you cling to her gifts as you once did mine. And you quietly (and behind my back) make arrangements to see her. To be near her. To fill that ACHE. The ache of desire is a cup never filled.


And now to the truth that matters:


To be married is for us to serve each other. In this moment you ache for another, and you are still having an affair. Still trying to fill your needs outside of your commitments. Still trying to get as close to what you want as you can. I know where that leads. And if you were to sacrifice those needs and commit only to your marriage, would you truly, could you truly be happy? Would I? I think we both know the answers to these questions. And as much as you don't want to face the truth of it, our marriage ending is mostly your own fault. Your own biological inability to love a man as he deserves to be loved (if there is such a thing as deserving love).


I don't know how to start over. With or without you.


And I don't like that I get to add you to the long list of people who have failed to love me. Perhaps it's just another incarnation of the phrase "we accept the love we think we deserve."


I don't know who I am enough to know how this plays out. I know that I have no obligation to be kind while you are cruel. I know that for now I am more interested in being fair.


This is likely to be a test of forebearance for us both. And I don't know where it goes...

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Entry List
Just airing some dirty laundry
Ode to a mouse problem
The things that haunt my...
It might even be a regular...
friends past.
So much chaos and stress.
a little stress relief
a little update
Snap dragons
I just thought you should...
My secret morning
The modern world
I'm tired of life.
Growing down
Consciousness: a temporary...
Dream I:
festering in mediocrity: a...
sorry y'all, I'm just mopy
In my book of life,...
Run Away!
holy crap!
I'm just taking things as...
Its been a long day
just thinking aloud
There's going to be a lot of...
Two Days and Counting
This broken system
For what?
Everything will work out
Decision only leads to doubt...
Masochism, hear me say...
Something changed
Four Flowers
Only I...
From: Caity
Con segreti
I don't think I'm single...
Predicting downfalls
a puppet show
from elsewhere to here
New Years
Silence is a sound
memories and musings
here and there
matters of importance
There goes my resolve
standing still
YAY, I'm not happy... again!
Poems for Teresa
from Mercury Rising
sorting things out
summer fling
I'm so lame!
therapeutic rhyme
I hurt
Lets do something different
ay there's the rub
dare me to?
stones for organs
its not what it used to be
You called
seven thousand two hundred...
where we are still imprinted...
missing you under the moon
time goes by
what if
i's been a while
tomorrow vs. today
my parents are ***es
well then
fucked over
wishing and longing
still wishing life was normal
cutting my hair was like...
close to the end
the amiable rumble of thunder
strange but normal
cool-aid makes you happy...
yeah and stuff
short sweet and boring
If I told you I'de have to...
I really think air is...
overdose on depressants as a...
cuddling close to blankets...
I dont know for sure but I...
emo punk rock
then again maybe not
so much for my chem grade
YAY its the weekend
yeah and stuff
14 days and counting
SqEaky SqEaky
just keep sittin...
mwa ha ha
cuz I'm all messed up
its all the same... but...
151 post(s)