nivelian

In the middle of the night it's like all my thoughts come together. Not like I suddenly have clarity of mind, but rather, like all of *my* thoughts coalesce and become one. *I* suddenly exist again, out the ether. I'm starting to suspect this is the strange rebellion that is my insomnia. Only magically I have found a way to get paid to stay up all night, do what I love and also get to be exactly who I am with no interference or interuption.
In fact, I've come to resent talking to strangers. Even coworkers. I don't loath them, I loath my mouth, and it's constant moving. I like the night, where things are quiet and I don't have to perform social norms. I can quietly and joyfully sit in a chair, staring at the wall, being me. I think about what I'm going to name my kids. I think about the vegetables I will grow some day. I think about names for pets and ways to consider energy solutions. I think about building materials and poverty and I think about how far I have come in the years since I began this journal. I think about how nice it is to pay my bills, how delightful to pay them on time.
I think a lot about my body and how I relate to it. I've been trying to sort of the layers of muck and the multitude of thoughts and opinions I have about the body, my body, embodyment. Mostly I am trying to be present in my body, experience it as it is and not as perhaps external sources might experience it. I want to be I and not they.
I think about coffee in these late hours, and how rude I find most people to be. Then I feel sad because I realize how rude I become to stand among them, to fit in. I'm not sure how to like people. I'm not sure how to be with them.
In this night time world I do fun dances down dim halls, walk through shrines of other people's possesions and get lost in day dreaming about all the worlds gone before. This is a house of stories, this is a magic landscape at the most magical hour.
My residents tell me, " you're such a kind lady, you're so patient "
which is odd because I'm the most impatient person I know. I think the elderly make time stop. They make the world stand still. I like that.
I like it here at the bottom of the ocean. I don't want to go back to the surface. I want to stay where I'm a mermaid.
I want to remain in the depths, rocking in the deep heart of the tides.

Once again this becomes the place I put all my secrets, the place I put the thoughts too sensative or volatile for the general consumption.
It's the enlightenment of working nights. In the day, around people, I am someone else, someone who is not me. I can't interact in society without trying to anticipate the needs of those around me and create harmony. I am incapable of making statements and actions that sow discord unless provoked.
So it's here, in the dead of night, with all my sleeping charges resting peaceful that my true face can surface. I pull out the complicated strands of thoughts I supress in the public and let them float around in my head.
Here in the throbing, pregnant silence the precipitates death, in this quiet, I find only what matters as everything "required" falls away.
And here it is.
No matter what you do in life, you are going to die. It is going to be slow and gross and undignified. Don't bargain or lie, pretending there is such a thing as a "quick death" there isn't. Death doesn't care about time. Dying takes an eternity no matter how quickly the hands on the clock move. And you haven't won by dying young, by not having to watch your body age and grow increasingly infirm. It is the pure brilliance of Kierkegaard when he tells us, "Laugh at the stupidities of the world, and you will regret it; weep over them, and you will also regret it. Laugh at the stupidities of the world or weep over them, you will regret it either way. Whether you laugh at the stupidities of the world or you weep over them, you will regret it either way. " Death, like happiness or satisfaction is a riddle we simply cannot puzzle out. There is no point, do or do not, you will regret it either way. You're going to die someday, stop trying to fight it. People you love are going to die, stop trying to stop it from happening. Let go, give in, find grace.
So the "why" I want to give back to those who question what may appear to them as my sudden and strange catholic conversion is this. All that matters in this life is what we do with the time left to us. In the sea of relativism there are still universal truths. Things so true we don't even have to label them as such because they simply are. It does not take an act of congress or a rocket scientist to figure out that one should strive be fair and honest and kind. We know deep in our insides to be kind and care for one another. So that's what I aim to do. That's what I want out of the rest of my life. I want to sit on my porch surrounded by children and foster children and geriatrics and rescue dogs, poor as a church mouse and blessed beyond measure. For the meek shall inherit the earth, and what a blissful reward such humanity is.
That is it folks, that is as complicated as it ever needs to be, fill your life with life and you will never be poor or cold or alone. When you fill your life with life, you cease to die, because only the self dies, but in love, the spirit is unleashed.
When you empty your pockets in the name of love, they are filled with grace.
So too is it with hearts and minds.

Here is to a lifetime of empty pockets.

I live in fear every day. I work as hard as I can at my job where I do my best to hide my education and training so that I'm not ostracized. And I come home exhausted with no money left over for anything but the bills. I have great friends, they're helping me so much. So it hurts that when I go home for the weekend I feel like my parents have become mean and much worse unkind. They're helping me out too. They make my life possible, but at this moment the amount of searing anger and hate they're inspiring in me is appalling. I feel like I'm suffocating in the heat and flames of the carnage they're wreaking. I just want to run and hide from them and never be found.....

He took up a space in my mind that was soothing. Perhaps even necessary for a time. I still think about him now and again. There is an ache that is not a loss or a yearning, merely an awareness of a faded intensity. And that is saddest portion of this truth, that I miss the intensity more than I miss the man. Because the inspiration of love is in the end more important that the people we end up loving. Having the capacity, and even more so having the passionate creativity of love flow through our hearts; shaping our lives, is paramount in human existence.

Hurry home boy
cause I'm missing you
Hurry home boy
cause I'm waiting
Hurry home because it's time
all this wantin'
can't be no good

I mostly try not to have Ant on my mind and things with Eric, well, they're spinning me like a top again so my heart opens up and pours itself out. I bleed, I heal, I find a song that puts it in to words, play it till the record wears out, and find a new band when I'm done. . . maybe I just find myself 


( Lyrics - Gaslight Anthem - Film noir  )

get angry
throw pots and pans and mayhem
I'm not going to flinch
I want to
but I've learned better
the only way out
is to stand my ground

sometimes we don't write it down because it's better not to remember
one step, two step
my dreams don't hold me prisoner in my sleep like they did
when I couldn't wash your scent from my hair
Things aren't different now,
I'm not different now,
but
I don't need to become unrecognizable anymore
so that you can't find me.
Now I can sit on the porch
afraid of your return
but resolved
to stand the storm.

one simple summer fades the asphalt
blacktop now gray

skin so dry I can feel it crack when I smile
your eyes aren't as bright
as yesterday

we're all looking for a home
at the beginning of the universe
we're all looking for the spark
the sets the flame in motion
I am
isn't as important as
I remember
I chew my finger nails down to the quick
sometimes reaching the origin is painful

you keep hoping that every time you look back at it the past won't be there.

Thomas Merton is like Brand writing the erotic stages of the diapsalmata. my head hurts. It also made me cry. I'm not really sure 100% what is up with that. parochial and patriarchal in this really upsetting way. I guess deep inside I want to scream and hit him about the head with his book, because he's so close, yet so completely misguided. Dylan also said he was accused of being a secret Nazi. I don't know if I would go that far, but he certainly borrows some from the tone. Funny, Hitler was so accessible, so very modern in so many ways. we often forget that racism only recently went out of style.

books referenced in this note

New seeds of contemplation - Thomas Merton
Either/ Or - Soren Kierkegaard
Mein Kampf - Adolf Hitler
Brand - Heinrik Ibsen

And I sit right here
holding the years
and I count all the stars in the space....

all the love letters I've ever wrote myself, all the futures I've ever predicted
this one seems so impersonal and unexpected.
the familiarity
of this lack of saiety
is the only thing I recognize.

( Lyrics )

I don't think I'm better than you, I know it

I didn't take my sleeping pills tonight
I'll be courageous if you can pretend that you've forgiven me
I drank coffee instead
We keep running from these sentences
to spite you
How do you redefine something that never really had a name
I love you
Always have
Always will
Don't expect it to redeem us.

 Isomorphisms are studied in mathematics in order to extend insights from one phenomenon to others: if two objects are isomorphic, then any property which is preserved by an isomorphism and which is true of one of the objects is also true of the other. If an isomorphism can be found from a relatively unknown part of mathematics into some well studied division of mathematics, where many theorems are already proved, and many methods are already available to find answers, then the function can be used to map whole problems out of unfamiliar territory over to "solid ground" where the problem is easier to understand and work with.

It's two o'clock in the morning and I am laying on the bathroom floor
bleeding
I wonder how I could have loved you so much
I wonder how it came this far
Had my head not broke the bed, the wall, the chair, my fall
how many more blows and throws and drunken I love you's
would I have lived through?
Cold and sticky tile give no answer
How could I let this happen? How did I get here?
How long will it take to disappear?
under ten tons of guilt, grief, loss and shame?
Bruises will fade, bones will mend, and my face can be replaced.
But who will live a life ungiven?
Because it's two o'clock in the morning
and I am laying on the bathroom floor,
bleeding
Singing a prayer for the dead
because my child has no future
but I do
and it has nothing to do with you

Oh Fawn, I miss you. you'd be 32 now. You'd be drunk and off the smack and everyone would still love you. god you are precious.

Joerg, you fucker, but you knew that, you loved that. I'll never forget you. I carry you with me, always.

Craig, god dammit. You still make me cry, after all this time. I know you're here. Stop bothering me in the shower, it's pervy. Say hey to grampy, even if he doesn't return the favor. Find your peace, you're not alone. You were never alone.

M.S. take good care of him, my thoughts are always with you. Beloved. I will never forget. Thank you.

Dad, I'm not ready to loose you. make it through this. promise me. make it through this. You're my other half. I can't do it without you. Not yet, not ever. I love you.

and everyone else, stop fucking dying in the fall. it's overwhelming.