future dreams

looking into mfa stuff again/finally. i was thinking -- i could go to U of M for free and get an MFA and damn wouldn't that be rad. several things sound cool, of course. classes always look fun from the outside -- creative writing. lit. anything art related, really. but also, what's the thing that's kept me from going back to school all this time?? A PLAN for afterwards. i don't want to be lost at sea again after getting a degree. (but you're already lost at sea. how could it get worse?) well i guess i don't know. BUT i think even a little nut of a plan is better than nuthing.

so what i had thought was -- MFA in theatre, with concentration in Directing. that's 3 years. meanwhile, get certified through the North American Drama Therapy Association so i could get a licensed drama therapist when i get done with school. and then????

i like to imagine myself teaching pochinko someday. or combining the pochinko work with other stuff to make it more therapeutic.... somehow. but honestly this is the big blank spot right now. i started getting distracted looking at other programs -- would Expressive Arts Therapy be better/more inclusive than just Drama therapy??? or does it really matter, if i'm just gonna be making up my own weird shit anyways? do i need a Creative Arts Therapy degree?? or even counseling? UGH i dont fucking want to study that. i ALREADY KNOW how to tap into something intuitive that isn't something that can be taught.

or why do i feel like i even need to bring the therapist certification into it? (i mean that would be pretty cool. because i've wanted to do that for forever and been irritated that i have to subscribe to a weird fucking broken system in order to provide that service to people. that's a bunch of bullshit. so yeah, fuck that, i'm obviously not going to study counseling, but maybe the cert actually is cool.) ON THE OTHER HAND what happened to the idea of studying performance itself? i guess a while ago i had been thinking, it sure would be bullshit for me to become a teacher (therapist??) without knowing more about wtf i am talking about. those ideas: Dell'Arte, Manitoba clown farm, Pigiron, Emerge NYC.... others? more physical theatre schools? clowning programs? (who am i kidding, i am a slug who can't move my body at all these days.)

so yes the web gets bigger and i get mixed up again. what do i want it to look like AFTER the training, whatever that is? yes i want to perform again/ever. that's exciting to me. but it isn't the whole picture. the bigger picture includes workshops, healing arts, spirituality. a studio or a school or something - a COMMUNITY. i think i want some kind of credentials just to make myself seem (and feel) more real, and be able to ask for money for my services without feeling like a total tool. also the thing about school would be a great opportunity for learning and REFOCUSING on what i value about all this stuff and oh my gosh it would just be so fun. now that i'm thinking about it, i do like the idea of doing drama rather than "expressive arts" because it would be fucking rad to feel even vaguely like an expert in something. (and also, i looked at one lady's website and just remembered with a crushing roar how squishy and boring a lot of this shit probably is. painting your feelings and shit. i mean, yeah it's good to do that, but it's not rad enough for me. those white ladies can teach that shit. i don't want to study with them!!!! sorry!!!!)

well it seems like the big answer here is that i want TO WORK FOR MYSELF. either having a business/school/collective whatever.... or working by contract for organizations or whatnot. does that make sense? or i could keep hanging around in academia..... it would be fucking awesome to work on research projects or books or something. i want to write a fucking book. i want to write a show. i don't want to be a professor, i don't think. i am imagining public education... or yeah, how does the therapy thing come into it? i think that's the part that feels exciting and gives the potential for experimentation. but i should probably learn more about what the fuck it actually means. will i be more boxed in than i am currently imagining? is there someone certified in memphis that i could talk to?

i just went on a long side quest trying to find people here (v---- m----, founder of pback memphis, duh) and then going down a "play therapy" wormhole and da da da. that stuff always rings a bell for me with the name - oh! play therapy! expressive arts therapy! yes! but then, as with most things in the world, it doesn't look like what i think it sounds like.... maybe that's the thing. maybe i gotta make MY OWN TECHNIQUE. and maybe that means - do the basic degree and keep it loose. maybe i'm thinking too far ahead.

except that the whole point of writing all this was to try to visualize what it would look like and what i do want to see in my future where i'm a badass theatre therapy person.
--to present another way to be, as me, to show how to be a different kind of body
--to bring people under the table, to create another world together
--learn how to be fully present in a moment and let my body ride the wave
--performing as roadkill ghost

random ideas i've had in the past that i should be remembering and compiling:
--clown class for queer/trans people
--clowning/play to process trauma -- the positive kind of dissociation, not "psychodrama"


i don't even know. it feel so incomplete. it feels so far away, these random notes from years ago now. ugh i'm so off track. maybe that's all i need to worry about right now-- getting back on track and what does that look like? if i get to reinvent myself, who do i want to be?

gotta talk to john at hte clown farm.
gotta at least do this mfa app????????? figure out deadlines.
RECOMMENDATIONS.
i should probably just call holly l.....
getting on track?! i don't know. something. just do SOMETHING.

imagining myself upstairs, typewriter click clacking, glue licking. can we follow the aesthetic of 2017 clown "Grimoira" style of floral print, rich reds + purples, piles of books, LAMPS?
(how important is a color scheme, really? in my imagining it's often very clear, such a MOOD, such a way to shift into a new reality. new realm? is it mre about the style or the space? schedule? is it back to one notebook lifestyle or would it help to have a planner? def need WALL CALENDAR and visual lists.
DESIGNATED SCREEN TIME. HOLY SHIT.
sun and lamp light. an unnecessary amount of fabric. (does a studio have art on the walls or is that just distracting? what is good enough to look at all the time? a bedroom certainly can have full walls -- posters, postcards, drawings, lovely things. a collection that feels like myself, not holding onto something for someone. not an ARCHIVE but an expression. but i suppose too the lists have to go somewhere. living space or work space? CAN THERE ALWAYS BE PAPER? Can i start to actually use it?)
Opened the box of the Numinous tarot, seven of candles (wands) comes flying out -- the card i drew for the new year (unknowingly kinda) on Samhain (but of course i did -- also need to call on the High Priestess / The Diviner more often to trust, to follow my intuition and let my body go first. Mind will catch up. Move my hands to move the cards. Find it with a feeling. /// Looking for a feeling! The body knows some things the mind doesn't!! /// I'm now wishing for space to MOVE, dance, sing, play. Wishing for knowledge + skill to teach Pochinko play. (Could I really go to the clown farm?!) Making this year about -- courage, expression, light, opening, creation, strength in self, support in community, FIRE. resistance. power. commitment! positivity?! SUCCESS?!?!
also, drink less.

[look how even the pencil breaks, refuses to work, doesn't even cooperate to erase. the words must stay. of course the only pen I find is PURPLE of course. thank the gods of course of course]

MY BODY HAS A LOT TO SAY

and it’s full of revelations

firstly being how right kat’s dance teacher is that if you want to write you have to first move. i switched up my body and my mind woke up. so full so sure.

it’s not that “everything happens for a reason.”
it’s that everything means something. (does it? me who loves nonsense, do i really believe that?) or maybe it’s more like nothing happens in a vacuum. everything is attached to something. but maybe everything does have meaning and if it seems like nonsense it’s because the riddle isn’t unscrambled yet? after all, we’re just the conduits.

driving along and thinking about the past, my past self. my happy list - the joy in simple things. picnics and mud and swings and dancing. just friends. those are all the real things. when did it get so bogged down? and when did i decide that my depression has always been eating me alive?? i mean it has but it’s not like i never enjoyed anything. i felt miserable in a cruel world that made me hate myself and makes people have to do horrible things to keep up with it. i was never actually the problem. i had so much passion and energy and i knew what was important!!! i’ve got to get that back.

and that was another revelation - all along six of cups. for months six of cups - good memories, childhood, family, roots, growth. i have to remember how to play. i have to get some of that child essence back. to be good and do good and CLOWN and remember how to be happy.

HARRY COULD ALMOST CRY AT THIS SIMPLE GIFT OF THE UNIVERSE.

i’ve been staring at it all along and i never really saw it. i’ve been saying yes yes i know and thinking it has to do with being home but now i see it’s about something i’m missing, or don’t have enough of, something essential. REMEMBERING TO PLAY. remembering to move. appreciating sensual experiences. i see now how i have to kill some of the adult learned bullshit to get back to a place where i felt better being a blank slate. (i’ve looked for that feeling so many places. sex, masochism, drinking, fire, internet, candy crush, dancing. playingggg and moving without myself is the best one. yeah?!)

i have to say thank you to the clown gods for being patient with me on this one. i’m sorry i had to ask so many times. i need to find a better way to process these tarot readings. through dance, maybe??? today i had the urge to get off after the reading, to be open and explode pleasure in the presence of the cards. i thought that would give them energy. obviously they don’t need it! i’m the one who needs the movement, the rhythm, the process!!!! to take it into my mind it has to come through my body. or vice versa.

is it a gift that the clown gods, the earth messengers, others, out there, are communicating with me? i guess they must talk to everyone like this, but not everyone listens (or knows how to). not trying to talk like i’m some great listener!! obviously i missed the six of cups message for months. (why haven’t they given up on me??) but i want to learn and i want to do better. better, bigger, harder, brighter magic. i want to make it good enough. i hope they’ll keep helping me understand how.

also side note i really need to get “brett” or whatever skeptical voice out of my head so that my thoughts stop getting distracted. ugh. at this point, how can i even doubt????

moments of clarity

brighter, harder, bigger MAGIC

feeling it today, feeling good. remembering that i don't need to swing wildly from the extremes of "i'm the worst" to "i'm so special and good" and actually there's this nice safe place in the middle. i'm not better than other people. i think everyone has the capacity to tap into magic, to pull down the moon, breathe fire. maybe i have some different channels open than other people do, but that doesn't make me better or special. i don't need to be huge, or be a star, or change the whole damn world, if i can change who's in the room, speak truths, bring in the small magic.

follow the fool
follow the impulse
the body knows something the mind doesn't

DANCE FREAK DANCE!!!!!!! DANCE FOOL DANCE!!!!!!!!
that would be an awesome queer dance party, lets make that happen. where??

i hear the right songs and i CAN'T NOT MOVE. i know what they are. cultivate htem and put them together. let's have a fucking dance party already. i can take it to the woods. i can take it anywhere.
i can take the clown to the woods without the nose, the hat, the covered body. i can clown wherever i need to, with anything. haven't i always??? when did i get hung up on accoutrements?!!? yes i want to keep learning and growing, yes i've got to evolve it all. but when did i ever want to do only one thing? can't i be clowning and dancing and following no rules? except the main one - give up give up give up. give up your thoughts and give your body over and let the gods move through you. stop thinking stop thinking stop wishing stop wanting. this is all there is, now.

yes okay fine the question of the audience, but right now they're not here. it's just me in my room. and sometimes i IMAGINE they're there, and that trips me up, traps me. i can't let them come in. it's dancing more than anything else because i fear the predatory eyes and the judgment and they think they own my body. i want to say, when i feel that gaze, my whole body will revolt, contort, i will become bug and beast. never for you never for you never for you.

take it through. if they want to come to your world, they can be an audience and we'll talk together. if they want to ride the wave and the rhythm of this mess, we can make it work together. they don't just get to come here and make demands.

keep the mind open keep the body moving
find new eyes find new power
yes yes yes yes feel that fire !!!!

can we always be dancing?? can we warm up wake up dancing every day? how can we try?
(we need a floor first, oh yeah)

stop thinking

listen i'm not even drinking
listen i'm stone cold sober
(unless you count adderall, 9 hours before)
i'd like to keep talking but i need to go take care of the dogs and then pack and then blah

maybe there is a lesson here about HOW I AM FUCKING OVERTHINKING EVERYTHING IN MY FUCKING LIFE and it shouldn't take this long or this much stress to pack. i'm going to the woods, but what do i really need?? a toothbrush and some clothes and a flashlight. why do i think i need more?

please alanna please stop being so sucked in by the computer. you think you need to know stuff that you don't need to know. most of what you are doing is actually hoarding. much of the time you are just following a line of tabs that never get read or watched and just pile up and pile up. REMEMBER WHEN you didn't miss that???? remember the communes in 2015 and remember the freedom of being phoneless in the loony bin???? you can't know everything and it stops mattering. the focus shifts. you've got to get to that. you've got to get to your body and intuition and the computer is neither of those things. you've got to stop. you're going to stop right now and you're going to stop writing and turn off the computer and go do the htings you have to do. you're going to cleanse your body and spirit in the woods, in the mud, in the river. when you come home, you're going to organize your fucking room and set up a fucking work space. you're going to make some fucking art. you're going to write. you're going to get one of those copyediting jobs and bring in some green beans. things are on the move and they're going to happen but we have to make them happen.

CAN WE DO A TWO WEEK COMPUTER CLEANSE OR SOME SHIT

okay here we go

lost on the ride

i haven't been writing. that's no good. i think this adderall helps my brain to not be a pinball machine but instead i am constantly hyperfocusing (??) i don't know if that' sthe right word to use for what is happening. i'm forgetting that i put a string around my finger. i maybe lost hte string before it even got to my finger. oof. i'm getting lost in the internet ALL THE TIME. this week i made a bunch of internet IMPULSE BUYS which is a new thing that i've never really done and it was a little too easy. i'm trying to do some research, or what i am doing turns into research, but i am just amassing a bunch of links and articles that i have not read. it's all stuff that's very exciting to me, about clown and performance and activist art, but the deeper i go, the more overwhelmed i am. first of all, by the amount of information i've already gathered that i haven't touched, and second, by the sheer amount of people in this work. is this kinda why i fell off the train last year? when i realized there are thousands of clown troupes roving around the world, living my dream??
BUT REMEMBER - if them, why not me? don't forget that xmas revelation!!! that was a big one. if people are doing it, why can't i be one of them?? because i'm afraid of not being as good as them OR of not being original enough. it seemed like a better idea before i realized there were thousands of theatre clowns. BUT ALSO REMEMBER - as we learned from our trip to dell'arte, much of what these clowns are doing is not exciting to me. they're doing a different thing, they're on their own journey. that's why i keep coming back to POCHINKO and the CLOWN FARM and canada and i know i have to go there. i have to write to john, said donna. i have to call donna back. why am i avoiding these things???????? fear of failure, probably. goddamn that one.


i just got lost on a goodreads trail for like 30 or more minutes. what hte fuck. i didn't want to and i don't want to. i have nO SELF CONTORL!!!!!!

keyculator dam disaster

theimmediaten probelmwith this chairn is tehs nsteeri ng wheel.. fuc,ing.

everye fucking time i close a door
every fucking time i close a door
every fucking climb i chose before
every fucking time an open door
it's here
i can't see anymore
okay
it's okay
it's better
it's better not to see but fast
but fast
the keyculator
the atic
okay
thank you dear one

i just saw january baby on my bookshelf in my room who has been there for who knows how many years somehow i just saw her for the fierst time since coming home
these are my eyes
these are my pathetic eyes
finally i was able to say
thank you
thank you
but where were my eyes before
where did i think she was
where did i think i was
how do i know what i was without her
my little external soul
well
well
arent we lucky to have so many external souls
little bits and pieces we can scatter
arent we witches lucky
let's keep mixing
this is the pot
this is the mixigt pot this is the potion
i make myself into you this is the potion
i am infecting you
this is the potion
i am inflirtrating you this is the potion


i like to sneak i like to creep
i like to hunt i like to haunt
i like to fly i like to leap
i like to sink i like to flaunt

who has a heart


whose is it

the cat comes in the car as the neighor porch light blinks on off on off every time a car passes but
but hello kitty
scratching it all up i love it
scratching it up and my fingers so faimliar
this is the only way out here to write in teh dark

i just checked and again i'm sure
this is the only way to write in teh dark.


remember how many words we actually accidentally destroyed
and we stil feel the pain from this loss


in the dark we're still typing and still fighting the cause
not winning we're sipping cheap booze & cheap talls
instituions out there think theyre too big to fall
but they're not accounting a fight from the smalls

we trash talk we lip lock we jay walk for miles
we dumpster we live learn we long fur & smiles
don't you think yr gonna catch a crow's nest full of fools
if you think yr safe from it, the joke's on you
come into the possum den and watch how we make brew
look at what you did instead and realize yr a tool
hahaahhaha
oh boy okay

they said
it was like being in a house full of ravens
they said
people with adhd often interrupt someone else in conversation

is this response a crime?
is it a diagnosis?

listen especially because
i want to be good at listening
i don't want to be the probelm
i am trying to show my




herees the deal
heres the deal
i want to be good who doesn't wan to be good
but
it's hard
i find
i become aware that i am hurting you
even when i don't mean to
my sounds are too much
my voice is too loud
my memory is awful
my hlifes over crowd

and here is this cat that has soethinhg to say
\he's rubbing his face
all over th kays

and here is the point when i ask myself plain
can i honor my words or break them again
do i drink one last drink and keep on this train
or go to bed now to ease future pain

THE ANSWER THE ANSWER THE ANSWER WHAT IS IT
i'm not sure i heard it i'm scared that i've missede it
the truth is there's nothing there's nothing that's right
and the ghosts with the most only find you at night

have i answered myself
have i made it okay
can i say fuck it and throw it away
HOW MANY TIMES CAN I SAY FUCK IT
WHEN DOES THE BODY SAY NO
I KNOW THAT THE BODY SAYS NO
WHY DOESNT MY BODY SAY NO
i know
it's true
on some level i am a vessel
i used to think it was a secret that i wasn't allowed to say
i pretended that the messengers were the ones who would be mad if i told about their presence
when i know now it was just a cover up for my fear
my huge huge fear
indescribable fear
who gave to me this fear
it was not these friends who knew me so long and carried me so far
it was not these ones
the fear comes from this specific hell
and i felt it so long and so much and i want to be rid of its poisonous touch
and probably these rhymes which just billow and gush
and the way i am sure nothing matters past dusk


i'm sorry i cut you off. i'm sorry for all the time i wasn't listening. thank you for keeping me going even when i didn't konw it. thank you for not letting me drive off the road. thank you for not letting me kill anything (much - i know there were bugs and butterflies and i feel it too and i am sorry but i know that it could have been worse)


i pet the cat the good soft cat cat . he has a lot of demands. he doesn't want to chill here unless he has a flat lap. it has to be a flat lap bigger than mine because my hips arent wide enough and i never sit flat enough and i never seem to be able to stay still and i can never take my mind off of my fucking self and i am obsessing and fretting and horrified and diseased and there's a monster you cannot see and i know he knows theres a better lap somewhere so he'll never stay vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvcccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccx v
unless he's published somewhere

it wasn't nice bc he bit me
i don't know what i expect

i relly cant tell if yall condone this or not. but i know there's something special about sitting alone in the dark. i don't want it to be this poison that it takes to get me there. every time i feel it i dont think i'll last the year

the thing is i know there's too many messages. i don't shut myself away from them often enough. this is almost your only time to reach me. you send signs. sometimes i see them and sometimes i'm resistant. sometimes i experience the things they call "adhd" or "gad" or "ptsd" and the message dissipates. i wantedc it i wanted to hear it i wanted to see it i'm trying i'm trying. oh am i trying????
there are so many messages coming at me, and i really do want to hear them, i want to hear everything, feel everything, i want it all. I WANT I TALL. i'm listening i'm trying. i'm never going to be good enoug listener OH RIGHT ALSO I'M ALWAYS TALKING OVER PEOPLE EVEN WHEN I DONT MEAN TO. what do i do what do i do what do i do.
the question i sdo i really need another
how long do i sit witht his
okay i;m turing off teh msuc

iit's a song i love but it isn't appropriate right now.

i'm ready though
the amazing train
its always voice singing to our memphis night
to our track south night
it might be singing get out but we hear a lullaby
i've never heard anything else like those tones
those tones
like nothing else
those tones

i get this feeling like
someone some littel fool is dancing on top of my head and i can't see or feel them
i get this feeling like everything is a joke
what a mess what a mess


is the train just saying go to bed??


did the train ever really mean thiat??

the train say syes jnow.

yes in response.
i don't know if i'm ready for that to happen.

and when youve scared yourself
and when youve scared yourselvef youre scared the others around you

and youve broken thee clown rules
and you've broken the rules
and now you have to say
you're welcome
because it's against the rules to say i'm sorry

and sometimes you feel so loud and you take up too much space and you want to drown
and sometimes you feel like a nothiness thing that could probably stop existing at any moment as long as enough people don't see you at once
and you're going and you're gone and you're fading and you're on and you don't know where to be except ohohohohohover on the outskirts on the edge like a cheese ball like a racket like a noise club like a sunday jacket like a hag gone ragged like yr
help okay\


are you mad at me for this
AM I MAD AT ME FOR THIS
are you mad at
AM I MAD AT
how can i
HOW COULD YOU
how can i heal this bone cold sickness
without a walk in the woods

the cord will talk to itself for eternity, we dont have to worry about it
these machines will speak and gossip just all of forever don't worry

why
why
why can't i write any damn thing without worrying about its future
katherine is sweet to tell me i'm good at being in the valley of despair
but maybe i've spent so long here that i've gone bananas
at some point the creative energy has to flow out
you have to make a thing or start over
i don't know what i've done
i dont know what i've said
i messed up when i got the beer
insteaf of going to bed

i dont konw how to stop
i dont know when to end
i dont know what to do when i hear that tarin a'comin round the bend

and i did a lotta cocaine
just kidding
thanks johnny
i just did a baby
oh what!
no
it was far less
far far less
than the weight of a baby
misicule in comparison
why did i ever say such nonsense

i hear the train a cmoin
it's comin round the bend
i hear the cars and think of bars
where they might've been and
i dont know how to be there
or how to empathize
at least not for a single
i live that 12 pack life

do you remember the children's book "frederick" by leo lionni?

the good feeling i've been riding took a dip last night and i'm worried it'll run away and i still won't have pinned it down at all. it's so hard to even believe it enough to say it, or if i manage to find the words, they'll become only that, and the feeling will fade. but now that it's a question it's better to just do it... right?

i can already feel myself overthinking this. that is the last thing i want to do. what do i have? i have these fast fast fingers and i can type my brain better than i think! i can write the words my mind makes up! i can sound like a real me in text! (i know because laylee told me that 15 years ago and rex told me so today and so i have to BELIEVE or what if i lose it or what if there's something important i could be doing that i miss because i haven't done anything about it. you know.)

it's so hard to believe. it's so hard to let myself remember what i'm good at.

BUT after xmas after snata craws and rodent carols and another round of GREAT GROUP i was near convinced, i clowned for myself in the mirror and i was able to get there which surprised me - but why should it? donna said not to look at ourselves to practice our turns and i totally understand that advice. but so often when i look at the mirror and i see this strange face and i think this can't possibly be me or be real or be anything at all, and i just shut down. for so long i have turned away i have pushed my nails into my palms to unsee i have gritted my teeth and pushed breath through to see to be anything else. now i find that in the times in the late night in the mirror i can explore and see what this body can do. i can see how to find the biggest expressions of the face, i can elasticize.


FORGET FORGET FORGET

i forget. i forget who the body belongs to. i froget we frog together. the mirror thing, with the perfect dissociative cocktail, surprises and delights. the mirror thing becomes elastic, electric, fantastic.

the thing that hurt to look at, the thing i could never understand how to belong to, i find this thing, when stared down, goes wild. it can't behave and doesn't want to try. it wasted a lot of toilet paper.

this is only partially a new discovery. the feeling is in the body, some of it is already memorized. it's burning embers in there all the time, even though i forget.

i guess i'm rambling now. the important part is -- i have gotten so tired of beating myself up for being bad at stuff. of course that sounds very reasonable written down in such a way. but the things i'm bad at are things that many people find necessary to function - eating, sleeping, organizing belongings, remembering information, simple math, wearing clothes, forming words, etc. i don't really want to care about being bad at all that mess. it happens or it doesn't. i can't remember the names of important people or pretty much anything i learned in school. i can't remember why i hate mother teresa until i look it up on wikipedia (and promptly forget the facts again, but i remember the feeling).

i remember the feeling i remember the feeling i remember the feeling

i am toying with the idea of applying to physical theatre school. i am considering how to make my body into a rubber band or flower. i want to be able to squeeze everything out of the present moment and explode it out of myself. i want to roll around and jump and shriek and freak and confuse the fuck out of people. i want to present another way to be.

if not me, then who? if not a someone with hardly any logical memory but great arches, then what am i even around for? surely someone out there is gonna do it. surely they could stand some company.

this was all made abundantly clear, several times in fact, right around the winter solstice. as it turns out, that was right when i was completing my first saturn return - and perfect timing to say fuck you everybody, i don't care what you think, i can see so clearly what is important. (reminder of what is important: friends, love, art, magic. this is an incomplete list but you get the idea.)

morgan got back in town for the holiday and wanted to go out to the bar with friends. she picked the so-called irish pub, not knowing that a bunch of us had gone there for trivia the night before (don't worry, we lost) so many of our group didn't come along this time. and it ends up me & brett (& later kat) in the weirdos corner with morgan's most type A segment of friends all crowded into the booth on the other side and all i can say is "YEP here i am again indeed, oh and what now? i'm doing an in depth study of mental health, now that i'm back from the loony bin" and there's nothing like a night like this to remind me how much i don't want that life, with the husbands and the babies and the business casual luncheons. UGH writing that is so obvious i could just spit on myself but no no that is most of the world and i think i can be allowed to write it down occasionally. the important part here is that i maybe felt a little embarrassed at first and especially trying to explain wtf i'm doing with myself, yes back in memphis, yes living with my folks, yes again, but more than ever, i feel like answering this questions is more a nuisance than anything else. i don't really care if they judge me for the answers. i don't really give a fuck what they think, truly. are they judging me for being practically unemployed and living with my parents at 30 and oh ordering another drink this late? yes they definitely are. and am i judging them for being salaried breeders who always vote democrat? yes i definitely am. so we're even.

i'm tired of the waffling shuffling pretending i can play for both sides. when i lived in baltimore i felt like 2 people in 1 body-- a demure, polite, if slightly eccentric, part-time librarian with sensible shoes and nothing but patience, and a barefoot feral drunk at the local anarchist commune / urban farm (except not even totally that because i still had to make sure the bills got paid and be The Sensible One which is not me at all and was boring as fuck).

i'm tired of fucking around with that world pretending i can play along. i just can't hack it.
i know i know i don't have it. i'm far from it. it's been six months now since i got out of the loony bin and came home. it doesn't feel like that long but i know my folks are getting antsy for me to figure my shit out and get a move on. meanwhile i don't want to rush making a decision because that is what keeps getting me into messes, it seems like. but i think i'm getting somewhere this time. maybe.


when i was a kid we lived in a small bungalow house in the artsy neighborhood of town, before it got gentrified. the dining room in the center of the house had 8 walls, branching off to the front hallway, our bedrooms, the kitchen, the bathroom, the back yard. "the octagonal room" was the true center & the heart of the house. at that table, my mama accidentally served us inedible cake decorations at the table. at that table, we grew crystals for SIX WHOLE WEEKS on plastic toys & charcoal for a science fair project. and under that table, most importantly, we made our own world. no fort could compare to the one on the persian carpet, table cloth on all sides, and pillows snatched out of beds. what did we do under there? i'm not quite sure but it was all magical, always, because it happened there, in the secret sacred space.

that's the space i want to create for people. if i am not here to take people under the table, i'm not sure what i am doing at all.

***there are other worlds there are other worlds there are other worlds* and they are all around us**

now i've got 3 glasses of wine in me and i still haven't packed so. i'm annoyed bc i dont think i even said what i was trying to say. or it all come out wrong. fuck all. the point is, i am frederick. (or i wish i were.)

maybe tomorrow no beer is best.

today i was in an okay mood. not super happy persay but confident and ready. i beat myself up a lot for not being good enough at one thing or another - my memory is garbage for one thing. i can't seem to remember all the world things other people do. but i can remember my friends and my own personal history pretty well and that makes me feel very self involved. so last night, today, i was saying, so what?? maybe i can't remember that stuff because i'm not living in the same reality as everyone else and maybe there's nothing wrong with that. maybe that means i'm egotistical on some level but it doesn't mean i don't care. maybe i just need to embrace that i'm comfortable over here and i don't need to try to memorize all the same facts as everyone else just for the sake of conversation. maybe it's okay to make faces in the mirror and try to be in my wiggle body.

i had been excited about the concept of dell arte, then i looked again at the curriculum and the tuition and quickly became intimidated and overwhelmed. then i got settled into this new years mood and felt like so what? why should i be worried about having to perform something new every week and my ideas not being good enough? why am i already putting so much pressure on myself? can't i for once become some silly puddy? haven't i always known what to do? that i could do it bigger, better, more more more? i can see it so clearly sometimes. sometimes i forget, sometimes i remember i've already been doing it all along. i can be allowed to do more. i love to overdo it. i love to make people laugh. i love to be as stupid as i can. i love to forget and reinvent and remember and forget. i want to make it happen. i don't know what else i can do. if not me, then who??

and then and then it falls apart. i don't want to write it now bc writing the first part made me feel better and i want to hold that while i sleep. maybe tomorrow. maybe not. (short version - family is hard.)

debacle

i was already anxious about rodent carols but now it's completely bungled. it feels like everything i'm part of goes horribly wrong. like i'm obsessed with collaboration but i'm potentially the element that is always complicating destroying everything. there's almost something clownish about it. like i really really want to make it work but my wanting creates the complication. is it better not to bother? or does goodness come from the effort? i'm not sure which at the moment. but leaning towards the former.

jumble

let's be real. i have always been a feelings person. my strength comes from my empathetic side.

why has it been so hard for me to find my way ?

some of it i'm blaming on adhd. especially now that my head is more clear and i'm not so depressed i can see patterns better. i focus intensely on something or fixate on an idea for a few days and then move on, for whatever reason. i have not focused long enough to specialize in anything.
it's not only adhd of course but i think that definitely helps with the quickness and the forgetting. what do i do? even i don't know. but it means i'm good at hyperfocusing and concentrating super hard on one specific thing for an extended period of time - and then also being able to shift my focus quickly to something else. some of this maybe is just keen perception. i see all the things. i see the choices that make sense. (in simple logistical situations anyway. other times i'm a dolt.)

the point is.
the point is everything i already know but always forget.
i am a feelings person. i am an art oriented person.
i might be interested in things like sociology and herbal medicine and animal behavior but i have never had the drive to focus on those things long enough to really learn them. could i if i wanted to? sure but then i'd have to actually choose a thing. that is the hardest part.

but when i think about learning something like clown or performance or dance i am just sure i could do it. in terms of my excitement and my confidence i'm all in. it's only REAL WORLD garbage thoughts that crush me. i should be doing the other thing. the real thing.

HOW IS IT that i am still having this thought process even after being brought up on the value of art? how is it that my parents taught me that and yet they scoffed at every nonacademic artistic dream i ever had???? it's driving me bonkers that i'm just now realizing the full weight of this. i feel like other people's folks tend to swing one way or the other, like kat's parents consumed by their research or alice's music teacher folks. mine are some in between with my dad as collector/hobbyist who finally decided to try his hand at writing in his 50s, and my mama hinting at some vague dreams of writing or storytelling or some wisp of a memory of a dream so incomplete it is just dust, but still she's passing it off, urging us to write, to publish, to create, except no don't go to art school bc you need a job.

oh it's just a mess it's a muddle. like the world like all our brains.
and me always in the middle why ??
does everyone feel that they're here?
outside in the middle
not right. not center
caught between options until you're nothing

this must be what everyone feels.
but still for some reason everything is so hard for me. it all takes so much time. i can hardly get anything done. my days disappear. here i am still. driving my parents crazy. no more of a plan than i had in july. where did the time go? everyone tells me i'm doing so well, it's so good to take my time to heal properly, except my mama. why can't she let me do this ?

i'm up too late. at this rate i will want to skip the social shit tomorrow but i guess i'd better not. damn. rot.

what a mess what a mess what a mess. skipped out on being social again. didn't go to yoga. bligh. just feeling awful. on purpose?? can't be good to stay in and watch sexist tv. starting to feel so stuck so stuck. but also some wild thing in my brain is screaming "it's just that you're a visionary!" that's gotta be it. why i can't seem to find words for any of my thought processes or explain what is wrong with everything to my dad. i come off as "disdainful" mama says. i'm paralyzed by judgment - of myself so i can't do anything and of everything else so it's overwhelming and defeating. how do i kill it ???

i want to make myself a schedule and stick to it, as dorky as that sounds. i really think the ADD hyper focus thing is real.

why is there a car idling in the middle of the road right across from me here on my porch? you are not my uber. you aren't for anyone. sounds like a door slamming and it drives away slow. am i paranoid or ???? maybe less so after the incident with kat a month ago, where in my driveway the man banged on her window and demanded a ride or else he was gonna get shot. my paranoia made me say no. we drove around for half an hour and then she sat and wouldn't leave me until 4am just in case.

my left breast has been hurting bad all day. it's been tender all week. is it just a weird period or something else? googling this shit doesn't help.

i'm pretending again that i'm cutting down with smokes but i'm kidding myself. i have a few good days then some event excuses me.

roll herbal smokes goddammit
work on the papers

lord so many other things on this list i can't remember. where the fuck do the days go ??????

last night i stayed up too late angry and drinking and finally wrote that call out about gratz on halloween. today i had to wake up at 9am bc apparently i'm slow as business at doing anything so midday dog visits on five hours of sleep. i felt hungover and grouchy but i still sang to them. i got home at 1245 intending to nap but i read chris mccoy's write up in the flyer and my energy was restored. spent the rest of the day trying to figure out the wordpress mess i made of the concrete website and whether it's fixable before finally dad stopped it with pizza and netflix. what a grouch i am. but it's still true that steven universe is the only show on tv worth anything. except adventure time. okay.

mama was ridiculous today, probably not on purpose. cracking me up all over the place. my number one clown mentor for sure.

gotta read that clown book
guided mediation and that other body stuff

make a fuxking schedule that includes reading time
i can't stand this nothing nonsense

(sloppy words found on an envelope, some time during or after clown class, spring 2017)

i always stand there thinking I COULD DO THAT so why not?

it must take a massive leap. no more pretending to be REAL, no more faking.

i'm tired of being the Responsible one. ugh

kiss them up dearest touching (????)

kiss face to wind to sip or spin

kick up the dirt that isn't dancing

if i can't go now, i never will go

if i can't know (?) now, who will fucking tell me?

no one will mourn nor remember you

it's already too late

oh to write the things that think

before the thoughts are formed

BUT how to be so quick?!

somehow all this bland shit is just
pressing the pause button
in between what is surely
the greatest show on earth or ???
I'm craving (?) to get out of
this version of myself.
NOTHING I WANT is allowed.
is that me? or is that just
totally pathetic. i'm tired
of feeling totally pathetic.
i want it all to be a rush (?????)

i have a lot of work to do.
realize these notes will never be read.
even you will not read them.
become as indecipherable as possible.
you are not made to last.

i want to make everyone believe in magic
that is hard + true + dissonant.
i want to be bugs + dirt + children +
death. how can we bring it.
it's not here in this place with these people.
you didn't find the thing you thought.
it's not your fault. you had to try.
it's not a place, it's a feeling + a purpose. you
know that. you can't rely on a new location.
how is it that you feel more bright and
alive now that nothing is real, no one is
awake, and you've got four drinks inside?
not even blurry silly, just convinced. This is
not the hovel you're looking for. the right
answer is not gonna come in a flask. there
is no right answer. but you have to kill the
feeling that something is wrong + find out

today

gojis had so many buds, including some of the new implants. 

also pruned them and the grapes and wlberberries. griff is great. tarryn brought biscuits with amish butter. 

meanwhile thursday sent messages from afar that sent me spinning. where do we go?

farm alliance meeting was awkward. i'm just not the same as these people. even before the third beer. bff isolated itself a little but mike was cute and outgoing. 

i started feeling really sad about my grandparents and the ways i've failed them - their expectations as well as my own. i should have collected more stories, memories, sayings. i hear myself trying to say their words and it just hurts. 

told katherine that i want to be funny (again) and how i miss her (again) and that i've been thinking of stupid fake stand up jokes when i wake up in the morning. she wants to hear them for some reason.  but i'm not sure if they're translatable without the laugh track and funny faces.  

i started getting really sad and crying because i don't belong here, as much as i try. nobody saw it. i'm a great actor. i bought a pack of cigarettes to help me handle it. i bought a whisky ginger to help me handle it. i said "can i get... a.. um..." and he said "'may i'? that mught help." i must've given him a look but he brought out a menu anyway. i explained that we'd had a misunderstanding. i thought he was in teacher mode telling me to use 'may' instead of 'can't' but you can't explain the joke after it's happened. at any rate he didn't charge me for the drink. he was cute and young (dani type) and i think he was trying to convince coworkers to come to karaoke at the crown after shift. 

but after that i still went to the bathroom and cried because i'm missing all the things i care about. i don't know how to talk about it. i'm depressed that my therapist stopped contacting me. i'm depressed that i'm surrounded by farmers and i don't share their knowledge- how much do i want to? i'm depressed by all the books i haven't read and jokes i haven't said. i bought smokes. i told morgan at christmas that i smoke because i hate myself and she made me vow to quit. i was doing okay but i haven't stopped the hate. what is the source? i've explained that i feel less depressed when i'm busy and doing things and have lots of projects- then comes anxiety but it's different problems. i'm still avoiding the root of the problem. i'm still in hate with me. and having urges that i can't fulfill, thinking of writing or joking or whatever. thinking of myself in some other schemes but there's no time to dream with all of these other plans on my head. whose plan? whose dream? where do i fit? nathalie told me to see this pattern. i don't need to go where o think i can help. my help is not the solution. how fuxking selfish even am i?? the neediness of feeling other. the demand to be understood. the feeling of never holding anything. 

they've replaced our old streetlight. it was yellow and faulty and perfect. now we have a constant white dawn over everything, to prevent breakins i expect. the light is cold and familiar and unchanging. i sleep with the blanket over my head. 

i miss my cat. dear gods i miss her more than anything. how i have failed. 

actually, though, why is it so hard to be home at christmas?

we don't know what to do with each other. everyone is looking at a screen. everyone is miscommunicating or misunderstanding each other, either because we were looking at screens when we were trying to make a plan, or because screens have killed any communication skills we maybe once had. we don't know how to talk. we don't know how to listen.

your parents have the same problems that you do and it's hard to watch.

papa can't hear anymore so you don't know how to talk to him. you can talk nonsense with grandma, but she doesn't know who you are.

all your big dreams shrink to fit back inside the old house, back into your dark heart. they smolder there and you expect to be embarrassed to talk about them, but no one asks you anyway. you've already been written off. the dreams die without a fire.

you thought you could understand the world out there, but that mess of trash and war seems like a far-off thought and you're the only one worried about wasting paper on plastic presents and not being able to compost the potato skins. if they talk politics, your words will leave you and you fail your cause entirely. what words are left in times like these?

there is a blister on your mouth that rots all your words.

you ask your mother when you began to hate everything. you guess college but she answers "middle school" and probably she is right. she says she felt this way but she hated hating and the world was too much so she gave it up. but she doesn't tell you not to.

just from watching doctor who with the family you love, the family you crave, you know that something is wrong.

you almost cried, to recall the brilliance of Lucille ball. why can't we all? why can't we? what stops us? strips us?

the moon is full and the grass is wet and it's 85 degrees on Christmas.

the world is dying and broken and full of plastic. you know you're either dead or fighting.

you aren't going to win by crouching behind a bush, sucking down fire, calling desperate to a foreign moon with nothing but your dead self and cold toes.

inside there is light and laughter and you've never been its partner.

you are the broken dream of people who wanted better.

thin skin

this is why my thin gs are lost.

this is why i'm not allowed.

i tried to organize the zines and pamplhets; they were in miples that made sense.
i walked away.
i walked away and that's my own fault.
i walked away and came back to a beautiful clean table.
a clean table and all my piles all my attempts to organize dismissed.
why did i ever bother
why did i even exist
i'm sorry that i have to make piles to feel alive. i don't know where to go where that's okay.
i don't know where i can give anything that gets credit.
i want to be yr legit diy librarian.
yr diy archivsit
yr diy therapist

and yet get into an argument:
you need to shave your legs.
OH DO I
i can't understand although she says it's not personal, it isn't me, she would say it to anyone
can i exist even this close to the status quo
YES WE'RE SAYING THESE WORDS
can i exist without being judged?
no. i'm okay with that.
i'm a judge too it's cool.
can i exist without being made a fool?
okay but you decided that'
the clown was the object
how can i be a clown without being destroyed?
that's for the people to decide
you're the joke
you play the part
and see how the audience reacts
you can't decide how it all shakes down

they ask if you know your skin is thin
if you know your size and scale

people only want me for the element of spectacle. I am eager to give and entertain and draw them out but it drains. sometimes I'm not getting anything back.

i need to relax and listen to more groovy music and old boogie and i think that will help. i want to shave half my head and wear a cap and pants. jean jacket style. calm it down but still fun. to entertain and boggle. CAN I BE A CLOWN YET?

i sit here all fucking day just staring into space no smile on my face. what the fuck am i writing? i am trying to escape from the latin language and ms. haughton's evil eye. but it's a good day because i made a couple people laugh even though i annoyed several more. i always just wanted to create some emotion get some response as long as i'm still me. it's not that i feel like it's my duty to be happy. i enjoy it so much i can't waste this 2o minute oasis like i wasted this paper. i think this girl i know hates me now. i was always afraid of this because she is so fiercely adamant about hating someone but she is so nice when she's talking to them. there were always two kinds of food-throwing situations. friends as jokes or she's sick of that person she wants to throw some baby carrots to signify how mad she is and laugh it off. she threw fruit at me during lunch. it's kind of funny but i don't think she meant it kindly this time. i think she doesn't want to tell me to go away because for that she would have to speak real words to me. that's okay. i liked my 2o minutes.
fuck! i lied. i just smiled.
something funny happened and i didn't even see it, but cody behles who looks like a teddy bear, burst into a huge quick laugh so different from his usual giggle. plus i'm bored of gladiators and this day is too long.