everything is endless

I think I need to take you to highway 1. Come for the trees, stay for the living moments beween the leaves and the sunlight.  You’ve told me you don’t see the way that I do, but I do believe you can. You can smell me inside your hear,clear as if I were next to you, what else can you do you haven’t touched on yet?
I was unlocked by the wind whispering old words in trees, and I suspect your heart is in every wave in the ocean, and you can walk around this blue green rock and never be alone because of that connection.  I’ll take you to talk to the ocean. 

Then, Talk less, because I’ll take you to where I see “god”. I don’t believe the gods are ours, I don’t think they’re a power to “envoke”, but the endless voices of  now and then and never,emboidied in ways we’ll recognise: Enegy and spirits older that time showing up when they’re needed most.

Everywhere on this known earth has gods on every bit of land. I like to think each culture that came though our own new Colossus carried in charms and pots and lace the gods exiled with them in the name of “progress”.
(A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles)
Personally,  have a suspision a few made it out to this  Currently -united state’s golden side in 1959 en masse whisperin’in ears of burning blind, hysterical minds the thoughts we needed in the ryrthm of the times, Anthems and chants to start revolutions,  I suspect there were as many gods in black leather jackest and black Ray bans, aiding the Party of Self Defense againts the hate-twisted words of an old book made legislation by men with no mind to what god(s) really meant.
Whenever a prophet is murdered in his own country, A journalist marytered for reporting on human rights violations, there they are in the midst.
I suspect gods stood in tienemen square, suspect they burned with arms wrapped around monks who sent the odor of commitment and sacrifice to the sky.
God met me out there in the woods one time and I wonder if he hung around. He wasn’t a solid thing but raining light voice and he opened up all my eyes until I saw for endless days and only seconds.
Don’t figure They’re the kind of thing that stays in one place very long, or  stays one thing very long. The last time I saw Them, they were crossing the street and the middle of Santa Cruz, walking a pitbull. Another time, they were a little girl who know me from the last time she was a little girl. I didn’t know her at all. 
I do not know that there are gods, my darling. I do know my own belifes, my own life. I suspect there exixst more in the Spaces between that we have words for. 
 There is no hyperbole to what I am about to say.
I was possibly 12, angry, walkman,pants with a velvet dragon on them. I believed in nothing, maybe less.
I saw a man pass me  on my left. I look in his face and saw eyes like worlds on worlds, blue hollow worlds,and as he passes, I watched him walk away, and then he was gone.
Gods or no, there’s more that we can put names to.
 Find a new word for god. demystify the mysteries through communication.
listen to yourself.
I know nothing.
So do you.
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Who invited all the damn crows

I dream almost every night, and for the past 3 months  I’ve tried with  a reasonable success rate to write down what happens when I’m asleep. This means that a black leather book lives beside my bed, it’s heart  filled with tiny scribbles of varying legibility, the messages running the gamut from seemingly symbol-Laden- probable gibberish, to complex storylines that feel like ghosts around the edges of my waking life. 
I write down my dreams in this book while my brain is in that hazy, San Francisco Fog State between asleep and awake  so I often have to go back and rewrite when fully awake. I feel like one’s brain starts to forget what happens in dream worlds very quickly so it’s important to do it as soon as possible.

Some patterns have emerged. I’ll highlight a few of them.

  • I dream about fully fleshed – out people with names. Sometimes I know them, often I don’t. 
  • I dream about sex  with women. (don’t we all) 
  • I dream in muted colours 
  • I have no idea what my face looks like, but I am very small, my hands remain the same: long, thin, and boney. Sometimes I am aware of my hair, which is long and in my way
  • I dream the same dreams often . Some of these dreams have been recurring since I was a child.
  • There are, so far as I can see, 5 worlds  that are connected to each other but don’t exist in the same time. They seem to be connected with a subway line of sorts that I can exit at any point, and the train is also a part of different times. My   real-life fascination with fashion seems to mean that my brain is created wardrobe as an identifier for time-period.The worlds are as follows :
  • An apartment where a number of people who reoccur in these dreams live. I don’t know how many floors it has but it seems endless and is More or less in the present. Sometimes there’s a fire pit in the common area. It’s very gray and always night. 
  • My own childhood time-period,during the late summer. 
  • A junkyard (I guess) but in a sort of soup ladle  shape, basically hanging in nothingness. 
  • The weird-ass Subway 
  • An old west construct.(this makes no sense because I have zero attachment to the Olde West, western films,ect. Even while I’m having the dream, I feel like “wtf is this corny ass shit”. 
  • Somewhere that that feels very old,  is slightly cold but not so cold that I am uncomfortable, and has no noticeable buildings. I have been inside structures on this world, but I couldn’t tell you what they look like from the outside. This is the one that bothers me because when I’m awake I feel like I remember it randomly and it makes me feel as that I’m out of time. It seems to be nothing  but trees and cliffs and I feel very very small, physically.

 Some other noticeable patterns are these:( at this point I’m going to point out that I practice lucid dreaming so I have decent amount of control in some situations. I’m not great at it and I’m off and lazy and don’t try to use it) 

  • So many crows, why all the crows. Who invited those  assholes. 
  • I am completely capable of using the internet in my dreams. Or at least my phone. I don’t see the face of it or anything but I know that I’m using it
  • Sometimes there are clear messages that are just one sentence. Sometimes these repeat themselves and they always make no sense within the context of what’s Happening
  • The most noticeable is this. I am helping people in my dreams. I am always helping people do something, find something,  get somewhere, Etc. Sometimes I know them, usually I don’t. And often times it’s something sad. I realized  this a long time ago: That often the dreams that I dream don’t feel like my own. They feel like something I am doing for someone else,  whether or not I want to.

I’ll write more about this later. But I wanted to get the outline of how I’m dreaming out there first before writing about this further here. This probably seems strange to you, all this listening to what happens when I’m asleep  but as long as I can remember I have been dreaming dreams that that are big and strange and pointed and recurring.

Its 6:30 right now and I’m slightly jet-lagged. I desperately want to grind coffee but I also don’t want to wake up Alvin who is so peacefully asleep in the other room. I think I’ll probably just poked my head in there and see if he’s on his phone or not and if he is, then all bets are off. I’m grinding. It’s the second day of the new year, and I’m wishing  that you’re having the best  start to your year  possible ,  and maybe, maybe, I’m dreaming about you.

Not a “chill feminist” no more

At many points this year I’ve gone out of my way to not allow my feelings and emotions take control of my words . I’ve been even tempered and listened to your opposing view-point.

This is not one of those times.

You. Male friends, Male humans in my life, men: *Dick-Havers; If your response to this parade of touchy-feel-y,grabb-y, cock-rubbing rich men losing their  jobs and status after years of sexually abusing and harassing women because our culture permitted and encouraged it has been to use the term “Witchhunt”, or to worry about the repercussions to men like you, There’s not a place for you in at the table of my heart. Get the fuck out. Take your defensive questions and “what if” queries with you and get the fuck away from me. YOU live a totally different life than myself and other female-identifying/passing people. Do women engage in sexually abusive behaviour? YES. Do I personally know some women who have engaged in sexually controlling or abusive behaviour? Yes, I see you, female friends who’ve engaged in that behaviour and That’s bullshit, but it’s not the conversation we’re having right now because it’s not the norm. It’s a response to the abusive normal that we, as Women,live with every day.

We Have been forced to feast on scraps under tables we should have had equal seating at.

We are constantly being preyed on. 

Let the bodies fall. There’s no shortage of talented Women, Better men, POC of all genders and queer folks fucking thirsty to step in to the gaps left by the Men who’ve been ousted from their places of power after years of rape-y bullshit.

Male friend, If you’re WORRIED right now, you’re part of the problem. Get with us or get. The. Fuck. Out.

*Not all men have dicks. Not all people with dicks are men. But it’s the men that have dicks that are making a world difficult right now

We are the daughters of the witches they tried to burn

When I sit down to write, most of what I intended to say disappears.

I recently started Bullet journaling and have a million points written down, so of course I left the journal in question at home and I’m not going back to get it, because California weather is fucked up and I don’t want to walk back .

It’s been an overwhelming week or so since the inauguration of out great Cheeto-in-Chief: Arresting Journalists, Gag orders, Twitter somehow becoming a viable platform for elected officials  to communicate ideas and effect stock prices, alternative facts, You know, business as usual. There’s so much happening at once that it is really easy to get fucking furious, wall off, and do absolutely nothing .

We cannot, CANNOT be apathetic. We must fucking not wall ourselves off from people who disagree with us or differ from us: That’s how we got on the long path to here. We  also can’t afford to not stand up for what we believe.

I’m not going to tell you what to do; I’m going to tell you what I think we should do and what I’m personally going to do to be engaged. I don’t care of we don’t agree,I just believe you should follow the channels to get your individual voice heard.

Unify. March during the work week.

Defend planned parenthood, and our reproductive rights which are constantly at risk.

Practice intersectional feminism. March for the rights of people not your race or religion or assigned gender. All “us nice white ladies” are weekend warriors if we marched one fucking time in a pink hat and then gave up. We’re Nasty bitches who march with our brown, black , trans and indigenous sisters for their rights.

Don’t be stomped into believing this is normal. It ain’t.

Get pissed, and then do something with that anger that betters the world.

Live your everyday life as an act of defiance and protest.

PRACTICE RADICAL COMPASSION. Pay attention to your spirit and your soul, however you define it. Send your magic into the world. Love the world around us. expand your fucking consciousness.

Don’t listen to the loudest, dumbest voices.  Research and learn, constantly.

That’s all I got right now.

Last of all, I love you. I see you. You are not invisible, not to me.

 

Ethics, eviscerated.

It’s one day after the senate confirmation hearings( who needs that pesky ethics paperwork), and I made the notably bad choice to watch the Trump Press conference Live Stream first thing in the Morning. Giant yellow tumbler of coffee keeps me sane, thanks gods.

~~~Update~~~

I have watched the Conference. I don’t have anything to say at the moment because my brain actually hurts, and also, why WHY does he pronounce “industry”  the way that he does, I can’t. His speaking skills are worse (arguably) than the BushMiester (the “chad” of presidents) but unlike George W Bush, well, at least he has the native skills to be a worse president on purpose? I don’t have words to articulate my emotions  right now.

I’m writing here to actually practice writing about everything in order to get over the blocks and fears that I’ve had the past year. Being too aware of the  nihilistic irrelevance of my own words broke me. I’m not even nihilistic and this year made me feel nihilistic. i’m a goddam psychedelic water-colour flower who believes that yes, we can overcome IF WE CHANGE EVERYTHING AND STOP TRYING TO GO BACK TO 1965 . ( I mean all of us? why do we still think the same old ways of protesting work?)

I’ll come back later with a list of ways I plan to try to change myself this year. Right now, I’m biking to the gym.