Die Before You Die, So That When You Die, You Do Not Die

Today I feel like I just lost 400 pounds.

Tomorrow I will do Pilates in Turkish.

I bought myself a nice piece of lingerie this weekend and hung it on my wall in the livingroom. I am not allowed to wear it until my...umm...what's the polite word for rear? I forgot. Well, until that is a lethal weapon to be used with caution. So far, I've worked out twice since I bought it, and I only bought it yesterday!

Ladies, you might consider trying this. It's very motivating.

PS. There is a reason the photos are backwards seeming. See post title.

I have so much icing coming in. Oh, Mr. Cream Cake, it's you. But, um, about that cake....you gonna put that shit in the oven, or what? Watch it rise? What are we gonna do with all this icing? By the way, as a vegan, I know how to make cake without eggs. Even with low sugar.

La la la.

I'm so random.

My sister says I'm flamboyant about love. She is so right, that punk. She told me so. Grrrr. "Love is not a victory march. It's a slow and it's a broken hallelujah."

But, um, can it be a victory dance? Like when the footballers score a goal and they start doing that dance.

Anyways, back to that cake. Oven? Yes, right? It WILL rise.

Prrreeeezeee we can haz kek in firin nowwwzzz? I waited I eated my dinnner.

Oh, you hate it when I talk like a baby.

This is for what my eyes.....

Time seems too stretched out sometimes, like it continues on forever, like we cannot get out or move forward or really progress or transform or turn into something new. We just carry on with this black hole, just like the one in space, compressing evermore to shrink, squeeze, squish an unending volume to content into its limited space.

This is for what my eyes look like that. They always ask, anyways, eventually, when I'm forgetting to keep them normal. It's a dark space within me that's been filled until the density emits bright, shining darkness immeasurable. Therein is everything sweet and unanswered, all the details side-by-side: the day at the beach rubbing shoulders with a death I'd rather not name right now, the barefoot soccer match in Germany smashed up against the first boy to break my heart, a birthday candle blown out brushing up on a small flower dying on the dashboard of my old Mustang. Winds up heavy, but the same size, deceptive in its small consumption of space.

Within the marble rolling around in my heart is a thousand years, I swear, and other lives even. Just this life alone swells over edges and quantum divides itself to make room for tomorrow.

For You...

This one's for you and only you

little ray of light

stretching your love

like a butterfly's first day

Thank you for just the letter;

it's a new car and a Prada purse

it's a day at the spa and college tuition

it's more than ten lines long and I

loved every word

tatlısın

şeker gibi dilimdesin

Slowly dancing blue, I drape around your eyes,

this time in rhythms

I feel seen

You say insufferable

as I suffer to stretch the true meaning of that word

across years

Lost years, silent years. Darkness too hard to swallow.

The length of time reaching out infinitely into my death,

racing I go through these dark halls, behind me the white

figure moves swiftly in blurs, stalking, as I run to you,

heart throbbing thunder. I can hear the woman screaming,

that shriek in the corner by the stairs, surfacing up

from a liquid of worlds lost, fogging the transmission, she's

terrified, and you say it's okay, you can sleep like that.

So why can't I?

Sound falls and curves, echoes this voice as though

something immortal has died

The only scab I can pick off to relieve this, the only place

that makes you go away.

You know.

I don't have: tomorrow, three days, five minutes.

It's not just a little to the left,

and I'm not even talking about romance.

There's not some bucket full of water somewhere,

or five different layers you can pin this on,

not fire or anger even, not hope, no jester,

and again, not five minutes.

There's only the barrel the size of a pea

that can do that much damage.

My daily speeches. My daily sermon.

You truly, honestly, simply

never understood the delicacy

of this, in all your inertia

as you contemplated the details,

you missed them all.

Fold me into a paper plane.

Fold me into your arms.

Fold, but you don't speak.

Insufferable.

I'll take you in my arms like it's the first day now.

I'll rock you like a baby

until you cannot remember

what I will never forget.

This is.....

This is what Life should feel like. We get one good go at it, then it's over. But without you, I feel as though I'm having fun while you are not. Are you having fun? One of my friends said: How can you feel good knowing someone you care about is in a dark room somewhere? Good point. And the answer is that you really cannot.

This is how I feel about you. You are my Celestial Cerub and also My Own Heart, since I even find myself hiding in dark rooms. But always, you are sad. Always, so emo. Always, so dejected. I know there was all that crap that went down. Yeah, I know. And you cannot forget. But look at that photo above. This is what Life could feel like....if we could only let go. That's the hardest part. Letting go. I'm a clinger too, so I'm not really one to talk on this subject. But is there really a huge crime in strong bonds that never break? I mean never. No matter how much pressure is put upon them. I mean Love. This isn't totally clinging, but can we love like that without the pain? This is the art I need to master. Unbreakable, unwavering love, without the anguish. Is that even possible? Knowing they could die at any moment....

- Love like you've never been hurt before.

--Love like you've never been hurt before..

---Love like you've never been hurt before...

----Love like you've never been hurt before....

-----Love like you've never been hurt before.....

------Love like you've never been hurt before......

-------Love like you've never been hurt before.......

And dance like no one's watching.

And we only live once.

And seize the day.

And awake, arise, or be forever fallen!

So, Are We an Item?

Western women are set out to destroy my peace of mind!

I found a peace, a deep calm, within myself and even in delicate harmonious balance with the complexity of another human being. But that doesn't matter. What matters is, "Are you guys an item now?" An item? Isn't an item something you buy or purchase for personal satisfaction, often to fulfill some need that the media has convinced you of?

"No," I hesitantly responded, realizing in that moment wherefrom stems such torment in my life. Are we really this? Beneath the exterior, are they even serious either? Are we meant to label and downsize and organize and order anything of significance until nothing is left but the outline, the mere frame of what so gloriously stood in its place before? We strangle the very thing we need.

The anxious women before me lowered their eyes when I said this, which means they pitied me. I had failed. Never mind the truth, which was that something so much more profound than being an "item" was at hand that I couldn't have dared utter the words. They were sacred. And losing them to the air of this strange, unforgivable audience seemed an injustice. An item. They look away. Poor her. She failed to capture the "man" as though capturing a man and folding the laundry are the birth rights of any woman, both to be done with the same care and methodical nonethingness of soul. Not to fold the laundry, well, means you've moral unravelling that is to be silently scorned. And not capturing the man, as though he were an "item" to be picked up at the local grocers for dinner that night, is worse.

If I could have spoken my mind, it would have been, "Mind your own business and don't meddle in affairs that you cannot possibly understand!" Instead my eyes flipped reverse into my interior, and I stared at my heart as it beat in fear of retribution from my whole gender. I realized nothing honest would satisfy them. "It's, uhh..." Do I say more than that, more than "item" level? More complicated? Oh, complicated is female code for, "I have low self-esteem and am so desperate for a man that I will take anything." Do I say we have a secret between us, and I am forbidden to tell anyone? That's female code for, "I'm in total denial, and we are never getting married. He will never propose." It also sounds arrogant. So, I stumbled through words, searching for an elusive truth, but nothing seemed enough. I tried. A little. "We're... uh... like best friends, you know, I cannot understand how.... uh.... an item? Well... he's... we're.... neither of us fit boxes... uh... we're eccentric (Damn it! Too much information! Don't give 'em the eccentric word! The secret is almost out! Shut up!) So I shut up. Then looked away. Changed the subject. They feel sorry for me now, me the poor fool who doesn't know she's worth a man who will buy her roses and propose within a reasonable timeframe.

But here is the fate of a woman grown up in Western culture. If you say the man has proposed, they grab your hand. They pull it under their scrutinizing eyes and determine in that moment alone the full value and worth of your essence as a woman, therefore as a human being, as anything. Secretly they think you could have done better if it's too small, or they suspect the man knows something they don't: something that makes you only 1/2 carat worthy. And if it's huge, then the same illogic flows in mirror reverse.

By the way, want to know the size of my diamond? See slave child below....

How about this. How about this! We don't know what we are doing here! Not on earth! Not breathing! Not living or any of it! We cannot assign value to something we cannot understand!

And yet, we know. We know it all. These distractions. Do they mean the truth is too much to face?

I just broke free from some cultural programming, and I guess now it's time to face the reality, which is that others haven't broken that program, and I will have to learn how to deal with this.

So, do they want to know the truth? Three words: deep heart peace.

No further questions, please. Envy that, bitches, cause I bet my own ass not a single one of you've got it. Why the desperate prying? Hungry much? Restless much?

Fuck off.

Love Books

I am one of those types that reads a lot of books about how to make love work, which probably outs me as someone who never seems to get it right. Well, "right" is very subjective. I think I've got it right, in some ways. I'm learning that my approach to love is that of an existentialist battling cultural norms that were pounded into my psyche as a young girl. Time to break down these walls!

Anyways, I want to make a book list of relationship books that I read and liked.

1. What French Women Know by Debra Ollivier- Simply a fantastic book by a brilliant writer. It's a must read.

2. Why Men Marry Bitches by Sherry Argov - I have some good and bad conclusions about this one, but it's still a page turner and worth the read, if you're looking for advice that has an edge.

3. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus by John Gray - Yes, a classic. It's written like children will be reading it, but let's face it. We're children. Many of us, when it comes to romance, need to start with training wheels. The book is culturally specific in some ways, but there are good points that may be universally applied.

Oh, that's it for now. Most relationship books just look so...square.

???

there's an ocean in the bedroom

yeah so i went back to the kitchen to make some food

but then...

oh nevermind.

good morning.

i'm tired already.

Pluto

I walk through the deep of this dense liquid. I want to run. This is the part where I make my way out the back door, slip away into the night or day--no difference--away from you. But you say I always do that--I always "cut you off" as though you are a limb of mine or I a limb of yours.

But we are.

So, I stand in humility, my sorrow, condense a mistake--these hot coals under my feet. I don't move. I'm learning. *tenacious teeth gritted, snarling*

Waiting on this reminds me of the recruits outside the old decrepit Fight Club lodgement. They must wait three days with no food, no motivation, showered with derisive verbal warfare. They must wait. And once entering, it's only a maze, a madhouse, a dysfunction. Only this is not three days.

Love conquers all, so it goes.

Love is not love if it has an expiration date. Remember that. Your dark corners are waiting to reveal a vacuum that devours the part of me you swear was never there.

You were a cloud in a former life.

I've seen you evolve in Darwin ambition before my eyes, into everything then nothing, but always changed. I don't fear...

..our atom bomb--not the way you do.

Level ten is around the corner, if you don't mind. Sling shot your dreams. Past Nyktelios and Ryujin.

Love is not love if it has an expiration date. Remember that.

This is the part where I run away. This is the part where you say to me, "It's about that time again," and then turn your face to the clock, waiting for the inevitable, as though you know me. Your dark corners reveal to you a vacuum from which you always knew I'd purge myself to make room for you. I'm learning. *child-like wisps of wrist, a bashful smile, followed by the parenthetical side note* ("See, my dear, the good thing about me is I never make the same mistake twice. And I have a method to this madness. It's all part of a divine dream--and this dream is pure white as...as naivety, innocence, and birth.") *candid blush.*

supersocietal superintrinsic

suppressed volatile compressed pockets of primal energy

provocative struggle for domination brings you to your knees

sublime chaos destruction ELIMINATION

renewal rebirth regeneration

Watch the clouds outside your windows. I was rain in a former life.