mammoth blog for your enjoyment

the bliss of being reunited with stories from the city, stories from the sea is only equalled by the quasi-terror and extreme weirdness of basically having what appears to be my chakras opened for me by some life force that is responding to sheer necessity...

did anyone else know that, yeah, the masculine manifestation of myself within the earth mother is named albert, the masculine manifestation of the earth mother within myself is named herteubise (after the dude in cocteau's orphee, natch), and they both live in a sort of natural-lit box made out of some sort of sandalwood within my throat? today i was tired and attempting to explain myself and my throat got all jammed up like it does sometimes with the blankness, and then suddenly i envisioned a lotus flower and i was able to express myself in language again. or it was more like the lotus vision just sort of popped up in my mind in the vicinity of the front of my neck. also since albert and herteubise have been introduced by said earth mother (who resides in my heart, unfurls in blue fire, and answers questions at the juncture of my spine and my brain), my tmj has lessened. and i see desire as two serpents twining together. while on bart. mmh, but the serpents are the manifestation of hecate, who lives within my head seed (chakra[?] in the middle-top of my skull), and isn't allowed to unfurl yet because i'm not ready for her...not to mention the dark twin, who's the one that lives in the seed in my uterus and unfurled as black and red fire about a week ago, and who i went down on in a vision about three weeks ago.

i'm grateful. but right now i HATE THIS. i'm not a visionary. i have no desire to be psychic.

if i'm anything, i'm just a desperate woman. i've always been desperate. i've always been looking, i guess, for a way to stop--or start--devouring myself. and i'll accept what's happening. because i know it'll save me eventually, both from what's in me and from what i am. and even if it were not to stop this self-devouring propensity, i'd still give in to it, because it's making my singing better...or because i desire self-immolation, it's imperative that i survive for as long as possible, and this option--of chakra-vision-whatnottery--is both self-immolating and life-sustaining. apparently.

i'm willing to pay in pain, but i guess what i'm getting at, solely, is that somehow this whole thing manages to hurt like a bitch. i don't want it to stop. though hopefully my desires to some extent cleave to the circumstances...if it were to stop, i hope i'd be able to want that. but it seems to be going strong, and i want this. and it hurts. and i hate it.

ha ha, i guess i am hecate. which is what they've been telling me from the beginning. hecate, by the way, is the principle of the rope. the dark twin is the root, and the earth mother is something like the tree as that which the root is the shadow of...and hecate is the rope, the twist of light and dark, pressed together in red. the press of which impels energy through the root and the tree.

yeah, it sounds okay, if a little airy-fairy, for the beginning of a poem, but this is my HEAD. how do i know this crap all of a sudden? why albert and herteubise? these beings agree that i can tattoo my wrists as a gesture of protection and invitation, and say on the left wrist should be a lion, and on the right a gardenia. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??? in order to finish a conversation with the earth mother, i draw my wrist to my chest and say her name three times. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN???

i know why i know. if i know anything. if these aren't all more simply the warning signs of imminent psychosis. i know these things because i need saving, i need help, and the only place i find it is inside myself...the only place anyone can find self-shattering, self-reformulating help is inside themselves, and this is the kind of help i need if i want to sing as i want to sing--if someone like me, with the problems and issues i have, wants to sing as i want to sing. in the final analysis, this...stuff does represent a practical if improbable solution to the problem of making my voice better, more whole, more mine and thereby not mine, a more perfect manifestation of the juncture that classical song really is: composer, performer, words, music, audience, self, body, soul...the moment that, because defined by so many oppositions, exists in something we think of as impossible: the moment in song, as i wish to deliver it, is the paradox, rather than being either one or the other of the possible things that define it. to make this moment i have to know more...i have to be stronger. so, again, i'm grateful.

i just can't freaking believe it's happening to me. i mean, both in the positive and negative senses, what did i ever do to deserve this? except need it, i guess. except my need.

just...rgh. WHATEVER.

oh god the blah blah.

the extent to which i'm actually not that normal of a person has been preying on me recently. i always kind of figured that just because we didn't talk about these things, it didn't mean that others weren't going through pretty much what i was going through...apparently, this isn't true, though. to some extent.

i've always thought, and i still do, that this stuff is a system of exchanges. there are a series of ways in which i can't take care of myself: financially, sure, but also just these other things, like going into grocery stores and food places--there's something about having to interact with clerks that makes me feel wildly uncomfortable. also i don't like cleaning, and i mean, really really don't like it. i don't particularly like it when it is clean--that is, i like looking at it, but living with it makes me uncomfortable. it looks like someone else's reality when you can see too much of the floor. and then there's these mood things, the anxiety stuff, the worrying. i've started doing this thing where i'll twitch violently when it seems like my brain's about to suck me into the vortex of...whatever that weird vortex is, the blank space that just gets fuller and fuller. i don't feel safe with people looking at me...well, sort of. that's not true all the time, really, and often not feeling safe isn't a terrible thing: there's a certain enjoyment in balancing on that knife's edge. "unsafe" doesn't connote "bad." not always, anyway, right? i mean, when i think about it, i'm scared a lot. but being scared isn't irrational. shit is going down. i don't mean that in the totally paranoid way--i highly doubt i've got enemies--but accidents happen, people get hurt and killed for no reason that one can understand...there's global warming, there are attacks, all the exciting accoutrement of modern living and living in general--and fear, as i've said, sort of, anyway, makes enjoyment stronger.

the balance is that with the freak-outs and depression comes talents like singing, acting, and writing (if this dreck could be said to spring from some sort of talent--and if i could be called a good actress, which my dad does, but come on he's my dad). my brain does patterns well, which means that i can do anything that requires analysis well, which is most stuff (except grammar and basic math facts). and i'm smart--i guess i'm pretty smart. i guess i'm smart. it sounds weird to say it, but i guess it's true. it doesn't matter much, except that for the things i want to do, it's good to be smart--it's fine to be smart without being very practical when it comes to singing and writing. just like for classical singing, it's good to be somewhat attractive, though it doesn't matter too much, plus it's okay if you're gigantic and somewhat overweight. it's good to be smart for other professions too, but not in the same way.

why am i attempting to think this stuff through? the answer is, basically, because, as i've probably said in here already, being in singing school is making me weak. i'm becoming an emotionally functional person, but this means that i have emotions as opposed to that i'm a pleasanter person to be around. i've been being a douchebag for the past months. i don't go into stores when there's someone around to go in for me; i don't cook unless i really want to...i don't pay enough attention to my mom...i don't provide support for anyone else.

is it because i can't? because i'm figuring stuff out and blah blah?

or am i just being lazy?