It smells like a coat of fresh paint, get a whiff

One gallon of semi-gloss peacock tail paint $23
One gallon of semi-gloss lemon poundcake paint $23
One quart of semi-gloss bonfire paint $15
Two sea sponges $20
Many many rollers and brushes $20
Walls that make up a home...PRICELESS.

My life has been painted with a fresh layer of paint. Vibrant colors that replace the once dull muted colors that have been weathered away by time. My life is just so beautiful right now I barely recognize it.

Its amazing how just a week or so ago I wrote an entry, a very dark entry about headless horsemen and sleepy hallow and my hypothetical dismemberment...I was so sleepy and so hallow. I was almost dead. Then suddenly the winds of change blew in my direction, a warm breeze, melting my heart, warming my soul, making me feel alive again. I closed my eyes, finally fearless of change, that once crippling inevitable entity that has stopped me from progress time and time again, and let it lift me into the sky and take me to heights I had dreamt of reaching.

For the first time since 2088 was sold. For the first time in my entire life I left Ryer avenue behind. As you now know from previous blogs, Ryer held me captive, restraining and keeping me in the confines of mediocracy. "How could you want to blend in, when you were meant to stand out" I once heard this in a film and it has stuck with me since. I am not meant for normal existance but to soar beyond the limitations of normalcy. Im not ordinary, but extraordinary.

My house was painted with the colors of fabulousity to reflect its inhabitant. My walls are painted with the brushes of self. They are decorated with my words, my personality, my taste, my style, my love.

I am finally home.

I haven't been able to call a place home, I mean really home, since 2088 and now finally im free. In stages I let go of HIM, And then my cousins and excess baggage friends, and negativity and then picked up some great things along the way. And it wasn't until I left the past in the past, did I find the hidden path home. It was always there, now, finally uncovered.

Welcome to sleepy hallow

When night falls the headless horsemen rides into the darkness, ravishing me, beheading me, leaving me mindless, lifeless. When night falls the headless horseman seduces me and claims me his corpse bride, and we both ride into the dark looking for the one thing that fills the void.
I live in sleep hallow.
Welcome.
Thanks for visiting.
Im usually just waiting for company.
Im usually here all alone.
Im usually so sleepy. So hallow.
Im usually dead.


Now in days the headless horseman is so angry with me. So frustrated with me. If he could talk he would tell me I've lost my drive to search. He'd warn me that if we stopped looking now we'd never be complete. He wants his head. But now in days I like not having mine. I don't have to worry about my hairstyle and make up, and I never have to brush my teeth. It saves money. Yes, being headless is very economical. But I can't see. And I can't speak. I used to look in the mirror. I don't know who I am anymore. sometimes I miss my head.

A few nights ago I got really lonely and no one was in town. The horseman beheaded all of the townsmen. I was so sleepy, but had insomnia. So I waited for him.

When night fell, he called to me. Riding through the stark empty night and ravishing me. Beheading me over and over again.

I don't miss my head at all.
Im so sleepy.
Im so hallow.

welcome to sleepy hallow new comers.
No one ever visits me.
No one is welcomed here anymore.
Because I ride into the night slaughtering all those that come to town.
Because I've sold my soul to him. Because he is the only one who knows where my head is.

Sometimes I miss my head.
Im so sleepy.
Im so hallow.

THE ULTIMATE ORGASM OF LIFE IS DEATH.

Today something finally inspired me. Something finally drove me to write. To release these thoughts to a public sphere that may help me organize them into something coherent and maybe something less tragic. But I feel utter tragedy nearing. I feel Shakespearean and as I look into the mirror I feel more and more like a murdering bastard. I see Lady Macbeth. Out Out you damn spot, damned spot I say out! But I am already tainted. Stained. Ruined.

In my solitude these past few weeks I have started to loath myself again. Returning to an unhealthy solitude and pushing myself further away from the contacts that can take me out of this self-inflicted inferno. Lately, for some reason the thought of having human contact with anyone makes me cringe. The only contacts welcomed are those of cyberspace, the space where I am simultaneously near and far to humanity. Work has been especially unbearable because i am so sick of pretending I'm happy being a card slave. I have sold my soul to papyrus and my blood has dried on the creases of each birthday and holiday wish.

"Unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top full Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall"

I want not to feel.

I want to defy the natural order of humankindness.

I want to be hallow.

I want to detach myself from everything that makes me woman.

I want to murder all my inclinations to love.

I don't want to need love.

And yet at my lowest points that is all I can think of.

I have driven myself mad with lovers malady and yet with cupids constant torment, I crave it. Am i just a masochist? Wanting cupid to continue finding novel methods of torture, to lock me away in a lovers torture chamber and let him do with me what he wills?

I am uncertain.

In the absence of love, its good and its bad, not feeling bliss nor heartache just deep hollowness, I lack drive. I haven't gone to the gym all month. I haven't dieted all month. I haven't job searched all month. I haven't open my GRE books all month. I have done nothing but complain. My days go in and out with such lack of meaning that I might as well be dead. Am I not already dead?

In my pseudo-suicidal thoughts a sign came to me.

My sister calls me to tell me that a very good friend of hers whom I have heard about for most of my youth, had passed. He was only 42.

I kept saying "wow" but in all honesty was detached from her experience. Momentarily the thought had erased from my mind.

God doesn't give up. He made sure I was going to get the hint. Even if it meant his face in a burning bush.

My personal trainer texts me to ask me why I haven't been to the gym in so long. He was worried. When I told him about my lack of motivation he told me sometimes we have to make ourselves live even when we want to give up. He confided in me that he wanted to give up because his brother had just passed. But he wouldn't allow himself to drown in the sorrows of his loss.

As if that weren't enough. I insensitively text one of my best friends to bash her about the cloud of death that follows her, seeming to forget that her brother had died just a year ago and that in a week would be the anniversary of his death.

I have become Lady Macbeth.

In wanting to be her, to become insensitive, to no longer feel...I have lost touch with the things that make me human.

That was primitive of me.

That was so demonic.

Double double toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

I'm a [B]-witch.

I have to wake up and smell the potion. I am here on this earth, alive and I should consider myself so lucky not only am I alive but the people I love are too. How strong are these people, my pt, my bf, to endure the loss of their brothers. And I grew scared noticing that DOUBLE DOUBLE HAS TOILED IN TROUBLE...double brothers...and prayed that my brother would be okay. I had just came back from his house and he was not well. And he just turned 43 this week...and the previous death was of a 42 year old, a heart attack, something my brother is susceptible to for multiple reasons including heredity and weight. I was desperate to go see him yesterday, uncertain the reason why.

And I wonder if this lack of passion, this lack of love, would come to an end with the tragic death of my brother. If maybe this would give me the solution to lack of feeling. The greatest heartbreak. The most intense emotion. The most unconditional everlasting love. and the ultimate orgasm of life---death.

WHEN DRAMA ENSUES, WHAT DO YOU DO?

My life has been playing out far from what I would call a fiction story.

There is no drama.

Well...until a few days ago.

I fear that my disappointment and disgust with my new found humdrum existence absent from drama and excitement, replaced by routine and responsibility, has resulted in my subconscious sabotaging and the disruption of the equilibrium and tranquility of my life.

Maybe it is because i function better when things are going all wrong, when I'm nervous and anxious. Maybe i am a masochist, who finds pleasure in her self-annihilation. Yes, maybe I am just a masochist. Did I know that this would turn out so wrong and did I plan it purposefully so that it would play out like so? And could I even perhaps be a sadist? To go to great lengths to hurt another, to destroy their happiness and lives? Did I do this because deep inside I wanted to hurt him? I've been known to be vengeful, and i have hurted others because misery likes company.

I am misery.

I am lonely.

But....

This is just me speculating, playing devils advocate, because these actions were not done with these abstract ideas and motives in mind. No. They were done simply under the influence of that evil substance that gets me into trouble way too often. It is because the loneliness has been hacking away at my self-sufficiency and self-contentment. Maybe it is because I am like a desert, burning with passion, but no man lives long enough to cross. My search for this man perhaps had driven me to make such a mistake.

I have grown increasingly intolerant of men. None can fill the void, quench the thirst, tame the wild fires that burn within. No. No man excites me. I want no man.

It seems that I am in what some may call a "dry spell." And it is not because I cannot find someone to put out the fire...so many stand in line armored in gear and their hose erect ready to blast the flames away...but as they approach me with such erect hose I burn out even before the task is complete, no longer needing their masculine potency for amidst their eagerness is my reoccurant impotency. My libido, is dead. But this sexual suicide, this masturbatory massacre has no occurred without logical motive.

My sex-drive death is the direct result of my passion impotency. I have lost the passion for everything in my life. Nothing gets me to that orgasmic, climactic euphoria that results when you do something is the throws of passion. We are driven by passion, whether that be sexual passions, relationship passions, love, heartbreak, sorrowful passions, jealous rage, work passions, dream passions, life passions, hobby passions, goal passions and the list continues endlessly. Because I lack the passion essential in all facets of life I feel dead. And it seems that my libido is the physical manifestation that I am dying inside. The flames still burn but when someone comes to help, it all turns to ashes, just to reignite only moments later. This can only be the torturous punishments of the Grecian gods....Oh Zeus I plead to thee, the King of the gods, spare me your humble mortal servant, for I feel like Atlas punished with world among her shoulders, the endlessness of my torment.

And now...for the actual facts.

What happened?

I am stuck in a cycle. Always returning to where I began it seems. There are a host of psychological reasons I am sure I like to live in cycles. Perhaps I scared to completely move on and leave all the past and my roots and childhood behind. Perhaps the personification of Ryer always calls to me and I eagerly follow behind. Maybe I still search for my comfort zone and security blanket now that my mother is so far away. Maybe I just don't want to grow up. I am not sure. But I continue this cycle and found myself exactly where I left it all behind just months ago.

When this blog began I was heartbroken. I was getting over a HIM that had left me for another woman whom he claimed to love. I was thrown away like trash, if you recall. When all this had happened with baby-momma-esque drama and phone calls and threats there was finally peace. I was stuck in the middle of the ghetto-fabulous life of which I was never meant to be a part of. I am far from what people would consider ghetto. After CEO's and closure meetings I was finally free of HIM. The truth is I do not have an ounce of love for him. I do not want him sexually. I do not want him at all. Or at least I didn't think so....but 4 nights ago I made a mistake of calling him. With a failed attempt to put my phone on private, because technology smells fear, a certain female picked up. And the rest is history....literally history...history repeats itself. So now I am stuck in this foolish drama because of my foolishness. I really just wanted to say hi, as warped as that may seem. I am warped and so jaded. Why did I do that?

I wish I had the answers. I really am not sure why? Did I secretly desire him? Deep inside am I still craving him? Because honestly I thought I was through. But sometimes the subconscious has a way of crawling to the surface when alcohol is involved. What does this all mean?

So now I am dealing with the consequences of something that seems so irrelevant, so childish, so insignificant. I told her it wasn't what she thought...but i guess that's what all mistresses would say, wouldn't they?

I dreamt of it all last night and she was going to kill me....I RAN!!!!! When I woke up my heart was palpitating out of my chest and into my ears...and I was panting so hard...I didn't want to sleep anymore when I awoke...I don't want to sleep anymore.

I have decided to give up these fantasies and stop wanting my life to play out like a story because it never ends well. All great stories end in tragedy...the hero/the protagonist always dies. This tragic epic will end like all great Shakespearean tragedies....Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello...we all die...literally and symbolically.

After this situation I am reminded of the good that comes from humdrum existence, of living reality. Today I live reality. No more hypothetical situations and allowing the imagination to take over the rationality.

and the irony of it all is that all i wanted was for it to "blink blue and it finally be you"

now

I stare at my phone hoping it blinks green

green go

green leave me alone

green start anew

green life

green real life

blink green

blink green

blink green.

Still Searching

I have been feeling less than inisightful the past month...maybe this is why I haven't decided to write in so long. Usually some kind of inspiration takes me by surprise and ravishes my mind, resulting in a manic expression of written form...but now in days there are not many things that inspire my creativity. Well, maybe my fashion creativity continues to soar, but so has my writers block. So with that said, I am just leaving my print to remind myself that I am still alive. That I am not yet dead inside...although dying I may very well be.

But as of now I am still alive...

THE RETURN TO NORMALCY

Maybe it was because yesterday I decided to dress in 1950's fashion, with a poodle a-line skirt with teal, gold and orange flowers stemming from the bottom, teal belt to create an empire waist illusion and a teal blouse, pearls, hair rolled up intersecting into a bun. I felt like a desperate housewife from the leave it to beaver sitcom living the American dream of white Pickett fences in suicidal suburbia and Pleasantville and wanting so bad to be in color when i haven't evolved that far yet, haven't advanced and still stuck in black and white....

Color me

Color me

Color me

I want to color.

in the lines.

out of the lines.

To know what life in technicolor feels like...to know what I really look like. Who I really am.

Yes, it must have been this very reason that I decided to reject this return to normalcy andFordism assembly lines and recycled lives...I don't want to recycle my days...I want newness everyday.

Last night was a very difficult one for me, given I had to reevaluate the recycled waste my life has become. After self-loathing and self-annihilation, I woke up with great ideas in mind. No matter how distant goals may seem, how uncertain you are about the things you want, you have to fight for them. Progress is a series of small movements that lead to full, big colored picture. If innovators were too scared or too lazy or too unsure about color...we would still see the world through black and white lenses. I just can't allow myself to exist in such a limited medium. Imagine all the colors that exist today...even just in a crayola crayon box...

The other day I colored with my nephew and our painted worlds had scarlet, and asparagus, and mac and cheese, and shocking pink, and forest green, and just classic pink and blue, but also indigo and exotic shades of the regular mundane tones. I want to be black and white and classic sometimes, but I need the option, the variation to be brick red and salmon...sometimes I just need to be salmon...

Today I started to color my life.

And I can be found somewhere over the rainbow.

ATTN: CONSUME ME

Quick thought: I love to be consumed.

As I prepared for the night ahead, deciding that after watching Public enemies I was in love with 1930's and 1950's fashion especially hairstyle; I adorned myself in finger waves and a black tulip mini skirt, a polka dot 3/4 sleeve puff shoulder blouse tucked in, pearls with a antique brooch, and a cocktail hat with a hot pink flower and black veil, totally modern interpretation of vintage and a shocking pink ruffled peep-toe, t-strap shoe. Red lipstick...oh yes! This is by far the best outfit of all my creations...I wonder how could a woman like this, not be loved? How can a treasure like this not be treasured? My fellow bloggers, if you were so lucky to witness this outfit first handily...you would surely agree that the man who leaves me...must be out of his mind!

When I get dressed I imagine reactions and how the world around me might consume me...I just like the thought of being an object, a consumable commodity, an edible entity...when I get dressed I want to be consumed...

Today I will be consumed I have decided...yes...and sometimes there is nothing wrong with wanting to be desired and then to be that thing that satisfies that craving.