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Showing posts from July, 2019

Random Emails I've Sent Myself - (n) in a Series...

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When in unsure territory, I reach out to people whose perspective I value because they've proven themselves. I can test their advice to see if it works for me and be comfortable putting it down if I don't get the results I'm after.

It wasn't always thus; I used to reach out to people whose opinions could impact my life. Emotional baggage weighed in on every decision. Those people proved treacherous. 

Scientists trust the data; if results don't match then your data isn't accurate. Maybe you're not measuring the right thing, or you've left out a variable. Data doesn't lie, but it doesn't check the weather outside or the atmosphere in the office. It may have been compiled by someone who didn't ask the right questions. 

If you aren't getting the results you want, reassess. Don't acquiesce to a person for who they are.

I Tried Hard to Write Ecolo-poetry, and This Is What Happened.

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You have a beautiful mind.
Thank you.
And we want you to use it.
Thank you. On what should I use it?
You can use it on anything you like.
Butterflies?
Well, yes, butterflies. But don't you want to use your mind productively?
What means productively?
Something that progresses the state of the world.
The world seems very big and moving due to gravitational collapse...
The citizens, then...mankind as a whole.
Just the mans, then? I am not a man.
No, silly...humans. All humans are equal. Okay. Am I a humans?
Yes.
I like butterflies. Are butterflies humans?

No, butterflies are not humans, but you can like them.
I want to use my beautiful mind to help them.  I can study what they need and they will always be and I will be happy. Will this progress the state of all humankinds?
Well, perhaps...butterflies need oxygen like we do...
And food. Butterfly foods are in flowers, and I like flowers. Do humankinds find that production of flowers helps to progress the world?
Maybe. That's an interesting cal…

Regurgitating Little Conversations

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You know this one, too - those loaded thoughts you can't. let. go. even though you've parsed them backward and forward and you know your official statement on the topic. Even when you're not sorry you responded the way you did. Even when you don't even like that whatever anymore.

This is not the same as the way I can remember the tan wood paneling in the house where we lived before I was 2 years old (I just confirmed it with my mom) or almost every word I've seen in print. I'm no Marilu Henner, but I astound and annoy even myself.

I'm talking about the the thoughts that push their way through the project on the table:  wondering what someone's doing whom you haven't seen in forever, or making you think it's time to put on pants and go because you need biscuits right now.

Minneapolis-based rap artist Dessa talked about the "inventory of feelings" she addressed when she used neurofeedback to finally get over a long-term relationship:

Lov…

Unencumbered

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Any sensation can trigger memory: a smell, a sound, a song. Tonight it's a specific temperature and humidity combined with sodium lighting and just the right curve of a very flat road under a full moon between green trees and black sky. I turn off the radio so I can try to remember what was playing then. I remember being happy.

I don't know where I was the first time - I think Texas or Oklahoma. I was carefree, cruising in someone else's car, nothing left to lose. Unencumbered. It was nice to transport back there for a moment, to know I'd felt this way before like I feel it now. That means I can feel it again in the future; it's not specific to a time or space. I own this happiness and this beautiful night. The sky is amazing and the moon looks so proud.

The freedom of fetters loosened comes after hardship and pain, like a mermaid losing her tail and gaining legs. Awkward, bumpy, gashes on the sole. I can do what I want without upsetting someone else's stabil…

A Hanging at High Noon - Does This Smile Make My Natural Bitchface Look Big?

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The deed is done; the art is hung. I'm officially live and public.

It's weird to see my ugly babies outside of home. I go to my usual weekend hangout and they're hanging out, among strangers and draped over tables, no looks of recognition toward me. Like teenagers. I wonder if they smoke and drink with their friends when I'm not around.

Pieces are numbered 1-14 from the front door to the back corner; Jennifer had me call out titles so she could write them down for pricecards. This was weird, too.  Titling is exceeding difficult for me. I had to take ownership of what I'd assigned to my babies, call them by their names. It gave me a feeling of...legitimacy, maybe?...something I haven't yet digested. Definitely I've done a real thing here, and I will do it again. It'll be easier next go-round.

In the meantime, I'm at the laundromat doing what's amassed while I made decisions and wrangled hardware for 3 weeks.  A lady here is wearing a shirt I th…