how does that make you feel?....
a picture of a portly man in an oversized armchair as a "soul searching" boy in his 20s is trying to find what he's "meant" to do... as he breaks down at times (between adjusting the medication levels of your seroquels and ativans) the question of such simplicity starts weaving in and out of your mind to this bearded grey checkered wearing man, combing his fingers through his beard.
fucking a- welcome to growing up in L.A....
but.... Brett Easton Ellis... learn how to shut the fuck up, seriously your redundancy is- Christ, stop making yourself a one note billygoat and that's ... that's a complacency I had misjudged if you hold that.
Clueless meets KIDS...
YES WELCOME HOME... ECHO ECHO ECHO... jazzie.
when the CLUELESS finally meet the KIDS... you know how much I get off proving people wrong. Dad- by proving you wrong, I'm proving you right, it makes sense as the two of us- beauty and the beast, enter the boxing ring too often for words to express..
"HAVE yOUR THERAPIST CALL MY THERAPIST!"
(my father and I's only means of healthy communication as my mother and Sheldon Goodkind our conduits...)
as typical of a phrase as salad on the side... teenage wasteland of broken and shattered souls with holes... or finally... I stand, fuck; I hold myself up trying to steady myself as a young colt more days than one could even fathom to imagine. But there ARE some of us... more than you think- that want to and DO prove you wrong. We did have the odds stacked against us, burn your scars of "abandonment issues", and "oppositional defiance disorders", and the various others the PhD's and the bullshitters with Daddy's doctor degrees I gaze at with a smirk or a snide glance, the moment I size them up if their intellect is anywhere near my excitement to toy with it...
As Los Angeles has earned it's tags and stars of glory... it's many horror stories... and tales of the rich and poor, with blood shed on marble floors... we have demons. We all have voids within ourselves.. little holes if you will, that we try; furiously and frantically at times when they pop up in your face as you mentally shut down and run with fear ....
where you turn it off, and feel at ease as the pre-formentioned crawls back into the numb void space you created in the crevice somewhere in your head... that only crawl back out if the demons are not released... so they are fed instead.
they fester. they grow... from the bottom of your spine you can feel certain memories, and feelings, fucking just that one picture, moment, word- whatever the fuck it was and is that gives that... crawling up your spine- out of your eyes, and your mouth fills with blood from biting your tongue all week.
so the question now....
what do you do?
I get them out using art. art... your five senses your senseless!
finding my "safe place" with Dr. Janetsky session after session started to break me apart in our EMDR treatments as I said, I don't have anywhere I can think of that no one and nothing can harm me... should I cry out can I go home and where's home, or are you my mother at your face instead?..
She is my safe place... Toni is my safe place... and so is the wood floors... to that I am beyond grateful for BSJ... that, that knowledge has saved me more than I can credit...
so boderline personality disorder... wear it with pride... because apparantly is disorderly to "feel" too much... to be too empathetic... what bullshit. I have too much heart... fine- and good...
so my demons... God knows how many and how deep mine are- I started to scream out before the slashes and punches at pivotal moments in a child's development... had started to be observed by the tiny little bellarina.... that would sneak through the formal dining areas side salon, to the spiral staircase by daddy's office doors.. closed with an authority of the mahogany...
When it all started to come out...
as soon as I was walking without any hands or wobbles don't even think about it Nana!! I had my tiny hands reaching for the bar until madame noticed my eyes full of fire and excitement as I didn't want to be good at dancing... ABSOLUTELY NOT!
I WANTED TO BE THE BEST>.. be... perfect.
published as an artist in programs of this tiny 4 1/2 old oddity, or the 6 year old that had more fiourettes, with technique I would correct, and take notes in my big crayons any word madame said.. it's where I received my praise. I wasn't good- I was... I was flown overseas, cast to see internationally my inner screams of WHO?! I DARE YOU? WHERE? As Little Red Riding hood, I had walking pneumonia upon returning before the start of 3rd grade, but academics.. don't even think about fucking with that. I was bred from beauty and the beast... a Harvard Family that doesn't fuck around and the asian F... is a rule of the house.
Age 9, I tried screaming out my demons that lead to my next editorial I need to get out about the kids... at 9 I was trying to scream I want him to stop; no it's not ok and not normal. Help? As I walked in the halls of empty home with pats on my head of we're so proud of you bella! Toting me around to sign some fucking books... as the child's title for her school creative writing... had lead to still haunt me until this day.
I can't even type it, yes me... brutality of my honesty... I just can't... it makes me that upset. It's so- it's out there but my shaky hands and watered eyes will not speak it, but not hide it...
Dance... my god- madame if I didn't "connect" to a song... there wouldn't even be a feeble attempt to speak the word solo, forget it. But for some reason... the only two whom I not only liked... but craved... and love / loved (I know Mom the past tense pretense... I'm still working on it)..
my mom and madame. madame would not push buttons of mine... but knew- could feel when she would see me either puffing my chest as I glared at the "pathetic" repeats attempting to make the competition team... and give me a dark number that I would just be engulfed in... roaring on the floor... hungry for more..
when she noticed- when she saw my insides worn outside... with my fear and loathing... my body already had the muscle memory to not even forget to remember the plie through fourth to that triple rambdejon Jasminette!! When the sound started to blare in the bare watch room... it was my trigger madame had instilled in me...
this piece (I know it was emmy nominated.. the win? I have to confirm to make such a statement) but THAT'S how much an art such as movement is respected... to the totality of virtual realities of facades built for the lights camera action!
because baby... you're a star..
no.. I'm just a creative kid who has a lot of heart.
how honest can you or would you will you be? this couldn't be more naked or stripped down if I tried. Proofread that's it- everything else just came out of my mind and onto the keyboard and I will publish it without and over thought.. ok impulsively I'll own that... maybe that's something for you and I to work on. But as long as you're happy... who cares.
just get it out.