more frank and bobby

NSFW language.

my favorite things

i’ve seen internet blogging memes that focus on thankfulness as a central theme.  these are typically done at regularly scheduled intervals often leaving the writers pressed, to gently put it, against the negative force of life experience to expound upon anything positive.

since i’m not in creative writing class anymore and i find most external prodding to be intrusive, i simply fail to participate in so very many blogging memes including the one i have just described.  you are also likely to never find me plugging another writer.  you might instead see my silent nod, in the form of addition to my others section.  i cannot expect that i will ever have to agree to anyone’s disclosure agreement in order to pursue product review net-cred since it is all too likely that i would deem most consumer products (save tech) to be frivolous.  you might often alternately find me being active or paralyzed within my favorite group of authors in unpredictable calendar cycles.

i would like to just say once more that i don’t come here for good things. if there is a good thing, i’m far too involved in it to sit here.  i can barely sit, physically… period, much less sit here if life chooses (i’ve relinquished responsibility for these twists and turns) to throw a coin at me.

so here i am.  hmm… what the fuck is wrong with me now, we wonder.  everything, nothing… i want to reverse this thankful vibe.  i want a completely sarcastic thanks list.  not a passive aggressive (no thanks) list.  i want to tell you, at 8.5 this evening what i am most un-thankful for with a sharp tongue and bile spewing voice…

i hate ambiguity.  i don’t like it in films.  i don’t like it in art.  i don’t like it in my stairwell.  i despise the withholding of power that is purposefully hoarded for myriad reasons, both frivolous and well withstanding.  i seek to destroy any wishy washy bullshit from my life.  but, i don’t wish to destroy the provider of that muse.

amuse.  amusement.  amazement.  twitterpation.   here are my 5 minute list makers.  here is what constitutes my favorite elements of dysfunctionallity.

1. the blackout.  so.. you were saying…?  “-goodnight.”

2. the false pretense identification. i understand… what the fuck are they talking about.  i’ve got to go check my email.

3. problem rivalry. there are small potatoes and then there are the yams.  not just any yams, there are the chinese purple yams.  the incan true species of hundreds.  don’t hand me that sugary sam…

4. problem hierarchy. largest inventories rate higher in scale, proportion and quantity may duel well with quality.

5. silence. the far reaching coping mechanism that he refuses to see as a crippling disability to our progress.    silence, aversion and diversion tend to favor the head on course that is and has always been my favored and unpopular methodology in dealing with.. you know…. things.  everythings.

6.  isolation. the idea that our suffering is separate and should be designated in prerequisite ways so profoundly void of understanding, trust and hope.

OH FUCK.  that’s six.

goodnight, my three readers.  may yours be good.

plauge mass

plague mass. i mean the density of my plagues, the sum total of my many illnesses (they should really change that to illni ((save the illinoisans uses for it)) ) and not diamonda galás and her valiant campaign for hiv awareness and acceptance.  i’m not saying prayer for my hair loss, for instance..

i’m keeping track of the mass of it.  one fist full, two fists full, five.  in as many days.  my goodness, that’s odd. and now i can’t pin it up like before.  i actually backcombed it like they did in the 1960′s and…. it just agitated the whole process, and me, as i watched my hair fall out of my head for the last week.

i’m also sick in the lungs and sinus. 7 days sick.

i guess i’ve been too absent to mention that i had an mri and the result showed clearly degenerated discs. one entirely dark disc.  so the massive pain has been adjusted with norco to an only slightly debilitating pain.  cannot sit down or lift anything.  can walk five miles.  cannot get into car afterward…

i’ve started physical therapy.  i’m so weak in my right side from limping that i could barely perform some of the tasks asked of me in the orientation.  pushing against another person’s force is not something that i can do with my right limbs.  apparently the weakness goes all the way into my right arm.  hmmm…

after just recently stabilizing my mood and medications i am finding that health problems are putting me back in the hole.  two bad wrists and the back gone.  hair falling out with a scalp covered in hard cysts that interferes entirely with going “sinead” again.  even with some cysts surgically removed, scars still reduce or eliminate the possibility that i will just “rock it” bald ever again.

sigh/vomit.

more simple solutions

again- NSFW- language

you can call me lindsay

lohan.

or just “get loh”… for short. i read a list of scripts for that doll and i’ve got ‘er beat, i do.
it’s been worse since i discovered that i have a degenerated disc or “dark” disc that has flared like a chinese firework sending unintended sparks of pain down my legs and up to my shoulders in an out of control and startling spray of wild fire.

i have always had back pain. this is just new. i made sure it was documented in film, the beginning of my demise, so that i might be ensured to be insured or conversely certain of my disability status should i need to employ an alternate route of employment or entitlement. i’ve been chewed up and spit out the food pipe. it’s as clear as day.. or night… as my mri would convince you.

oh, and i’ve got a cavity.. in my tooth… my second one ever. what does a little more drilling style pain matter?

so.. for the “get loh”, reference, i mean to describe only the contents of my purse, not my behavior. being that i have a 2.5 year old daughter i carry all of my medications in my purse at all times. there is no room for error with some of the medications that i am prescribed and my little monkey has never met a child-proof cap that she couldn’t figure. so when i need the E-phone or a credit card or my keys, there are about 7 bottles of controlled substances in the way. sometimes, i have gum too, but for the most part a junkie would rob me.. and have a nice three days.

it’s a bit of a mirror looking into a bag like that that happens to be yours. the “c” or “n” at the beginning of each bottle number makes you feel a little far out. your name on all the bottles and the tally of your daily swallows makes you feel a little far out. even the closest of people can’t help it. i’m in my thirties, after all, not my seventies. it commands visual attention, often displayed as wide-eyed staring with deafening silence. don’t get me going on airport security… this is why i have sought out second opinions about my regime. i have been doubly assured that i will not suddenly die from this schedule of medicine. i’ve been told that there are far worse cases, longer lists and much more dire situations. i know that it’s true. my lohan is to your jackson. i just don’t want to be layne staley sometimes. it’s wise beyond strife and circumstance that i do not live alone. curse it.

so, to change the subject, we’re back to hell again. it has been declared my fault because i am the designated crazy person. i’m clear about that. i’m assured that my sensitivity to his drastic mood “swing” (as if it were a pleasant ride of some sort with a carnie taking your height by eyeball) caused me to interrogate him, beg for honesty from him and failing all other footholds, tell him to go to bed (get bent!). two weeks and three days we made it. we’ve not often fared so well. even my talk doctor was convinced that his resolve was not an act since it had lasted such a significant amount of time within our scope.

♫ qué sera, get fucked! whatever is now will be. the future ‘ain’t ours to fist, qué sera get, fucked!♫

the mood. the mood of doom. don’t blame me, i can’t drink proper on all these meds to even conceive of screwing us up this bad. i know what i felt. what i felt was… the old. the not forgotten old damage of our new time. there was jealousy and mistrust and distaste coming from his earthly soul. i’m not deaf/dumb/blind and the last of descriptions that you could coin for me would have to be, “imperceptive.” i am confident that i read the book correctly.

what heartbreak. what sorrow, what shame! what horror, what shock, what betrayal and antipathy.

all mine alone. i want to kick myself in the ass for allowing a single hope to build again. i’ll do better without anymore hope. i’m going to subtract it from my repertoire.

the long awaited too good to be true update post of infinate garbage

here you are, if you were wondering, the ultimate- the penultimate failure of judgment i was designated in advance to enact has arrived. i have the clock ticking now on the surveillance.

ha! hahahahahaha!! i lost my own bet. i make good on them too. here’s yer 5 bucks, yer snoot, yer own personal accomplishment in righteousness.

i am a moron.

i’m the fool. the rider waite fool.

upside down, as an artist, things dooooo look a little more composed. i’ve got it now. you’re sick.

you’re sick.

i’m trying to light matches in the rain.

simplicity

i made a short movie. NSFW. (language.)

it’s been almost two weeks of quiet simplicity within my home. all i had to do was freak out, proper. i said the magic words and… voilà. peace. for now.

more soon.