the pelican

once more with feeling

the words of others

where did that come from?

so many influences. written heard watched viewed.

who said what in what context where did i get that from when why how?

i am a plagiarist.

well my ego is, that's for sure.

as a kid, growing up, so many times i lifted bits and pieces, good turns of phrase, song lyrics, always absorbing everything like a sponge. sometimes it was conscious and deliberate. often it wasn't. often it just seemed natural. couldn't tell cliché from saying from quote from song.

writing papers and things in high school, grabbing stuff out of books for reports, sometimes they got credit, sometimes they didn't. i was a word thief. an idea thief.

but heh heh at least i had good taste. or so i thought.

well when it is conscious and deliberate, i guess the harsh reality of it is i consider that stealing. when it is unconscious, i suppose i consider that more of an influence.

once, as an adult, was in the midst of a long argument in a newsgroup. the only newsgroup really that i'd ever been much involved in. a philosophy newsgroup. and i got into this battle, this ever so typical battle, this trap of nonsense, the socialist/capitalist dichotomy thang, and in my ego's need to be right, i started stealing from old schoolwork, and at one point in the discussion, one particular post, think i directly swiped a couple paragraphs from an old school book.

some kind of desperation. can't really explain it. no excuse for it. the shame of it still plagues me, five or six years later. a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. and i knew it at the time, or at least realized it almost immediately after i'd done it.

and it started a panic in me that sparked one of my great schizophrenic events. it wasn't long before everything was talking to me again. guess that event just cranked up my fear full volume. fear that i was inauthentic. a fraud.

it was all about self-doubt that pushed me to a moment of cheating. believing that someone else would have to speak for me somehow. as if i was incapable of saying things myself. it was out of fear. and the need to have all the answers. the right answer. to be right. ego. pure ego.

funny though, about a year and half ago or so, my sis and i started a little very short-lived bloggy, and i did a little review of the da vinci code, and about three or four days later, i found large chunks of my little review almost word for word in someone else's blog. but i didn't get upset, or feel cheated. it kind of tickled. flattered maybe. it was kind of funny.

and guess maybe i had a certain amount of compassion for him because i understood from whence that sort of need arises.

but i didn't get all I ME MINE about it all. no squawking about intellectual property. that's just me. i realize many people do feel afraid of things being stolen. i do not grip my words so tightly. perhaps that is not wise. i don't really know.

with so much information coming in from so many places, often it does seem impossible to track what came from where, what sparked which thing, which phrase or word of piece came from whence.

how easily you can watch it in others. hearing people repeat what they just read in the paper or just heard on the radio or just watched on television. how much influence these things have on us. the brainwashing. the manipulations. the creation of reality. the spin. the view presented.

how quickly we latch onto things.

how easily a mind is influenced. swayed.

but when i did it consciously, that was different.

sometimes i find myself searching for words of wisdom. and always know it when i find it, because it speaks to my heart. rings in my chest. tingles.

but if know it when i find it, why search for it? why not just say it myself? why not know it? why look for something to say it for me that is essentially already in me?

ever know a quote-a-holic? the answer to everything is a freaking quote.

i've been one. heck i am one sometimes. every discussion i find myself saying, aristotle said this, or william james said that, jung was all about this, and it's because of hegel that marx said that and on and on an on it goes. endlessly.

sometimes it might seem like name-dropping. yet it doesn't seem right to discuss ideas without giving credit. but sometimes it seems as though that creates an artificial authority somehow. so and so said that, so it carries weight and clout and truth and worth.

sometimes i doubt my ability to think for myself.

sometimes i think i am a just a complete phoney.

sometimes i doubt absolutely everything.

sometimes i think i am just a combination of things and there is no me.

and maybe that's about right, really.

yet my ego has some desire to believe it is unique and special and that it must create something of pure original thought.

how many books how many films how many things are all the same darn pattern, same story, same trip, same kind of journey, it's all been done before. a hero with a thousand faces. just so many archetypes. so many patterns. so many combinations.

but whose words are these? how did i come to be? am i not the sum of everything i have read and heard and experienced and learned and shared and eaten and processed and regurgitated?

everything is inter-connected.

inter-dependent.

intertwined.

juxtaposed.

within a certain context.

what can be separated out and held out, isolated as the original? chicken or egg? what is truth and what is fiction?

my brain hurts.

but my heart knows.

just need to listen to it more.

posted by: limine at 18:33 | link | comments (10) |

not with a whimper

there i was on sunday, thinking about how much baseball is like martial arts. amazing quick and practiced reflexes arising out of pure meditative action, mindful, present, aware, long periods of watching, waiting, and then suddenly lightning fast action. very zen very tai chi very kung fu very karate and yet very judo and very fast very dance very sudden and pure and doing the right thing at the right moment while anticipating an opponent's move in the nick of time recognizing strategy and estimating trajectories and really very simple and yet so infinitely complex on so many levels and well anyway.

there i was thinking about baseball and martial arts and doing laundry and watching Mystic Pizza when at about 3:30 or so in the afternoon, the sky turned kind of yellowish, the wind picked up, clouds rolled in and we had a thunderstorm.

in february. in colorado. a thunderstorm.

and sort of felt like a tornado was imminent.

yeah the weather has been getting really weird and changing more and more each year, still lots of people prefer to pretend there's nothing happening, throw up their hands in the air there's nothing i can do about it sort of don't give me that doomsday crap i don't miss the glaciers i hate driving in the snow anyway and so what if all these rocks up in the high mountains that hadn't seen the light of day in thousands of years are now roasting in the hot sun and there's no more clear clean glacier water to melt and roll down the mountains and there's a huge drought in place what do you expect me to do about it honestly so what if we're having avalanches because there's no base and not enough snow and warming too quickly after a dump and everybody's just making too big a deal out of it it's only weather it's not the end of the world or anything we got snow making machines at the ski resorts and we'll just start importing water or something who knows.

well whatever.

it was a thunderstorm in february. in colorado.

and it sort of blew in whirls of old leaves and dust and dry snapping branches and clumps of dirt and dead brown grass. something slightly sinister came storming down out of the mountains into the valley and whipped the cats up into a frenzy and sent them all dashing and crashing into the house as the door blew shut and the rain started to hit the windows. there was just so much electricity to it. everything felt prickly and charged and buzzy and off. just off. not right. more than strange. out of joint. more than the fact that it's february and it should be cold with ice and snow on the ground. it was more than just another event in a string of uncharacteristic weather phenomena.

it was a great burst of something wicked this way comes. something violent. something sudden and decisive and powerful. something with a bang. something final something serious something scary something soon.

well so the sky cleared up again and the unseasonably warm beautiful day returned just as quickly as it had been so rudely interrupted.

continued with the laundry. cats settled down for their long hard day outside playing naps. made dinner. turned on the tube to watch what was supposed to be a special show about the first five years of saturday night live but turned out to be a long and endless series of remembrances of producers and writers and executives and very few if hardly any actual chunks of the old show in just some sort of heaping hunk of nostalgia while i had been hoping for a little samurai optometrist, you know some land shark, some wild and crazy guys.

and in the midst of this stuff, our regularly scheduled but largely disappointing program was interrupted with local news that a certain local legend had blown his brains out news at ten.

can't say he was really my hero, or that i was really his fan. but so i'd read him. throughout junior high and high school i read such things as rolling stone even though i much preferred creem and bomp and trouser press.

used to have a bright yellow bad craziness t-shirt. a steadman drawing of that one particular drive through the desert in a convertible chased by a swarm of bats.

and in college in the early 80's, as an english major took a course in, get this, literature and social sensitivity. we read a little tolstoy. hayakawa. ginsburg. pirsig. and yup, fear and loathing in las vegas. the prof was long in the hair looking just a little too old to still be a hippy at that point in time had those patches on the elbows of his corduroy jacket thin little mustache specializing in romantic poetry coleridge and byron and shelley and looking down his nose at spikey punky me in my high top converse and fatigues and clash t-shirt. and so with a smirk and a wink as he spoke about rebels and their place or lack thereof in society, what art was, what it was to be provocative to write with a freedom that tore through the fabric of established norms, pushed boundaries and maybe just maybe even actually said something that might not be possible for the reader to agree with but forced a consideration and a tolerance or at the very least an awareness of some things they just didn't want to see. made them uncomfortable enough to laugh and to squirm. rattled cages. tested the stretchability of their tiny educated minds to entertain alternative thought forms and radical possibilities. madness and genius. all of it.

and there was something about the doctor's writing, about the rhythms, about the twists and turns and sarcastic dramatic flair of sudden brief short statements amidst long strung out links of clauses and phrases and endless silliness in deadpan life or death seriousness with a certain fictional honesty. the absurdity factor with more than a hint of profundity and some apocalyptic vision and it was then while reading fear and loathing that i realized i was really in college and not in high school anymore.

and it was then that i knew there was much so much that i needed to read. it was then that i knew this education thing wasn't so much something i needed to rebel against, but something that could provide me with a lot of knowledge and information if i so chose to make something out of it. it was then that i realized i could actually learn something when i didn't necessarily feel compelled to judge and discard and turn up my nose at things that didn't agree with my limited and oh so sheltered and narrow reality. it was then that i realized i wasn't nearly as smart as i thought i was. it was then that i became interested in what it was to be free. to create. to explore. to gather information with no specific goal in mind. it was then that i realized this wasn't about graduating with a piece of paper but about books and the feast of words ready and prepared to be devoured at my convenience. the books to read. it was then that my universe expanded.

the universe not only expanded, it collided with a competitive universe and sustained only minimal damage.

anyway i don't know what to say what to feel sort of surprised that this is affecting me as much as it is. quite surprised actually. just seems the end of an era or something you know like they say. felt the shock. what a long strange trip.

not surprised he ended it this way. not really. not when you think about it. lived life on his own terms. that's even what his family said i guess. threatening everything that moved with a gun really aiming at himself in some manner the whole time. probably got a bad diagnosis of something maybe. fed up with limping around with back surgeries maybe. who knows. we ignorant readers and fans and looky-loos can only speculate and postulate and wonder and empathize or criticize and judge or psychoanalyze some sort of theory take a shot at a hypothesis and click our teeth shake our heads and say what a shame what a shame we been robbed we been robbed.

or just say goodbye for now.

honestly, it's just none of our business and entirely his. life is like that. ultimately.

so farewell you crazy wild old fart. wouldn't really have expected this but guess that's how it always was with you and your words.

never a dull moment.


 

posted by: limine at 06:14 | link | comments (1) |

only words

oh let there be lava baby. lava. bright blue glowing blobs of lava.

yep. got a lava lamp. wal-mart i think, maybe target, i don't know. twenty bucks worth of crap under glass. glooping and glopping and globbing and blue. bright blue. electric blue. lava.

why lava? volcanoes are not blue. nor do they plug into the light socket. this stuff is not lava as we know it, nope. this stuff is lava lamp lava. this stuff is pure globules of gunk in a tube.

oh but even the lava lamp can't save me tonight. strangely calming though it may be. no. i got a pain in my chest and my food won't digest and well, you know all the rest.

it's the same damn stuff. three posts worth. three's the lucky number. three's the charm. three times three may all your deeds come back to thee. three. three. three.

see today i wrote a few paragraphs about the work situation. a few paragraphs to go to the unemployment office with her application for compensation. a few paragraphs for the firm. a few paragraphs about the sordid little details, naming the drama queen and her tantrums for what they were. and i feel so . . . dirty. insensitive. brutal even.

heck i know i know, she did it herself. so why do i need to add to the pile of dirt she's brought down on herself. i don't. i really don't. but they say we have got to document it. fill out the forms. answer the questions. write about the scenes, the interactions, the attempts to communicate with her that were refused.

and i did it. at first, i let the anger take me and wrote a heap of garbage. started over. then let the obligation take over. a little defense of the firm in there. some need for self protection maybe. started over. then tried to keep it to just the facts, maam, just the facts. started again and told it as i remember it. cut it down and down and down. trimmed off the excess. trimmed it lean and mean and there it was, a fighting machine.

no matter how i sliced it or diced it, it was still a fight. it was my side. my tale. my assertions of truth.

the brutal truth. did it have to be so brutal?

well yeah 'cause it's honest. but it seems so harsh. so final so down in words. written in stone. black marks on a record. succinct and distinct. wham.

finality.

and really, still there is only my perspective. what makes mine so important. why are mine the words that must go with the official documents addressed to the colorado department of labor and employment unemployment benefits section?

have to call it as i see it.

as i see it. me me me.

oh sure that i can do. that i sure as heck can do. oh i've got opinions and judgments and all fine manner of pronouncements and such. you bet i do.

but that's the sort of stuff i reckon is mostly reactions to her anger and her push button emotional stuff, her tantrums, her unkindnesses, her snappy criticisms.

and it just makes me sad. still and all the whole pile of hooey makes me sad. doesn't matter each day we find a new mess she left behind. each day more stuff that hadn't been taken care of. each day the reverberations continue and still, still. still i wish it had been different.

and it feels as though i'm solidifying regret for posterity. mine. hers. all of ours.

why?

because there has to be a paper trail you see. has to be rules to be followed. procedure. the proper treatment of the situation. documentation of the incidents. a last say.

why should honesty feel violent?

well i don't know.

but it does.

it does because i fear it could add to the suffering.

or maybe. maybe i'm just afraid to be honest. afraid she won't like me. afraid her boyfriend won't like me. her mother won't like me. afraid to be the bad ass. afraid to pass judgment. afraid to cause harm. afraid to tell the truth as it is.

because she can't handle the truth. and i know because in her every movement i have witnessed she is lying to herself.

and i only know this because i know unhappiness by heart. i know it. i am not above it. i know it i know it oh yes i do.

i just don't want to be the one who has to state it.

oh what truth. honestly, it's just my take. my spin. my perspective. my view. i am not the only side. the final say. the final nail. who am i kidding?

what makes me think my words are so darn powerful?

so it just is what it is and she did what she did and i said what i said and that's that.

period.

right?

no harm done, right?

oh let there be lava. great glopping globules of it. shed some lava light on me baby.

it's going to be a long night.

posted by: limine at 22:12 | link | comments (5) |

well let's see

where was i?

oh right. off on a tangent. again.

so it's all relative. a series of relationships. contrast. understanding things in juxtaposition.

how bad can it be? well it could certainly be worse. you should be thankful. beauty is in the eye of the beholder. can't appreciate the highs without the journey into the depths.

it's all about the variations. the shades of gray. the extreme poles and what lies between. all things in moderation with a fine sense of the outer areas. an awareness of what is and what is not. the this and the that.

this may taste fine compared to instant macaroni and cheese, but consider a perfectly stuffed and seasoned ravioli in a rich parmesan cream sauce.

whatever.

the point is, there seems to exist this form of what my old therapist used to refer to as infantile thinking. the pitting of black vs. white. turning basic chocolate or vanilla issues into dead body life or death issues.

oh we all have it to some extent. for me, it's all about subjects and predicates. form and matter. essence and accident.

for some it's male and female, day and night, light and dark.

but when if ever do you can you reach one side in complete exclusion of the other?

you can't.

consider the tao. the heart of one is the essence of its opposite. and the whole thing is spinning into shades and waves and spirals of gray.

but then what does yin mean, really, except in comparison with yang. what is up without down? what is here without there? what is later without then?

and when is now?

right now.

is now one event?

or a series of events?

a series of relationships that appear within an ephemeral framework of ever progressing in some sort of linear expression towards a finalization. an end of time. a cliff. death.

knowledge of inevitable demise. awareness of our own individual finitely organic state. the eventual exhaustion of the jelly mass from the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.

and yet, we can always keep going. move on as if there might be some meaning or purpose to the whole thing. continue because it is life. as opposed to death.

yet it is in between that is interesting.

for it is neither here nor there where it all takes place.

every birth brings an eventual death into being.

but between birth and death, there is this life that happens.

and so perceptual experience happens somewhere in between the observable and the imaginable.

aristotle always said "look." if we want to talk about what is, a common reference point, well let's just take a look. observe. and this what we can talk about amongst ourselves, this agreed upon distinction of the observable. this natural world in which this joyous suffering body grows and ages and eats and shits and dies. father of scientific method and all that. logic dictates. rationality. the collection of shared data. the known world. about this, we can test theories, take notes, and conduct experiments. apply medicines and ointments. plant seeds and grow food.

about this stuff we can converse because about this stuff we can observe.

but what of all that is unseen? what of dreams? how about the way a favorite chair feels. the way the person you love smells. the color and the breadth of each day's play of light and shadow. what about the things that move beneath the surface? the purr of a warm cat leaning on my arm. the story of a hero's journey to realization. seeing spirits shimmering in the wind across the creek. the sudden dance of a candle flame. a soft touch. a sideways glance. homemade ice cream. twilight. what about all the things that catalyze an emotional reaction? what about the focus?

the choice is in the focus, whether realized or not.

it will always be now. in between those extremes of life and death. death getting closer. always closer closer closer. still now remains the same time.

and what is seen, right now, is a matter of choice. volition.

is it all bad? hopeless? merely the sum of our wounds? a state of sin? a fall from grace? terror and fear and helplessness?

or is it rather perfect. just as it is. beauty. bliss. this glorious crystaline awareness. this second. this moment.

to try to grasp it is to suffer.

for it is the nature of mind to move. shift. focus. create. become. destroy. observe. enjoy. realize.

attention is up and down and here and there and well let's face it, it's all over the place. it's just right off the charts.

it's really neither here nor there.

it's in between.

and it is

right

now.

 

posted by: limine at 23:26 | link | comments (4) |

glass rose

wish it felt like a victory, but it doesn't. it just feels kind of sad.

sure, there's a sense of relief about it all.

though there is an air of unresolved drama yet to surface from the deep. one last run from the wounded monster after we'd thought the blow had killed it, it's got to rise up and surprise our heroes with one more deadly attack before it's gone. there could still be an aftershock, a final scene, a last ordeal before this thing is through.

she's been fired, but she may not know it yet, or may choose to ignore it. they sent a letter after she walked out on thursday.

and then had the locks changed.

but she may still return. she doesn't get her severance check until she returns her parking pass and collects her personal belongings. and she might not have received the letter by mail yet. she might be in there on monday a.m. to start work on time. or she might just do that anyway, pretending she didn't get it. she could make a scene. a huge scene. she's more than capable. she could even plead for her job back. she thrives on scenes. she loves to intimidate everyone into her way through a dramatic display of passionate anger or a tantalizing femme fatale routine.

but for now the psycho upwardly mobile beautiful spoiled child receptionist has thrown her last tantrum. she has sniped her last criticism. she has flicked her long fried blond hair in our faces one last time.

you just don't go threatening trial attorneys with frivolous lawsuits in order to have your way. you just don't. honestly, that was not a clever thing to do. they'll call your bluff and raise you a final paycheck for three days work by certified mail.

there had been a solid week of drama at the law firm of late. stomping out fits and tantrums and lots of whispering and worrying and covering of shifts and responsibilities in crisis mode with lots of closed door office meetings and memos. oh yes but there have been a few choice memos, and one of them was mine. yeah i wrote the documentation of bullshit memo, and it was the memo to crystalize the situation into handing a boxed tazmanian devil to the Powers That Be with a note reading “handle with care.” yeah, the doormat that roared. but even that hadn't quite done it.

oh it made its statement, but it was not the final nail. the fat lady didn't sing until the drama queen had written her final threatening manifesto to the partners and walked out of her job in a huff on thursday at noon.

true there isn't a person there that isn't quite relieved to see her gone. true most of the staff did a little happy dance jig and congratulated each other in one big simultaneous exhale. true despite the fact that we're all going to be answering phones and doing dishes and making coffee and keeping track of lots of nonsense until we get a new person in. and true we all feel a bit guilty about it, too. a bit sad.

personally, i feel as though i failed. i wanted her to get it. i wanted her to face up to her immature and irresponsible behavior and learn something. i wanted there to be growth. you know, maybe some tears and words and apologies. a sort of build-up into a confrontation with an outburst into heated communication, and then a catharsis and eventual reconciliation and return to things anew with new understandings and closer relationships established.

and in fact the rest of the office has achieved that sort of renewed closeness after the ordeal, but without her. it is as if the whole place has bonded together, closer than they've ever been, against a common enemy. all the cliques and sides and clutches and camps drew themselves together as a united front. we became a gang.

oh we should have known it would eventually come to this. perhaps we did. there were so many signs.

i mean 30 years old and she'd said she never had a female friend before. she said women always back-stabbed her. they were jealous of her. red flag red flag. and she hated cats. a danger sign, and one that should always be heeded. and her only humor was sarcastic and cruelly directed at others' habits and appearances. yeah there were signs. but still, we gave her the benefit of the doubt.

in fact there was a certain about of understanding mixed with pity and desire to befriend her and some motherly and sisterly concern and many hoped to show her how good it felt to be kind and helpful for others and an attempt at demonstrating that not all women were her enemies but many could be tremendous emotional support, could teach her something, give her some office skills, show her how it's done, help her out into the working world.

but she wouldn't have it, really. she prefers women as enemies. she enjoyed being a threat. where most of us, for the sake of the office, would avoid confrontations and work around various eccentricities and attempt to be courteous and helpful and cooperative worker-bees, she got off on stirring up the dust and making everybody choke. she enjoyed telling people off, nose in the air, disgusted with various and sundry aspects of human behavior in such a way as to get right under the emotional fingernails of her victims. she could not take any sort of constructive criticism or instruction, insisted she knew everything but was utterly clueless as to how to behave in a law office, much less follow court rules or basic standards of civil behavior.

and she was beautiful in her defiance. she had a high icy anger. tall and shrill with nose in the air and bleached blond hair slapping the faces of those she twirled her back on.

and part of me says well, maybe this is what she really wants. more power to her. honestly, she was miserable as an office wench. why be one if you hate women, really? she was so endlessly unhappy there, it was obvious. in truth, this is probably a good thing, as she will be free to become something else. maybe something much better than anything any of us will manage to pull off.

she'd make a great actress. temptress. model. she'd be good in sales, something competitive and flashy. marketing maybe. she could do many things, but be support staff she wasn't and probably never could be. she refused to pay her dues. she refused to learn. she refused to serve.

to support others, is to put them first. to think about them. and to do for them.

and it was all about her. her her her. everything. she had a knack for turning the most basic inter-office interaction into her own personal emotional trauma.

and this time, she just threw one too many tantrums.

wish it all felt like a victory but it mostly just feels sad.

sad for her. sad that she will only see herself as a victim. sad she will never acknowledge her abuse of others. sad she was unable to learn how to be a legal secretary. sad that the only real job she's held for over a year in her 30 year old life will not provide her with a single good reference. sad mostly that it had to come to this.

that she made it all or nothing. that she painted herself into a corner. that she could only strike and scratch and hiss and spit. that she could not stop competing. that she could not learn to have a friend by being one. that she is fired. cut off. cast out. severed. let go.

sad that i had a part in it.

true, i spent a lot of time listening to a great deal of unhappiness from the rest of the staff about her most recent episodes, her fits, her snappiness, her outbursts, her hurtful criticisms, her snide comments, her angry words. but i didn't always just listen. more and more i found myself adding in my own two cents worth. more and more i became a recipient of her responsibilities and duties as she refused to do what she considered beneath her. more and more i took the brunt of her rage and her fits.

and my patience was wearing thin like an old used kleenex. very thin. shredded, snot-laden, and limp.

i wanted try to teach her with patience and tolerance and kindness. to soften her. but she wouldn't have it. and i have failed. day after day i would try to practice tonglen with her but to little or no avail. as i breathed in her anxiety and unhappiness, it would become almost impossible to breathe out the loving kindness. it was as if i could only breathe in and in and in until i was gasping and choking and sick to my stomach. it was as if she squeezed the air right out of me.

and i guess somehow i let her.

i let her choke me too long and when things that go around finally come around, i just gave her enough rope and she hung herself instead of me.

but just wish there didn't have to be casualties.

wanted to keep the peace. wanted to smooth it over. wanted harmony and cooperation. wanted us all to get along. wanted the office to be happy and productive and efficient. wanted the atmosphere to be of love. make it better.

ah control. so elusive. evasive. always just beyond my grasping reach. when will i ever learn to just let it go. let it be. accept it as it is.

can't take on her karma.

have to forgive myself somehow. feel responsible that she lost her job, although really, she did it all herself. she cooked her own goose. still i wish i could have prevented it somehow.

at least now hopefully it will be better at the office. after some time has passed. after the reverberations have subsided.

and it's been a test of the emergency systems. lots of high adrenalin days. lots of emotional stress. lots of fight or flight mechanisms. lots of experiences of the fire breathing dragon lurking in the heart of this would be gentle office administrator paralegal support person. lots of extreme confrontations and reactions and emotions and passions passing through. lots of ripples on the surface. lots of close calls. lots of dark holes side-stepped. a long hard struggle to try to force peace onto a chaos that would not be calmed or placated or minimized.

and i hope she can turn the crisis into an opportunity. i hope she can look within and see what real beauty is.

she can be funny. and despite her obnoxious behavior of late, she's not as stupid as she sounds. reasonably intelligent, even. and young. and tall. and healthy. and full of fire and piss and vinegar and strength.

last night at dinner my fortune cookie said, “to be beautiful externally is to be like a glass rose. any movement may cause a crack.”

and wish it felt like a victory but it really just feels sad.

posted by: limine at 16:04 | link | comments (9) |

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