3 posts tagged “journal”

this is an edited excerpt from yesterday's journaling:

And it’s a hollow, dark space that spills out before me. A space of missing. A space where an open mouth never gets fed. And I am dancing around this mouth, seeking to correct the vision that has made all go wrong. All gone wrong, and dance on the teeth, unafraid of what comes in or out of that mouth. A tongue tied or as sharp as a knife. Do I place sugar on the soles of my feet? Or salt? Am I dancing to remember or to let go? Both? Both. In remembering the true state of my soul, untouched by time and yet filled with experience, I am released of the burdens that have the names belonging to the victims I’ve been. Belonging to the victimizers I’ve been. Some sort of balance on the edge of the teeth, freeing the past and healing the present. The future is a memory I can’t quite reach and its name is forgiveness.

I can own the world like I own this sentence, my space in it. I don’t need to convince anyone to let me in, because I can travel in my own space. Maybe that looks like a dance or a song. Maybe I dance now (literally) to allow myself the room to be here and not in the shadow of the favor of others. That empty mouth, dark with wanting. Feed me, feed me, feed me- or else I will scream and bite. No threats today – just the air, the breath passing through my lips to rest for a moment or two in my lungs. Just this life connected to this world without apologies, fear or denial.

from some random journaling while at work today- i give partial credit to the amazing organic soy au lait:

i've got this dream inside this coffe cup and i remember those early days with a head of red and a pen that punctured poems into paper. dreams- 100 thousand of them, and look where i am with a brick in one hand and mortar in the other- trying to repair this house and fix the antenna for better reception.

i can romanticize away those older days of hair with red flames, but i was buried and i could barely breath. i laughed through my teeth, through my death and yes, there was never enough. she haunts me still, that old girl who drained the blood from the pretty boys' necks and stirred in the cream just to be polite. but we've all gone forty, and some still speak thirty- but the longing stays the same even on the coat rack, in the closet, tucked neatly in the bottom drawer.

it was the time of bagels with cream cheese and even before Caffeine Dreams- 13th St. was my domain. and i'd tell Summer how i'd take my coffee and how much i'd pay. those Dirt Cheap days with Terrence and thoughts of Renee.

it was those early Artist Way days with Tori tearing her heart out for big pay and chalk pastels of my inner selves lined up on the walls of Eric's spare room. cheap rent and fridays out at art gallery openings. dreaming of a bigger day, a bigger day, but hopeless against the impluse to shrink down to an affordable size for strangers to sip from on the sides as i walked down the streets in rage.

from my journal yesterday:

when I am on my little caffeine high from green tea, I see myself sitting in a nice studio apartment in some metropolis. I am looking out over the world while I type. my apartment is white, clean and warm- comforting. white yet soft- like an illuminated womb of creativity. it is from here that I orchestrate my world. I write plays, I make contacts, arrange meetings, coordinate events. I dream, I create, I weave. it is like all my financial worries- those don’t exist, because what I am doing holds me. I am held, and there aren’t threats of things falling apart. and I am engaged and so therefore, I can really commit to what I am doing- I can be very present and useful and playful- all at the same time. it is like I am riding the cusp of the sun- ever awake, every joyful, ever engaging.