Thursday, January 27, 2011

Truth, responses, and consequences

How many ways can you really deliver shitty news to someone. I guess if you're sadistic, you could get really creative, but if you are non-confrontational and hate being the bearer of bad tidings, you really can only drink Peruvian Bear Fuckers and Vegas Bombs until you have mentally lowered your standards, raised your voice, and emotions have gone by the wayside as far as you can tell. I was sick of Mr. M's additude and brought him his lap steel, and let him know that him and his family have treated me like crap long enough.

Well, he goes back and forth quite often and I am undeserving of it.
I wanted to kinda punch him the second I saw him.
I offered coffee since his place was making me claustrophobic and out of my element.

I told him everything. Truth about his parents. Lots of stuff. It wasn't fun. He ended up making some comment about my singing and leaving me down town.

And of course my dumb ass follows him there eventually. Where I still am. The morning after.
Nothing fucking changed, I am a retard for thinking it would, or could.

I need to get back to Custer and stay there. And get rid of this terrible thing I have been infected with whatever it is he has done to me.

Monday, January 24, 2011

observational recovery tower

Is where I seem to be reporting from.

I have now learned COMPLETELY (not the melody or some slacker bullshit) Cee-Lo's "Fuck You" on piano. With singing. I have never attempted singing and playing piano simultaneously. It works for me.
Also, in the works, "Paper Bag" by Fiona which seems to be my romantically-challenged theme for the week, and "Waltz (Better than Fine)", both by the ever-so-angsty Ms. Apple. I am almost have them done.

I sit now for 11 hours at a time at night and play lap steel, piano, violin, or acoustic guitar. I emerge and lose myself, and then of course find myself.

I spoke with Ron, whom I think I am going to make my sponsor for NA/AA, also my roomate, about how as a social chameleon to adjust and take on the characteristics of your societal surroundings... and lose who you ever were to begin with. Now, with no one to impress, or distract, entertain, seduce, amuse, etc... I find myself in the Pole Barn learning diminished and augmented chords and modes, and whatnot.
"SoberJam" was tonight. Had the two most gorgeous boys show up, one of whom will remain anonymous and I have been seeing a lot of lately. His brother just got back from Nashville... but they both have dreads and don't like country lol.

I feel like I always did growing up... isolated. The oddball. These things I ran away from and never looked back and immersed myself in Bellingham or travel, and people- crowds, hoards of people. No silence. And now I am playing  a game with it. It is coaxing me back into the days of journals and blogs and photography, music, singing, sketchbooks. Alas, Saturday night came and went, no one called or texted me, I was lost anyway and night slipped by like birth control pill on the morning after prom for some poor dumb blonde.

Honesty is also a trend I am trying to set withing MYSELF.

Also, my eldest daughter is going to submit a doodle for Google's "doodle for Google" contest.
She is already the winner in my eyes. It is supposed to depict their ambitions for adulthood.

I wonder if Madeline decides to participate how one goes about drawing the overthrow and occupancy of China...... *shrugs* She is O-Ren Ishii afterall.

Note to self': invest in yellow jumpsuit for Emo Baby.

I sleep now. Thank you Diphenhydramine HCI.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Toxicity by System of a Down

Superficial, Sicky sick and 91 days clean

91 days clean, that's right. I see you all around town, in people's arms, bringin' em down and I'm like FUCK YOU (ooo-ooo-ooo).
But about last night....

I guess I over-did it . I have been a little cocky lately with the whole my-immunity-can't-be-broken additude. I am severely suffering from a head cold now. And my computer's gonna get a kick in the reboot and it's ram shoved in the rama-lama-ding dong if it keeps fucking up. Fucking computer.
Who knew disturbing pornographic obscure sites from Germany would be a threat of infection via internet....

I went and watched my friend and his dad play at the Co-op last night (the one on Holly). I don't like limitations expected from my personality, so it's kinda hard to re-adjust the vibrations in the room as Jools Holland would say when resurfacing a new template for friendship, as requested. Or enforced. Whichever.
I felt a little judged and was hiding the i-got-caught-passing-notes-in-class look. Blech.
But as always, they sounded great.

Halfway through their set, Mitch from 3 Trees called and asked I come down and sing for open-mic. I accepted and headed for there. Oh, bt-dub, I have my "forever-bike" with the faux-baby-ape-hangers back so I had some "whee" moments down the hill. Benny was there, and it was nice have him around. True friends always come back to each other a little weathered and smarter. He gave me a necklace made of an AK47 shell and Abalone stone, it looks like lipstick and I am never taking it off. It is muy bonita, and girlie-badass, as he put it, "like me" he said.

I've always grappled with embracing fully my tomboy or girlie side. I guess being bi-polar has benefits, as I can get away with many split/duel personality issues. And not have to justify them. Like at home... I am a complete introvert. I rarely speak and when I do it's probably to just ask someone about something in the house. If I were to launch into art or music with these people, I would get the glance of someone with lepracy. Or so I assume.

I digress....

Mitch and I played "Mercedes Benz", and just some blues-y stuff I sang over, it was different than the blues most people choose for me and I found myself really screaming and losing myself in it. When we were done, the world came back to me, and I had people telling me (while I was still on stage) that I have the "goosebump effect" on people, and that I sounded great. Someone also request I sing again. I did "At Last" A Capella. Very sarcastically, and a little too emotional. I have no harness for these things, though, so fuck it.
Someone did mention it would have been Janis's 67th Birthday that day. I am sure there is more meaning there that I can grasp.

Mitch asked me where my friend was and I told him finishing a gig up the street, then launched the mission from Mitch to get him down there.

I was a little reluctant. As mentioned earlier, when someone all of a sudden doesn't like me for who I am and I have to altar ALL OF ME, and they can remain intrinsically FLAWED in ways, but I have to accept that and never ask them to change (cause it just be my stoopid ol' "perception"...) it ranges from pissed off, to ashamed, to self-loathing, and back to anger. Then pride, and I just want to purge that person from my system completely. I have been on a N.M. diet, and I feel a little thinner and better for it, honestly.

He did come down. We practiced in the parkade around the corner down the alley. I gathered a couple people from the 'Shoe, and I thought we sounded pretty good. As if it matters.

But I got a lot of compliments.

I ended up eventually at Erin's since David had some pizza he offered me. I ate some then headed over to my friend's for a music lesson. Short-lived but good. Sometimes I feel like he just wants to rub in how good he is and be in constant spotlight-mode. And not teach. But he did give me an amp to borrow, a Dobro book, and a Hulk-feces-green violin... as to pursuede my friend Jackson to trade the lap steel he has for that particular crazy instrument.

I felt zen-calm and frenzied at the same time mentally inside being there. So many hours spent breaking down walls, only to be FUCKING SUPERFICIAL HUMAN BEINGS NOW. Gag me. Oh yay, long-live transparency, and surface-conversations! Ooh how fun, we can be two of the most intelligent people and bottle it up to play "friendsies" so what... emotions can never strike a chord (no pun intended) in each other, and be calm and cool, and collected, and neurotic and peachy-fucking-keen, and so very very... BLAH. Without depth.

I would rather see fire in someone's eyes then nothing but my own bored reflection.


I can play that game, and then I become cold, an ice queen with a sarcastic disposition and bitterness coursing through my veins.
But it will never seep through, I will smile a sticky sweet smile, and instead of thinking of all the beauties they once held in my eyes.... I will see faults and imperfections. They will never be able to call me out on it, I will never give someone something to put their finger on if I so choose, and that it how I will bleed out.
I will feel powerful and powerless to emotional injury deep inside. I win, and I lose.

Left NM's house and spent the night in David's bed/arms. Calm and enveloped and comfy. The boy looks at me like he is afraid and likes it. I don't know what I think of that. Crazy people tend to do that to squares. But he is fucking smart and funny... and that's my pre-reqs. He is completely aware and acceptant of my intensity. Which I need. And maybe on my good days.... worthy of even.

He bought me a yummy breakfast and coffee today and we sat and read the Whatsup! together. He is a nice boy. Well.... 33 isn't a boy I guess. But if Chupa taught me anything about 30-something-year-olds....

We slept in and blared Morphine while exchanging explicit secrets and naughty-doings. He has a nice.... smile. Yum, as Victrola T. Firecracker's mantra on the positive-side was.

Saw Ace for half a second. Damn that boy can roll outta bed lookin like a million kah-jillion bucks. And so effortless. He suggested naughty things too... .but I had to decline. My prior engagement of the morning was in the car waiting to take me home. Junkie whores never change at heart I guess. But damn do I love that boy. Ace is one of the most amazing people I have ever met.

I am going to sit here and play more lap steel and be sicky sick, and listen to death metal with my roomate, Slash. Yes. Slash. Fuckety fuck. Life is weird. Just a compliment for your life, it's kinda wee-ud. And let's not get started on shortcuts for it, right.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

"Desdemona" - Derek Trucks Guitar Solo

Dead Baby Goats, Falafels, and Lap Steel.

I awoke this morning at 6 am. My eyes just popped open. I was in the top bunk underneath a Kokopelli blanket reeking of febreze and dog. It was freezing cold, Sandy below me has had her blankets for a while and has a collection, so she was warm.

I instantly started clicking my fingers together- I had fallen asleep with my finger picks on again. A form of comfort or something. Replaced a needle with that, that's not so bad. I have dreams of beautiful art-deco lap steels, and the sounds they can create to make me feel human again.

I had an early-morning run-in with our resident neo-natzi, who offered me coffee "black, like how he doesn't like his women". Real charmer.
I hitched a ride with Adina into town, sun coming up over disgusting and bleak mud-puddle-for-a-town Ferndale.
Got to DSHS for my psych eval.... you know... answer the questions, Jenna. Over and over. How many times must I tell you how I was molested, raped, beaten up, beat others up, Madeline being beat, relapse, recovery, relapse, recovery. Take the blue pills the green ones, no controlled substances you beg them... "but it will make you feel better."


I walked across the road and FINALLY got my hair dye. The nice kind. for a box. Feria's bright black. The girl on the box looking like a mash-up of a hooker and a geisha. Fuck-me-red-lipstick color on her airbrushed lips.

I walk in 39 degree weather over to Barnes and Nobles, waiting since only 2 buses come a day back to my recovery house. I have 2 and a half hours. I've already thrown up today twice due to anxiety and nerves. They have a pill they would love to give me for that...
The sky is tinged like a bruise as I peruse B & N, and pour over "modern contemporary art", my faves like Ryden, Rose-Garcia, Heimstra, the Clayton Brothers, Liz McGrath, John John Jesse.

Then I pour myself into a blues-guitar book on what greats are considered the greats, as far as the UK is concerned.
Jeff Healey. Michael Landau. Aynsley Lister. Gary Moore. Bonnie Raitt. BB King. Eric Clapton. Susan Tedeschi. Chris Rea. Phillip Sayce. Robert Johnson. Seasick Steve. Derek Trucks.

I stop at John Mayer. It made me want to throw up again. And fuck Clapton. I'm sure ol' Willie Brown and Skip and McTell would be rolling in their graves. Johnson would be fist-shaking from his throne in hell.

Ilook at pictures of guitars I want to someday own; Gibson ES-335, Gibson Firebird, Martin 000 Range, Danelectro DC, and of course the National Resonator.
I kill hours putting more endless, wasteful by societal-standards knowledge into my puny little woman-brain.

I stride up to the Co-op but not before seeing and photographing a humongous billboard that says "Optimism is Contagious". No it's not... because that's all I ever try to spread... but it has an expiration date that goes bad faster than milk in the fucking Sahara.

I eat falafel and tzatziki and green tea and feel full and sick again. I tear up a bit just thinking of how beautiful it is that I get to live here. And that God blesses my socks off every which way I turn. In most unexpected ways.
I catch the bus. I drive through Bellingham. Ferndale. Up to Blaine. Then Birch Bay. I get off and started walking home.

Along the way I find a skull-and-spike Halloween costume glove, rubber and magnificent, 246 beer cans, a thermos,
and two decaying baby goats. One's eye is just slime and reflecting like that of a salmon. I feel that twinge of nausea thinking of those dead girls in Mexico and Brazil. I feel the lunch coming up to my throat. Hot and burning. Instead, I call Ace and he talks me down. I snap a few photos and decide to go back later to adorn them with roses. If you have never seen THE GIFT, the early nineties movie by Jane's Addiction, I suggest you youtube the scene where Perry sanctifies his overdosed-dead-from-heroin girlfriend.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

My life in Recovery

Le Sigh.... day one.

In my new place out here in Custer, WA.

Only mere exits from my beloved Bellingham, but it feels endless miles away right now. I started crying into the food I was cooking (yes I actually got to cook, REAL food out here, that's a bonus), as I listened to my friend playing his saxophone over my cell, wistfully wishing to be in the parkade on Railroad Ave, downtown Bham. Wanting to be in the concrete there that picks his notes up and carries them up into the ears of so many lucky 'Hamsters, and it hit me tonight I think that I am all the way out here. I am 25, I am just shy of 90 days clean from heroin, and I have made a complete mockery of this lifetime. I don't know how I even got here, really. Surely heroin must be what comes to your mind as you read this, but alas, I hate to admit it it went south long before then.
My roomates here are plenty.... one has a huge swastika tattoo, former meth addict- surprise surprise... my bunkmate is a recovering.. who knows, Ron is amazing, he gave me a shit ton of food, so I made ranch garlic parmesan chicken with green beans and sweet potato casserole, along with cranberries (my own personal semi-thanksgiving it would seem), the others, well, nothing to report on that yet.

A few long-time-known "realizations" re-realized earlier by me tonight:

I love everyone I surround myself with way more than I probably should, and it all comes out of me, pouring out of me, too intense, too unstructured, too ramped and intrusive, love everywhere for anyone who will give me a sideways glance, and then there's none for me when I sit alone at night, hating who I am.
My life in theory, should be great. I surround myself with artists, musicians, christians, athiests, aficionados, purveyors, brilliant minds, stupid-yet-funny street kids, philosophers (in their own right), amazing loving, eccentricities of people.... i am just little trickles of these things, for I leech and copy and contort, but have never given myself enough credit or self-respect to stand up and BE one of these things in its' entirety.

I try to suck up their energy, sopping it up as you would the last of your eggs benedict with the last bite of the bread, but even though they taste great when they hit your tongue, you had to grab one with the other, it wasn't voluntary on the one's behalf, and they were only "1" in one aspect.... you tasted them as that for a mere fleeting second. Does that count for anything....

I talked to the children tonight. Always "I love yous" and "I miss yous" if only they knew I hear it and feel completely undeserving of it. God please help me find myself in this new place.

Another version of I-love-you-and-you're-scared-of-it happened to me today.
"I thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy. Hunger hurts, and I want him, so bad oh it kills- cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up, I got to fold cause these hands are too shaky to hold, hunger hurts, but starvin works, when it cost too much to love" - Paper Bag, F.A.
What am I to do, huh.