The Lunch

The chandlers had glass drop ornaments that hung from between the light bulbs. The tabletops were wood and matched the floor in color and texture. Some French lullabies played in the background and it seemed like a likely enough place to run into the Devil besides the fact that it was a vegetarian restaurant. The booths along the side wall furthest from the door had small lights, fixed low. right next to where the diner would be sitting. There were fountains of fake ivy that flowed off of the wall. The large window that faced the front opened up onto the street and was decorated with lace curtains.

I was eating my soup, mushroom with dill, when he came in the door. You can always tell the Devil when he is near, his dominions pay close attention to you and he will not even so much as give you the time of day. Still, while others may have run or freaked out and refused to finish their meal; I decided to stay, as the food was so delightful. He ordered a spinach salad and spent a lot of time talking on his cell. The waitress brought me my dessert clearly aggravated. It was delicious raspberry chocolate layer cake smothered in chocolate sauce. They had made a nice design with the dark and light chocolate.

I gave the host my credit card and I could hear him run it through three times before he had to bring it back to me to tell me that it had been declined. I paid with another and left a three-dollar tip. I grabbed Gaia and decide to steal one more glance at him before I left. To my surprise he was looking right at me and stared directly into my eyes. The waitress stumbled by and got sick on the floor next to my shoe. I said nothing, she looked up at me, her face twisted and she ran into the back room. A horrible stench filled the room and the demons came out of the walls, a jet plane landed on the street outside and all of the world leaders came spilling out just to be devoured by a flood of water that flushed in to flush them out.

I looked back at him but he was shutting me out again and the waitress had returned fresh and clean. The street was again suitable for cars and I could see mine parked outside. I finished gathering my things and walked out to it and drove away.

But I'm ok with it

There are worse things then loneliness and it can actually be quite comforting honestly. I am ok with myself and I understand myself for the most part, there are some things that I am still trying to figure out but that makes life interesting. So what if the rest don't get it. I have a longing to really connect, to speak and be heard and to really hear where someone else is coming from. But it is not happening and I feel like I walk on egg shells to just not offend. This worries me because I am generally a very inquisitive person and it is quite stifling when even your questions are met with hostility, put downs and manipulation. Alas, I must take comfort in myself and pray for a connection.

Lonely

I have never felt more lonely. No one gets it (what I am about and what I am trying to do and say) and I am just wandering amongst those that will judge me as it fits their situation. If they need to be inspired then I will be inspiration if they need someone to step on then I am the stair. Just waiting it out on the side of the road and looking for the next ride to someplace more real.

Woman

In a whirlwind of madness good and bad and inbetween. My mind has been on so much lately. Coffee is my new drug and I can feel the effects from just a few days of abuse.

Rainbow message boards have me all worked up. I should just stop posting all together. Stop going to all of the events and drop out. But these questions that are being brought up are making me question so many interesting things. But no one is getting what I am saying and I come off as a real bitch most of the time. I have not been so motivated about what it means to be a woman and what comes with it and what does not since India. In India it was a total mind fuck because it was the first time I had thought about these things and it was a real smack in the face. Realizing that a lot of American feminism is actually taking away what it means to be a woman and replacing it with trying to be like a man. And if you are not like a man you are not a good woman, you are a backward old world piece of ....... It is totally messed up. India was the first time I saw it. I saw those women that I had been told were so repressed and oppressed but they were not they were proud and they had amazing lives and raised beautiful families.

And then there is sex and sexuality, that is what Rainboow message boards got me all worked up about. I really think that the oppression of women starts with oppressing their sexuality. It is so powerful, men buy it, beg for it, commit to it, steal it. Whereas very few women do any of those things for male sexuality. Women in India are so sexy but not like American women, it is different. Women in America think of women in India as being sexuality repressed but they are extremely sexual beings. I could never quite put my finger on it enough to describe it but it is strong and beautiful.

You do not have to view a naked women as a sex object and you do not need to view a covered woman as an oppressed subservient object. It is so complicated and it is hard for me to hash out. There will be many more posts on this matter.

So much on my mind these days

Feeling torn between where I am and where I have been and where I am going.

There seems to be a numbness spreading across the land these days and I am wishing for some sensitivity. I have been accused of being too sensitive and I have always been a prepoinit of others becoming aware of their insensitiveness. One does seem to come with the other but no one ever takes that into consideration when making accusations of sensitivity. I am just craving some feeling lately. Some feeling that has not been twisted by the pains of life till all that is left is some personal spewing of hurt. I am craving some inspiration, some glorious dreams that will bring new ideas and hope.

:-)

Chess

I found the Chess game on my computer yesterday while at the telephone job. I am generally anti-competitive and will not engage in games of any kind. However, I was bored and I decided to see if I could figure it out. I knew a little about the game and played it in all kinds of different ways so that I could get a feel for it. I played 'loser' for a while, where you try to lose all of your pieces but the king and suicide where you try to lose all of your pieces. I really bonded with the game. I felt a horrible feeling of being trapped by my own inadequacies. As I was playing I thought " I have felt this way before", when I was at a job that I was trying so hard to complete or whenever I was trying to do something that I really did not understand. Chess is a game of strategy and while I was playing I was wondering if I was perhaps lacking in strategic skills that could help me in life. Perhaps that is the feeling that was making me so uncomfortable. More so then just not knowing the rules I have a problem with looking 3 steps ahead, so I get the feeling that I am at the mercy of the rest of the world.

Well no more I say. I have my virtual Chess game right here on my laptop and it is very forgiving in that it will give me hints and let me take my moves back as many times as I wish. So, I am going to learn more about chess and keep playing, even if it is just a metaphor for thinking ahead. After all what good is thinking ahead if you can't have a metaphor for it and soon soon I too shall be a step ahead.

The Neculatiour

So I was thinking earlier today about how I want to affect the world around me. That is really what all of this is about, the writing, photography, web design, and now this blog……It is all because I am trying to get the message across. What is the message? Well that is the question. I have it somewhere inside of me and I can feel it well up like a great ball of energy in my belly sometimes and I get all excited and I just want to burst. But it is never complete, it is this searching, this wanting of knowledge. What kind of message is that?

Communication is the key, it is the matter of it all. It is the relationship between speaking and hearing. That thin line between thinking and manifestation, whether that manifestation is word (written or spoken) or visual or audio. The medium that it is projected onto is what turns me on. There is something to be said for letting it all out (as I am doing now) and not caring about the way it may be perceived, some great works of art are created in this matter. But there is another form of art that takes the viewer, the witness, the audience (and in this day and age the user) into consideration. There was once a passive time when art was viewed by only those that went out of their way to view it and nothing could be contributed by the neculatiour (the one that is not the artist). The art was in a nice frame of some kind and it stayed where it was and the neculatiour could observe and walk away, the end. But now it is different, things have changed. That frame is slowly comming off and the art is jumping right into our lives. Suddenly everying is all mixed up, and it is just a matter of opinion as to wether the neculatiour is now the artist or if the the artist is the audience or if the audience or the artist are the art itself.