It's not that

I'm a writer that suddenly forgot how to write...

Shoot. I'm an artist. Point blank. I'm good at what I do, whether it's painting, shading, or writing poetry. Depending on my level of necessity, I express in different ways.

I may not be able to string together a poem as effortlessly and as potently as I used to, but I've definitely been itching to pick up that brush for a while now. A few days ago, I spit out the most amazing pencil drawing I've done in a very, very long time. It made me hungry for more.

And maybe when I need something bigger, I'll pick up a dance class. I know I have the ability, I just haven't been taught. A few months ago, I realized that I could really, really move; now I am more in tune with my hips and thighs than ever before. Once (if) that realization of self transfers over to the shoulders, I'm going to kill this.

I've been frustrated because I've found myself turned off by all my previous methods of release -- sex, cigarettes, weed, even food -- that I felt I had no more outlet.

Well, shit. Welcome back. Art was the first talent I recognized, the first I dedicated myself to honing. Since elementary school, all the way to my senior year of high school, that was my baby. She's full grown now, and I've had to let her go for a while. I had affairs, I dove into other forms of expression to replace her, but I think it ultimately comes back to this. Theres a comfort that settles over me when I drown myself into a drawing. It's like...

Well, it's like coming home.

Solipsism

"But writing is an art, and artists thrive on showing off their innards. This remains true and applies to me. There is a part of me that will forever be cloaked by mystery, and that is the part that allows me to write so feverishly. The more clear-headed I feel, the less like "myself" I feel, and the more likely I am to write innanely and/or mundanely. I guess this means that my most artistic self is fucked in the brain."

-Exploding Ego

That pretty sums it up. Where have I gone?

A friend told me that I don't have to worry about losing my art, because I am art. Well, this is why I feel like I've lost it. Drawing doesn't come to me naturally anymore either, because my best art is made when I am hungriest for release, distraction. What happens when you're not looking that hard? If you have no strong emotion, you have no passion. If you have no passion, you have no art! So what then?

(*Previous post has been modified. Can you answer the question?)

Out on the Town

And I've been telling people that I "got a man."

It comes out automatically, something that I've justified as "I really really love being single. This is my first time since 14 that I've really been by myself -- no fuckerships, no loverships, nada -- and I'm enjoying this experience to the fullest."

Granted, I have a tendency to take a new facet (I wouldn't call it a phase, for this comfort in myself is a much more permanent thing) to the extreme before I balance it into my everyday being. I am truly enjoying this alone-ness, and the idea of giving it up, the idea of "settling" turns me off so thoroughly that my face, at times, will involuntarily twitch into a grimace. (This has been the main driving force behind my libido's nosedive and my standing celibacy -- It's not going to be worth it, not yet. Besides, you can't get into a relationship with someone whose mindset screams otherwise; that's me right now. More on this later. I have a couple of good blog posts stirring around in my head from my recent socializations.)

I just wonder. Am I truly adjusting to this newfound sense of happiness in being alone (I used to have this fear that placed friends, family, and lovers in my presence at all times)? Or is it merely my Cancerian defense mechanism taking over -- No, I DON'T want to open the door for you. I'm happy by myself! THIS is the new me, now go away! -- as a response to recent heartbreaks? I'm far from being bitter, and there is no creeping panic, there is no pushing away. I just haven't felt.. the.. *click*.

I pondered about my decision this weekend when I went out to celebrate my girl's 30th birthday (a few things came into mind that night, being thrown back into an atmosphere I've long since forgotten... but again, I digress; more on that later.) Walking to the end of the block, I was hugging my elbows (a friend had left with my jacket in her bag, and NYC is still a touch above brisk). This attractive guy sauntered up to me and grinning, offered me an imaginary coat.

He was immaculately dressed. I can't tell you what the nitty gritty of his outfit was, because all I remember is a finely (cough-- FOINE-ly) fitted gray wool vest buttoned over the nicest, crispest, purplest tie I've ever seen in my life. I laughed, took his imaginary jacket, and thanked him. He and his friend, equally well dressed and attractive, nodded to me and continued walking.

After dealing with aggressive men the entire night (since when did rubbing an erection and pushing a bitch as hard as you can qualify as dancing?), getting 'shut down' by Diva ass dudes who got offended when I said, "touching people over and over again is not a proper hello," ("Forget you then, bitch." My, did I dent your ego?) and watching with widening eyes as one hand reached out to grab my friend's ponytail and his friend's hand, at the same time, reached out to grab her ass, his relaxed air was refreshing. Still holding his imaginary coat around me, I ducked and dodged a drunken man (who had just been rejected by two of my girls up ahead) that was trying to rub his chest against my tits; out of my mouth farted: "Damn sir. You're hungry." A couple of strangers near us laughed.

When Purple Tie heard that, he turned around and paused. At the end of the block where he was waiting, he smiled at me. "Can I get my jacket back? It's a little chilly." I looked him up and down, thought about it, then sighed in mock defeat. "Fine. But only because you asked nicely."

He was very pretty, you guys. Quiet voice, respectful. Short, but I'm tired of dating tall men that can pass as my high school professors (baby, don't take this to offense, you know I have nothing but love for you LOL). I'm 5 feet tall, and I look just over 12 years old. Maybe I need a short man in my life, and besides, he was still a whole head taller than me. That's minimum requirement.

"Do you have a man?" he asked, after some light joking between us. Before I could meet his gaze, "yes" came out of my mouth. I lifted my eyes, and it was too late.

"Damn," he said.

"Damn," I thought.

"I like your tie," I said.

"Thanks!" he said.

"You're welcome!" I beamed. "Where did you get it?"

Pause. "Now I can't tell you that."

Brow lift. Slow smile of recognition. "Ohh, you're one of THOSE boys. You have to keep your shit original." I laughed. "Okay, I respect that."

"No... it's not that. If I tell you, you'd buy the tie for your man."

"Huh?" I blinked, completely forgetting that I was supposed to have one. "Oh! No, I want it for myself. But it's okay, I can see why you'd say that."

He struggled briefly, then told me anyway. I nodded at him, not quite believing the name he gave me. But I'll leave it alone. That tie should be his, and his only. Even though I had the perfect pair of shoes to wear with it. I grinned.

"You tell your boyfriend he's a lucky man," he said. "You're very beautiful." I thanked him, and with a wistful look tossed over his shoulder, he walked away.

Damn, I thought again.

On the cab ride back uptown, I stared out the window. Could that have been the start of something beautiful? Could that have been a Missed Opportunity ("I want to learn... class," I'd told my girl SharpShooter the other night. "Fashionwise, manners, etiquette. Class." Looking at Purple Tie, I could have picked up a few pointers.. plus, purple and gray are my favorite colors together. Man, he could have dressed me and shit. Wait, where am I going with this..?) Though I wouldn't fight off a relationship with someone I knew in my heart was good, I no longer want to run the course with a person that hasn't shown me what he is capable of first. I don't need a man that badly, to give up myself in the process.

Was I ready to enter a relationship as the person I am now: in transition, a mild recession, observing the new world around me? Should I still go by the oft-repeated finger shake of "Don't date men you meet at clubs" (I said no to this twice, and both times it was laughably regrettable)?

I shook my head clear, focusing on the rain drops making patterns on the glass. Fuck it, I said. If it's meant to be, he'll cross my path again. (Right.) That was a belief I stuck by, because it proved true in my history. But everything around me is changing, and now I'm forced to ponder... As I get older, Karma's not going to hand me everything like she used to. I have to learn to keep my eye out for those small windows of opportunities.

Am I ready? Obviously not.

"I got a man" is a lot easier to explain than "I'm so happy being single; it's new to me, I'm not ready to give it up yet." It has less connotations of baggage, when it's not even that serious. "I got a man" gently turns away those who step to me respectfully, who don't deserve a "fuck off" or "maybe next time."

It's just that times like today, when its raining and I'm high-strung because of the strain of insomnia and life's pressures, theres a gnawing nugget inside me that insists all I want is a man to curl himself around me, and tuck my cold feet under his warm ones. Maybe I even want sex. Maybe I want pulled blinds and six pillows and bootleg eggs and orange juice. Times like this, I think, "Maybe I should have just said 'No... no, I don't.'"

Does that mean I'm secretly miserable on the inside, 'making excuses' for my 'lack of man'?

If I surely don't think so... why do you?

Third breakdown at work

and counting.

Too much to speak of.
No point in it anyway, when its nothing I can get advice for. Then I'd just be complaining.

I'm tired of catch-22s.
I'm tired of my insomnia.
I'm tired, tired, tired.

Why doesn't it ever stop?

Another violation notice? Fuck! Come on!

I was wonderfully tired when I walked into my house today. I'd spent a relaxing evening with 2 of my peoples, both with monotonous voices and very soothing vibes. We hookah'd, we laughed, we ate. It's past midnight, and a delicious drowsiness blanketed me, welcome in comparison to the uncomfortable fatigue I've been feeling since my insomnia peaked a few months ago. I was looking forward to just checking my mail, chatting lightly to a few homies on aim, and then wading into bed -- because maybe, MAYBE tonight, I'll finally get to sleep. I even said, fuck my teeth. I'm not going to brush them. And then...

I get this notice in my hand, with another request for a phone call to be made tomorrow. The problem with having non-English speaking parents is that God forbid you're a capable human being, it's your job to tie up all loose ends. Any and every letter received in the mail requires translation and concern.

I listened to my father explain what this violation was about (I am still waiting for notification that my check for a previous violation was received... it wasn't). All traces of sleep vanished from behind my eyes. I am now wide, wide, WIDE awake. It's almost 2am, and again, I've resigned myself to a bedtime of sunrise.

$1500 dollars? Come on, really?

Give me a break. Please? Please?? I mean, last year. The year before that. And the year before that -- shit just keeps getting progressively worse! None of us can afford that shit. Not even if we pooled all our money together. My pockets aren't getting any bigger to bring that balance, that all-important balance, into my life. I am just ... Agh! *Puts face in hands*

I am frustrated to the point of tears. Again. AGAIN.

It just... never stops.

It never. Stops.

Is this really my future? Should I expect it to ease any time soon? Is it realistic to even ask for that?

Let me tell you, optimism is a full time job. And as all full-time jobs go, I'm getting sick of it. I'm worn to the bone. I don't think I can do it anymore. I don't know if I'll have any left when I get older. Dear God, please don't let me get bitter.

I'm losing motivation, yall. It's taking more energy to remain here than leave. It's hard yo, it's SO hard to maintain it, especially with the crash-diet of hope and disappointment I keep see-sawing in between. Every time I come close to making ends meet, they move the ends. But I'm trying. This time I'm really, really trying. Without that optimism, I would be nothing.

I'm just so, so tired.
Physically, mentally, financially.

Help me... Seriously. I'm breaking.

When I'm gone

When they know they're your heart
And you know you were their armor
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm her

But what happens when karma
turns right around and bites you?
And everything you stand for turns on you, despite you?

What happens when you become the main source of her pain?
-eminem

Overheard in NY

"I mean, breakup sex is good.. but not if it happens every weekend!"

Departed

Dearly departed:
i sit here wordless.
i still havent recovered from the cut of my decisions.

i spent 3 years cuddled up to my condition --
a diagnosed commitmentphobe,
hopelessly resistant--
i saw you from across the room and recognized the twitches,
the stitches came undone,
left renewal in its ruins
shit I never felt before that caught my intuition
distanced myself
for the sake of my protection

and though we hadn't spoken for more than a couple minutes
your image was imprinted as a reference in my senses.
Destiny insisted that we cross each others paths, so
pensively I yielded something he could never have...

there was give and take,
there was kiss and date,
there was missing places;
there was this innate
carelessness in your chases,
you would give a taste
then replace
your advances
with actions similar to hate...

Faced with the option to
lose my mind
for the sake of my heart, i debated
and waited and patiently
practiced the art
of obsession
testing the waters for warmer acceptance...

Blinks*

Oh shit.

Avant's Makin' Good Love came on my internet radio.

It woke my libido up. And she's on fire.
I have to stop letting music control me like this.
I want to dance to this song. I'd kill this shit.
Wow, this has to stop.

Control yourself, text. You've been doing so well. I can't believe you're seriously considering breaking your celibacy because of Avant.

Addon
- The radio continued to stream baby making music after Avant came on.
- It is pouring outside (I have a deep, unresolved fantasy of making fuck in the rain... Albeit a warm, summer monsoon type of rain, and not the chilly London Morning drab that's going on right now). It is the perfect Stay Inside With the Windows Open, Barewood Floor With Puffy White Comforter and Spiked Coffee kind of sex weather.
- I got emailed by the Hypnotist shortly after I pounded out this post. He proposed a threesome between me, he, and one of our mutual girlfriends. I pondered about it. I told them both to go get tested, and I will consider it.

What's going on? Is this a test? Did I fail? Do I care? It's raining.

Out of sight, out of mind

The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start
The tragedy starts from the very first spark
Losing your mind for the sake of your heart
-Feist

Grins*

I had to step back and actually assess the situation with eyes outside of the context of my heart. I'm comfortable with my decision now, and not straining like an addict just out of reach from her fix.

(Anymore. LOL)

Peace out, Kryptonite, it's been real.

As juvenile as it seems, I had to do what I had to do. I deleted his number from the phone, took him off of my buddy list, and I'm hovering over his existance on my friends lists on various social networks. It's not like he was injecting himself into every vein of my reality or anything; in fact it was the exact opposite -- he withdrew. He's omnipresent because I subconsciously search for him wherever I go.

I do that because I kept finding him. How many times has my heart twitched a second before I looked up to see a familiar baseball cap floating up a flight of stairs? How many times have I been walking by myself, mulling over the idea of calling him and ultimately deciding not to, just to have his car screech to a sudden stop beside me on the street? Wierd shit like that went on for a few years. Fate kept throwing us together, so I came to keep an eye out for his presence. More often than not, my heart recognizes him before I do. That shit doesn't help.

*erase erase erase*

Thank you, Karma, for this experience. It was the catalyst to a lot of revelations and changes, and it gave me the courage to jump off of cliffs. It put a lot of things into perspective when it came to relationships and matters of the heart, and reintroduced sympathy into my understanding. It helped me let a lot of destructive things go. And now, I'll never settle.

Ta, beautiful. My only regret now is that I lost a very potent muse.

Nods

Hung out with Kryptonite today. Didn't falter, but toed around the familiar first stages of our relationship. There were the hard laughs, the sarcastic dialogues, the physical binds I used to yearn for. I felt my petals stretching towards him, so I pulled back. It took a lot, but I did good.

We leaned back in the car and joked around for a few until he started work around midnight. I gave him a hug that I wanted to put more into, but I held myself in check.

This has always been our problem. He makes me so scared to show hope. He makes me feel foolish, but not with active intent; he does it with his reactions, his withdrawals. He shows all the typical signs of Mind Game, and I've decided to bury this story -- future and all -- deep into the soil.

It's just very hard to do when he's next to me, and we're laughing.

Because of this, I reign in my actions. And I am a very bad liar, I can't even omit information without a struggle. You can see the effort all over my face. While I know that doing this will only lead to the cycle of misunderstanding that kept us conflicted this entire time, at this point I have to do it for myself. Before, I fell back because I thought I was smothering him away. Now, I do it because I am terrified of the welling of hope that's rising in the pits of my chest again.

I had the opportunity to answer "Wait. You're avoiding me?" with something that could have spoken volumes of what I was feeling, and possibly shine more understanding into his world. I could have said a number of things. But then I faltered, I held back. I bit my tongue. I shrugged, and he silenced.

I don't want to open this door again. So I will say here the few things (out of the entire speech that rolled into my mind after we parted ways LOL) I wanted to say the entire night:

"You make me so afraid to hope.
You keep showing me I shouldn't.
And at this point, I know better.

It just keeps happening! And I don't know how to stop it.

I know I can't change you, but it's hard for me to stop pressing to it when my heart keeps instantly recognizing you.

I have to stay away -- out of sight, out of mind.

But, it was really, realy good seeing you again tonight. And though I know I shouldn't, I hope that we can do this again."