California Calls

Just when my mind is full and over-flowing bursting with writing, stories, and life – California calls as if it is the center of the entire world more important than anything else in that moment.  Blocking my path, my energy, and stopping all creativity in me like a mind-fucking-ruiner-of-all-things as though I am a something to be controlled rather than the someONE that I am.

Adding labels on me, placing judgements upon me, stealing my stories and replacing it with their own rather than letting me tell and show the story of me and watch the beauty of it as it unfolds.

You know, a good leader, a good management style, a good man does not shove you from behind to watch you stumble as you go.  It does not push you to the edge to watch you fall into the abyss.  It does not steal, debase, or manipulate you into something that isn’t real.

A good man supports,  learns from his mistakes rectifies and apologizes for them.

A few years ago while I was at work, a co-worker asked to see the ring I was wearing.  As I handed it to her I explained how I was trying to keep the time I took care of my mother close to me by wearing her ring.  What I did not explain is that everything in my life had turned into chaos, destruction, juevinille-stupid-games as if the illusions from which I had been living were entirely striped away from my eyes, and I saw everyone playing their part wearing their disguises.  I saw them past the colored contacts, fake bellies, and colored skins.  I played my part as I saw I was cast in a role I didn’t ask for or want, but I knew of no other way to be sane than to continue their charade.

Yet, it was SO destructive to me – understanding I was in a false reality, a charade of stars and unknowns that I was trying to cling to the last memory I had of when I had a positive outlook on the future, saw possibility, and wanted me to share the greatness of me, and the gifts I have.  More than anything else, I wanted to return to the time when I wanted a man to love for the rest of my life who wanted to love me for the rest of his life.  Because once I had the love of a good man who wanted me and to keep me as his for the rest of his life than everything else would fall into place as it should be.

Taking control of my mental state I determined that remembrances such as a ring would help me to return and stay in the moment.

When she handed my ring back to me, it was not the same.  It was a fake and a counterfeit.  Since, I was playing along with this fake store reality I had no idea how to demand she return what was mine back to me.

By the way, Rachmaninoff is so sexual to me.  I find him so passionate, consuming, makes me want to devoure the man flesh.

Away I go.