My Brain (22-Sep-2016)


Here’s a perfect example of how my brain works. Do note – if you can’t follow the bouncing jai-alai ball on some level (I will never expect anyone to catch it because Goddess knows I can’t), I understand. Also, understand that we may never get along, because my brain lies to me and sends thoughts on a fast fucked up track and all I can do is try and hold on to see where the ball lands. My brain is only linear on certain occasions. None of them happening in recent memory.


Now then.

*scratches head, STILL trying to sort out the words, for SlothBrain is slothing*

I believe that when I hope for something, when I get excited about something, when I’m genuinely looking forward to something, it will fall through. Crash and burn like the last Space-X Falcon 9 rocket did off the launchpad, taking a satellite with it. (This, by the way, is actually me attempting to be gentle to myself. You may close the page and turn back now, if you’d like. Because the other analogies I had are far, far worse. And I dunno that what I have to say will be any better.)

Fuck it.

Sensei and I were (are…?) supposed to meet up with Sensei’s Journeyman tomorrow. This may now not happen, for whatever reason.

I like the Journeyman. She gets me. She also, I think, is a beautiful, gentle soul who hasn’t once deserved the shit she’s been put through, or puts herself through. It hurts what little is left of my heart to know that. Because I recognize it. On levels that many, if not most outside of us never will understand.

She also scares the living fuck out of me sometimes (not badly. Just…more…*shakes head BBBRRBBRGLLRHRGR*). Hence, she’s the Journeyman.

The Journeyman is here for her own reasons, with others.

Contact has been attempted by Sensei. No word yet. And that’s fine. On my logical (it happens sometimes, shut up) level, perfectly understandable. She’s here on her time. She’s got shit to do with the people she’s with. And, from my understanding, some of those people can be….trying.


I want the meet up to happen. Badly. I want the laughing and the cackling and the jokes and the seriousness and the…Happy.


In my head, I had something to look forward to. To, yes, hope for.


But because I do? It won’t.

It just won’t.


It’s not Sensei’s fault. It’s not the Journeyman’s fault.

It’s mine.

Because I dared to hope for something Happy. Something Good.


Before you say it – NO. IT’S NOT LOGICAL. My brain only works on logic when I force it to, when I put every goddamned last bit of my willpower (lately) into focusing.

But. There you are. And here I are.

I did try to make contact in my own way. *shrug* We’ll see.


Wonder what my brain would look like as a Rube Goldberg schematic.


All I know is that I want the Journeyman to be safe, and happy, and whole.



So. Yeah.


And before you ask?

I’m sober.




The Jester dances the dance that makes the people laugh.

That’s her job. To play the fool, to ridicule without ridicule, to fumble and fart her way into your heart with her jokes and her gags and her cagey, Chesire Cat smile, until all you remember is laughing. You go to bed, lay your head on your pillow and say “This was a good night.”

What you don’t


Is the Jester disrobing.

Boots off of feet bloody from all the

                bouncing and

            trouncing she’s done for your entertainment.

Voice a metallic mess of shattered vocal chords

                 and cracked lips from the fear of the one word she might say to make you angry, “Off wif ‘er ‘ead and I’ll thankee not t’leave a stain onna carpet”

A growl, an inner howl of anguish and pain that you don’t comprehend because all you Hear are



Bells of her


The sweat soaked costume *sklikts* off her frame like dead, peeling skin still desperately trying to cling to a Framework of solidity

She sits.

Hips aching,

breastbone breaking against the

Shuddering tide of feelings she’s kept inside for so long that

In her dreams (that she don’t remember)

They fly like seagulls alongside the storm

High and free and Laughing


Knowing that it’ll all just start again tomorrow.











Can’t read, clowns will eat me. Can’t turn off, clowns will eat me. Can’t relax, clowns will eat me.

Not a fan of clowns, really.

Also – Focus is such a peculiarly shaped word. In my head, anyway. See, sometimes I see sounds and hear shapes in the same way. At the risk of sounding ballsoutinsane (in other news – it’s Wednesday) – I don’t know how to actually describe it. Sound and Shape to me are kinda mayonnaise’d in my head sometimes.




That makes sense to me. The equation sings. If you have THIS and you have THIS then they will equal THIS. And god damn it, it works.

The square of the hypotenuse (c2) [otherwise known as the one and only diagonal bit on the right triangle] is equal to the square of both of its sides (=a2+b2) [otherwise known as the shorter and longer bits that connect the diagonal bit] [But just so they don’t think I’m being “Mathist”, it is entirely possible that  a could be the longer bit and b the shorter bit, because a and b don’t actually really matter in the long run, in terms of labels, it’s really what c turns out to be that ultimately matters]

And what’s most outstanding?

c2 can be Infinite.

And a2+b2 will always equal it.



My brain, lovely gentlefolk, in a nutshell.






Photo credit: Adam Pretty/Getty Images

In order to dive, you have to do something that most human beings wouldn’t. You have to thrust, fling, and otherwise throw your body into a great expanse of nothing, make it look graceful all the while controlling the contortions of your limbs as you twist and spin and somersault so that barely a splash surges up when you hit the water.

I admire divers. Even the ones who aren’t considered “contenders”. They have the guts to take to the air, and for a moment, the breifest moment, fly. I tear up when I watch…so I don’t watch anymore.  Why? Because, for a very, very long time, I wanted to become one. So badly. And never said a word.


Now I just want to be able to control my brain in the same manner when it starts to freefall. Or, if not control it, at least make the entry into the deep a little easier.

Maybe, if I remember, I’ll print this out to remind me.



I was going to throw something up (figuratively, not literally) about “Be careful what you wish for, ’cause ya just might get it.”

In my case it’s “Shatter Me”. (Video waaaay below.)

But…apparently there’s a daisy looking up towards the sun as part of this site now, so….

I don’t honestly know if it’s really is there, or if I’ve hit that ‘special’ point where I’ve pretty much completely snapped and am now hallucinating things.


It made me grin. Widely, hugely, and made me laugh so that my poor beleaguered Mugu gave me such evil side-eye…

That’s enough.

Edit as of 11:11pm:

1. The “that’s enough” comment above wasn’t about my cat giving me death-eye, it was about me being happy for a moment.

Which still sounds odd, I grant you.

2. The picture has gone from a daisy towards the sun to a serene beach at sunset…so…yeah.


Edit as of 12:05am:

Cityscape from above looking towards the Empire State building.


Well…wasn’t all that fond of this reality anyway…





Gifts (B1)

Gifts are odd things. They can be funny or cruel. Poetic or prophetic. They can mean all to one and nothing to the other, and vice versa. Sometimes they may be life or death. Given out of love, or like, or indifference or spite or clear-as-air hatred, a gift given means something to both the giver and the receiver. For whatever it’s worth.

Life is a gift. Sometimes. And death can be a gift. Sometimes. It’s all in how you interpret it, plus what you’re handed throughout your waking days on Earth. Interpretation can be crucial, and key, no matter what else swamps and drowns the rest.

I was given life…for whatever reason. From what I was told, it was an easy birth. First labor pang hit at around 8:00 PM and *fwooomph*, I was out by 2:01 am the next morning. Six hours and one minute after the first “WHOA! Ok….” flashed through my mother and broke her water.

In my mind, my mother held me in her arms and I was both her greatest dream and worst nightmare all at the same time.

But she gave me life, and she probably smiled as I howled indignantly, angrily, sullen at being suddenly exposed to bright light and cold air, and then quieted down once I was swaddled tight and placed into her arms, heat coming back into my body after the indecency of being shoved out of the one place I’d known, all warm and swimmy and calm.

And she gently touches your still rage-red face and says “It’s ok. It’ll be ok. I promise…”


You know when Death comes for someone. You…just do. There can be a cacophony of things…labored breathing…water running, horns blaring outside on the street, sirens and buses and trains, oh my, the beating of your own heart loud in your ears, the words  you just said “It’s ok, I promise, It’ll be ok” whispered into the washcloth you soap it up…but then…


Then there is a silence that you must believe was the same silence in the stillborn Universe right before everything went BANG…It’s a…quiet…that settles deep into your marrow that you will never, ever, ever be able to shake, like standing in the heart of a hurricane, watching the world whirl, whorl, wind and twist, while all around you is still.

It’s over.

You know. And the knowing doesn’t make the whole thing any less terrible, any less horrific or terrifying…it…just is…and you will have to deal with the repercussions…

And your last, true Gift to her is touching her pale white face, so different from what you knew…cupping her chin to close her mouth, then…then…reaching up to gently close her eyes…

The cycle, in some way, is complete. But the memory will always haunt.