Anais Nin

“and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

“she lives without pattern, without continuity. as soon as one seeks to coordinate june, she is lost.”

“i do not like to be just one anais, whole, contained. as soon as someone defines me. i do as june does; i seek escape from the confinements of definition.”

“i speak of relief, perhaps when i write; but it is also an engraving of pain, a tatooing of myself.”

“we are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”

“life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. this is a kind of death.”

“i looked with chameleon eyes upon the changing face of the world, looked with anonymous vision upon my uncompleted self.”

you and i

i want to know you. to understand you. and the words that tumble from your lips in a sweet, silent melody heard only by my heart and soul. i will drink them in, slowly, and they will fall into my soul like drops fall from honeycombs. and i will treasure the moments as they trickle past me. and i will treasure you.

my axons and dendrites will glow in your essence. will you bathe in the streaming light of my gentle adoration? will you let me touch that swirling, spinning locus at your very core …. and stroke it so very tenderly? on their wings, your words carry lucious tendrils of you and i feel a flutter in my chest as they embrace my own.

cold fury – i wear it like a corset. it constricts my very essense – stuffs it all behind a stiff, unforgiving shield. its my face to the world-at-large: my suit of armour. in my cyborgish and mundane existence within the hive-mind that is the world-at-large, i lead … i shoulder ‘live and die’ responsibilities … commit life-altering actions … witness soul crushing pain.

the cold-fury corset – its crushing. suffocating. the same way a hard, thick scab suffocates tender, growing tissue lying underneath. will you peel away that mask of confidence and certainty that constricts me so? and lavish the affection and the adoration i crave from your safe and guiding hands, heart and soul? i want to trust that your hands and heart move with a gentle grace and deftness that leave my tender, pulsing and raw essense without track marks or debridement.

i am unsure. afraid of the dark. of monsters under the bed. and of spirits that haunt me while i sleep. i seek guidance. reassurance. validation, even. and a strong, safe and gentle hand to stroke my soft and shiny dark curls. with your gentle guidance and sublime adoration you will release the spring long shut-up inside me. will you drink the sweet elixir from my fountain as you release it from its bondage?

entrapment. entanglement. possession. lets strike these from the register — lets never speak of such poisons. i must never allow my self to dissolve – to get swallowed whole, like jonah. or allow my freedom and autonomy to whither. we will revel in our connection as our spirits embrace and grow in each other’s light and love. and my fear — it will crumble, falling away from me the way sand slips through fingers. and then … will i know you?

going home

i got in the car. wondering, on some level, why? and on some other level, asking why not? you asked the same mundane and prying questions. i gave you the same monsyllabic answers. and the same distance. not looking at you. never even glancing at you when answer you. its clear. i think. i dont wanna engage. silence falls like a net. covering us. you never talk. never did. not the way some others talk to their kids. not like that.

i am thinking about how i hate sleeping because of the fear. fear you brought to me. of how you treated me like your prized bauble. a thing for your admiration, pleasure. to be used and manipulated at will. property. no boundaries. never any boundaries. you afforded me no privacy. i remember waking up with you standing over me … close enough that i could smell your sour breath. i do not want to delve any further into the memory strand.

but the memories … they want to be discovered, sitting there in the dark and radioactive part of my consiousness. buried deep. so deep and so well hidden by my child self. i get flashes. of things. that seems like random, unexpected torture. the images whose meaning i cannot translate into words. the feelings. abject sadness. rejection. betrayal. anger. and remembering the fear. fear. and shrinking into myself. as a person. how could you?

lotus flower

lotus flower, plump
pink petals, delicately
I encircle you

photo: here

paralyzed …

my soul feels paralyzed. flashbacks. fragments and shards of memories long discarded by a frightened little girl. truly only flashes. memory images … like a dream. they float above my consciousness like a mirage. they dissolve whenever i try to describe them using words. fumes. that’s all i have left myself with. emotional fumes. sort of noxious … like the smell of a rotting, yet still live, wound.

i started to remember something. something awful. something my child self hid so well. not exactly sure how. one of those blinding flashes of elucidation. only, possibily the kind i could live without? odd little details. seemingly innocuous at first. just little bits. that’s what i started with.

and so, i decided to play memory lego with these pieces. why? why? i ask myself that question now. as i started to build these pieces onto themselves they formed some sort of towering, forboding mass. a dark structure brooding quietly in the darkest shadow. that’s what i have built. that’s what i have unearthed. how could a man do that to his daughter? how? how?

i can’t just cover it up now and move along. though that’s desperately what i’d like to do – run like fucking hell from this memory. its like that movie the matrix. take the red pill or take the blue pill. well i have somehow taken the red pill. its devastating to see that all the things i believed about my childhood and my parents are figments of confabulation. a construct to promote survival.

a construct. parts of my reality – a construct? elucidating. in much the same way as the sun’s bright light. the type of bright sunlight that threatens to burn my retinas when i stare directly into it. burning elucidation. the feeling of cold ugliness rises in my chest. its … its … a deep feeling of unworthiness. unloveable-ness, to be completely honest. its black and cold and fiery all at once. its tendrils stroke me, pierce me, and stab my tender, pulsing spirit all at once.

waking up

Sticky and wet. Everything, sticky and wet. A tickling sensation, as liquid heat oozes sluggishly from every pore. She laid still and silent, her senses perceiving hot and cold simultaneously. Hundreds of tiny beads of sweat trickle down the small of her back and along her scalp like the slow, soft caresses of infinite tiny finger tips.

Soft caresses – her soft caresses. A wet, slippery sap coated her fingertips when she touched her pink fleshy lips. She long to lick these wet lips and taste their sweet syrup. She smiled at thinking – her own sweet syrup. Her heart pounded like a bodhran, and she felt her groin swell with engorgement of blood. Waiting to exhale … then … a sweet sigh, followed by a quiet orgasmic squeal of delight.

my vulva

written 30.03.06 under a psuedonym … you know i have felt like this sometimes – c’mon what girl doesn’t i wonder?

it’s all about my vulva, guys.
if my vuvla doesn’t feel orgasmic pleasure,
then your penis won’t either

my vulva comes first
why? because, when you guys have an orgasm
you tend to forget that there is someone else,
that we exist.

think about it.
if i still have to pleasure myself
after having sex,
then why should i bother
with said sex?

you know–
it’s terribly messy, anyway.

a bone-chilling urge to escape?

i wrote this for the previous blog on march 6, 2006. b4 all hell broke loose in my life. it seems like a stone along the path i have embarked upon, so i repost it here.

soooo restless, indecisive, fickle. i cannot stand to live in my own skin some times. these times a restless, bone-chilling ache seizes my soul and does not let go. a residual feeling of unsatisfaction looms, hovers in the distant horizon. like a giant, dark cloud – the culmination of every loss, every disappointment, every heart break i have felt. and then there is self doubt – a nagging, high-pitched squeal that resides inside my consciousness.

where does self-doubt end and self-evaluation begin? when does ‘taking stock’ become wondering if i made the right choices? and why bother wondering at all? the choices have been made many years ago. is marriage a life-long commitment necessitating mutual-exclusivity and fidelity, where 2 become 1? isn’t this a prison sentence,then?

is marriage a symbiotic relationship – eventually so habitual that it weaves itself into the fabric of each partner’s personality? this implies that each person remains an individual and does not get assimilated by the ‘marriage entity collective,’ but nonetheless remain somehow intertwinned in existence. why do we think true love is ownership, possession and jealousy? is marriage really ownership and assimilation? that certainly is NOT what i signed up for …

does true love mean sacrificing oneself to fidelity? isn’t it naive to think that one can truly be sexually satisfied for a lifetime with one sexual partner? shouldn’t we continually strive to push the envelope, stir the passions, seek physical satisfaction if the status quo does not meet our needs?

don’t we continually strive to push the envelope and challenge ourselves in every other arena of life? then, why does the physical suffer? why do we have to settle for the status quo? and … what if i don’t want to? what if i want a meal supplment? like … an hors d’oeuvre? if i have an hors d’oeuvre, does it mean i am rejecting the main course?

let’s impeach the president

Let’s impeach the president for lying
And leading our country into war
Abusing all the power that we gave him
And shipping all our money out the door

He¹s the man who hired all the criminals
The White House shadows who hide behind closed doors
And bend the facts to fit with their new stories
Of why we have to send our men to war

Let¹s impeach the president for spying
On citizens inside their own homes
Breaking every law in the country
By tapping our computers and telephones

What if Al Qaeda blew up the levees
Would New Orleans have been safer that way
Sheltered by our government¹s protection
Or was someone just not home that day?

Let’s impeach the president
For hijacking our religion and using it to get elected
Dividing our country into colors
And still leaving black people neglected

Thank god he¹s racking down on steroids
Since he sold his old baseball team
There’s lot of people looking at big trouble
But of course the president is clean

Thank God

from the new disc by neil young — living with war

pulling it all together

you may have noticed a few blogs have gone missing. well, lol, they haven’t gone missing, really. they just bit the dust. velvet just felt like consolidating all those blogs into one soupy blog. so, all the posts from the other blogs are still there (except for a few insignificant, extraneous posts i deleted) … comments may not be though, i think they got dissolved into cyberspace-dom …

ok. so i’m trying to blog a little more cohesively – you know? put everything in one place. the stress level is starting to creep up again. i now remember why i left home at 17 … YIKES! living with the parents is enuf to make me pull my hair out!! (oops, well it made me sort of tumble off the wagon … just a teensy bit … but i will get back on soon enuf …).

i am overwhelmed with this desperate throbbing urge to escape. escape … to my own space. i can feel myself unravelling as the stress level builds – like that loose thread on a piece of clothing. and then i feel the old patterns manifest themselves in responses. dissociative. so dissociative. i realize i have this almost pathological fear of getting swallowed up. its like the borg: ‘you will be assimilated, resistance is futile.’ WHAT IF I DON’T WANT TO BE ASSIMILATED!!! ?? this two becomes one stuff – you know the stuff of coupledom? its crap. I AM ONE ALREADY. i wanna stay that way … (except for gestating, of course).

anyway … the light of elucidation is less blinding these days and i am really enjoying the scenery that long seemed hidden in the murky fog of living with closed eyes. its such a trip. wow … is all i can say.