in which witness is borne: birds, politics, fiction and critical art theory

now what?

Saturday, July 16, 2005
where did this sniveling, tantrum-throwing tornado of classless misery come from, and what has she done with the real me? no one in Blogworld wants to hear about how little sleep you had last night, but that's all i can seem to manage to express. ugh. i think i finally conked out, post-panic attack and post-argument, around 6, got up again at 8:30.
3 hours of peacemaking and blueberry pancakes later, i'm wondering where all of that vitriol really came from. i think it erodes my already tenuous emotional stability to feel so disconnected from my creative self. A piece is coming due next month, more projects await a dusting-off and effort in order to come into being, i'm finally seeing how suckingly empty the page can be once school is over and you are left with your own negative voices and drained bank account.

in other news, has anyone else been having really bizarre dreams lately? it's as if the gestalt is shifting into darker territory, at least for me, where i have to participate in game shows which end with prizes for the winners and elaborately conceived deaths for the losers. Sort of a Lady or the Tiger scenario, updated with lethal injection technologies.
trying to get back to birding. trying to see my way clear to a new apartment, new job (hopefully, hopefully soon) and new projects.

12:05 PM :: ::
  • hey mar-mar,

    i have all faith in your meaningful contribution to the world.

    um, yes... i have been having wierd dreams lately... not that i've been able to remember them. the most recent haunting one included my new waking-world sweetheart arriving (looking like someone completely diferent) in san francisco, from somewhere a little farther south down the peninsula looking for a police bomb-squad becasue someone had assembled a crude dynamite time-bomb and strapped it to her body. the bomb was easily defused, and we went to her parents place which was almost indeciferable to me, because of the upper class accoutrements filling their space and coversation.

    the dream faded out on a sunlit note.

    much love,

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 6:42 PM  
  • oh---thank you. that feels good. and i know dreams hold a mirror to our emotional selves, and that my creative life will right itself again. it's just good to have friends to affirm it for me, once in awhile...

    By Blogger mar-mar, at 6:26 AM  
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