Preparing for departure

Indifference is beginning to set in. Permanence is such a pretty veil... I've walk down the aisle many times now, rehearsing my marriage to life, only to tear off my clothes and go running blindly into the wind, naked body trembling, soul singing the archer's cry.

Roots disconnect, and the energy starts to move.

Soon I will travel and create many new things.

Life poker

I see your sadness and I raise you heart break.

To your heart break, I raise you hope.

To your hope, I raise you love.

This is in South Carolina. Frangelica aways had a mohawk or crazy daft punk hair in high school, and secretly, I wanted too as well. This entire outfit is mine. Zebra top from the 80's, skirt from Harujuku, fishnets, and boots from Utsunomiya.

Getting grounded

Some days
I can hear my soul

Pleading me
to come back to her

Hollowed eyes
cracking under pressure

Dancing smile
Refracting glowing lights

Tastes good
understanding freedom, honeychild

Heavy heart

I feel like I'm sinking. Came across old pictures of me, Yoko, Jim, and Johann on Kauai. Wondered to myself, what do I keep doing that pushes entire groups of people away from me.

People seem to wanna stay, farther and farther
Destruction is surfing in my wake, following mother
I can not pretend no more, no no no
I can not pretend, Father oh Father
Oh I'll drive everyone away, like a fucking tornado.

Looking at my Father so much this week I see his sadness deep seeded in his core.

Papa, I see a weapon of tears inside of you.

I think it's amazing how you can physically feel sadness. It hurts.

I'm terrified to go home. My heart is delicate and wincing at the thought.

I'm not allowed to say I can't handle this. Just a personal standard.

But I'll sit here crying.

I have no idea what I'm going home to. I loved my father with my step mother. I loved having a family.

Maybe it's false security. Who gives a fuck.

And if everything goes...I will be there for them.

20 trips

Yesterday I vomited consecutively more times than I can remember.

rewind.

I had made a few calls to friends looking for a muscle relaxer, probably one of the only people making that call for the drug's intended purpose. While waiting I asked Alex, who if she didn't have them herself, would probably know someone who did. She dipped into her room and came back with a tiny piece of an orange pill.

"What's that?"
"Suboxone, it's just a tiny tiny bit, it'll do the trick."
"What's it for?"

I hate quoting without being able to remember exact words. More or less, Suboxone is an opiate that's prescribed to morphine and heroin addicts to help them get the body effect without the high, relieving them of the pain from withdraws. She racked off scientific information about some receptors in the brain being blocked and whatnot, telling me I would feel better but wouldn't get the head high.

Went to a chiropractor and got a cheap deal thanks to Wolfgang, Alex's dad, and already had some range of motion back. Nothing had turned up from either of my friends, so I decided to settle on what Alex had given me, assuming I had done enough research on it to justify consumption.

Ate a dinner of sauteed greens, some chicken, rice, and poke. Took the Suboxone, and got in the bath around nine. Something felt extra wet about the water, my senses probing past the boundaries of the shower curtain, my toes giggled with suds as I scrubbed. Suddenly I realized I was dizzy.

Getting out of the bath I realized I was really dizzy. And couldn't focus on one thing. Loosing my balance I stumbled to the bed, and decided to ride and enjoy what was happening. At least my pain was going down. Early bed, and tomorrow I'll feel great.

The next two hours were splendid. Floating half between awake and sleep, the state of dreaming was warm and cozy. I drifted off to sleep.

2 am. I wake. Everything felt soooo goood to touch. I wished for specific company, muttered a curse at the distance of the sea, and slipped back to sleep.

4 am. I wake. Everything felt bad. Okay, puke and feel better, a common rational. Went to the toilet, vomited hard.

I remember looking at the greens floating, thinking to myself as I watched them sink, it should have been cake.

What a waste.

I brushed my teeth and laid back down.

A few random minutes passed and nausea possessed me. Okay, puke twice and feel better, right?

Only this time when I laid back down, I was freezing, and shaking. I closed my eyes, slipping into a dream wild sleep until revolution hit my stomach again. what the fuck..?

After three hours and five vomits I had run out of food to expel, left with dry heaving to the sound of rain smacking on the ground, glowing golden with the morning sun. Pain and beauty truly do compliment each other.

The cycle seemed to be 30 minute increments. Wake, vomit/dry heave, break into a profuse sweat, become freezing cold, lay back in bed shaking for five minutes, close my eyes and immediately fall back into a restless busy sleep. Wake, repeat.

One strange thing about drug-induced delirium is that it can become very hard to tell the difference between reality and non. Slumped over the toilet, even if my eyes fluttered closed for a second, I believed what ever was broadcast across the back of my eyelids, until I'd realize I had no toothpaste in my hand or that I was, in fact, not buried in a hill. Opening my eyes gave me little compensation, for everything moved that should not have moved, and I was trapped in the cycle, teeth chattering so hard I could have put wind-up toys out of business.

Somewhere I heard my phone blurt out a familiar ring tone, and I cried out silently.

There came a point where I had nothing left in my stomach, and instead of at least some stomach acid or dry heaving, a wrenching pain slashed across my stomach, and clear liquid mixed with reddish-brownish gunk started coming up. Upon sitting in the sink for a minute, it would oxidize, turning a darker shade of fear.

I thought I was vomiting blood. Scared the shit out of me.

Mama Lindsey says it was bile...I know I psych myself out sometimes, but this was fucking horrifying.

Everything slowed down around 6:30. By 8 I had managed to drink a glass of water and juice.

What a day. Few times in life have I considered going to the hospital.

This was one.

verbatum

"I'm mentally ill to a degree, in and out of depression, harsh and mean. I'd like to think I'm a loving person but it's like, oh, by the way, there's this fucking laundry list of things that drives people away and keeps me stuck." - John Crago, February 18th, 2010

Immobile.

I can't move.

Sunday morning I woke up with a stiff neck; limiting, sure, but nothing that couldn't be overcome with some down time and stretching....right?

So I took it easy Sunday, worked Monday and Tuesday, and Bryan worked on my neck Tuesday evening. Still stiff when I woke up Wednesday, but it loosened throughout the day, so I figured it was time for some tennis ball action. Laying on my bed at 2:00 am I used them to hit pressure points on my cervical spine to give me some relief from the tooth-ache like feeling frozen between my bones.

Until something went horribly, horribly wrong.

It's literally like having hot knives twisting in your nerves. I don't know what I did, but all the sudden I couldn't move without searing pain shooting throughout my neck. I tried to roll to the side, fail. Tried to pull myself up, fail. For the next hour I tried to breath through the pain as waves of spasms built up speed and crashed through my body.

Desperation kicks in. I remembered having half a vicodin somewhere.....somewhere....

So I rolled through white pain and slowly shuffled around my room looking for some relief other than pot. Thank god I at least had that though, because I couldn't find anything else. No ibuprofin, nothing. Then I remembered giving it to Jim six months ago when I left him in Portland.

With sorrowful acceptance, I laid back down.....and got stuck.

So much for self help and care, at least I could self medicate. I couldn't sleep, and when five am hit I finally drifted, waking every two hours to that same suck the breath out of you agony.

It's fucking agony.

So here I am, laying on my bed trying to get some work done at least.

Please dear god make this stop.

Band Photographer

I've photographed:

Kings of Spade, opening for Bon Jovi..............Hawaii 2010

Cornhead...................................................Japan 2009

Rize............................................................Japan 2009

Ai's backing band..............................................Japan 2009

Nahko and Medicine for the People......................Cornstalk 2009

Ariel Eisen...................................................Cornstalk 2009

Alanis Morissette............................Power to the Peaceful 2009

Michael Franti..............................Power to the Peaceful 2009

Somewhere in Dreamland...

angels in my shower

I remember almost every time I've seen them. Time slows and bends under the suspended air. They dance into the corner of my eye, rolling around me in a swarm that grows.

Blue and white and grey orbs float gently without a sound.

I weep, remembering I am blessed.

And give thanks.

Salem.

Horray Learning!

I love learning. Out of amazement (slash jealousy) of Shaun's editing skills, I decided to learn a bit about burning and dodging via photo.net tutorials. Jay Kinghorn has a great article on it and breaks all the steps down for a great work flow. Usually I prefer a classroom setting but photography has generally been a self driven passion for me anyway. So here you have it. This is what I learned today. Same shot I posted the other day, only this time with a before and after. Despite how much I've bragged about not using photoshop as part of my work flow in the past, well...damn. It sure does make a difference.

I can't wait!

"Cruising Sausalito, hiking the headlands, walking in the haight, Bdsm in the mission and picnic in the park! Road trippin, LSD trippin, Mary Jane, bondage, photography, whiskey and wine, walk on the docks, watch the fog. Motorcycle rides and sleeping in on the houseboat after staying up all night listening to music and cooking."

Admist all of the craziness in my life there is something happening that drives me just as crazy in a very, very different way.

I like a boy.

And it's not just a crush anymore. Despite both of our attempts to keep the other at bay, something real is happening between us, whether we like it or not.

...Something tells me we're both enjoying it.

I keep my heart at the end of an obstacle course, complete with fiery hoops and jaws of death. Constructed on a no man's land, abstractly fluctuating, this race against the clock is not a playground for the weak. Often I can be found here, swinging from check point to check point, changing rope riggings to insure the path is never the same.

It seems I've met my match.

slicing gently

I'll block the world out

Plug into any electronic outlet

for a black-out inlet to silence

from myself

from the outside

can't squeeze the last drop

it doesn't do it anymore

not the same kind of feeling

that first drag

that last sad cry

sitting only makes me wilder

eyes dart from side to side

heart wide open and still tearing

weak from strain

weak from staying

only stopping to keep count

like my days are numbered

dyslexia can be a good thing sometimes

mistakes

glass never tasted so good

smooth on my lips

containing nothing but solace

please don't tease me

I'll wrap my tongue around you

just to taste your edge and fantasize

take you dancing circles on my skin

together we could pop the cork

drink bitter wine

bleeding from where my breath has been

holding

grit my teeth and grin

another night to tie me over

gums aching

one of these days

we'll make love again

drip with the sweetness of my sins.

Getting paid

According to Dad, my Mondays yield better than his does.

Probably.

Last week I sent out a serious manifestation for photography gigs. This week I made $300 from two gigs, plus I shot Kings Of Spade opening for Bon Jovi.

Fucking go me.

It's so funny, I have such low confidence sometimes when I'm shooting. Mama Lindsey tells me to just do my thing and be myself. More and more I'm finding this to be a great foundation, to have faith in my skills. I probably could have shot the concert better, but we'll see how they turn out. Risks can be rewarding.

Regardless, I'm starting to believe in myself.

This is Bob.

Say hi bob.

honestly?

My father called me tonight. It was seven fifteen my time, I'd just finished four massages for my day's work.

"You're a woman, and you know me better than anyone. With all my rages, temper, and anger, if you were in a relationship with a man like me, would you stay in it?"

I teared up.

"No."

I silently cried.

We talked for a bit. Winding roads of the mind often whip you around before bringing you back to the beginning of the turn you keep missing. Once again, he's getting divorced, loosing his property, business is failing, and that fork in the road looks oh so familiar....Except now he's 61 and realizing he can't keep making the same mistakes.

I finally told him that he has a pattern of seeking out crazy women to make him feel sane when his life goes to shit.

Out of anything I said, he heard it.

It's been a rocky few days. Shaun and I were talking on skype about Jeff's old shit, and I broke down. Memories of my brother not standing up for me and saying I probably did something stupid to deserve it, my mother telling me that my staying at her house after I broke up with Jeff was just me trying to manipulate her.

Really I had no where else to go.

Really deep down I don't trust people.

Maybe that's why I'm so sad.

If you look too deeply, anything will break your heart.

timing and impulse

Just got home from photographing the opening band for the Bon Jovi concert at the Honolulu Neil Blaizdel (Sp?) center....Kings of Spade will continue to rock the blues and hip hop bouncing around the hips of every person who attended tonight.

My job? eeeh.

I did alright. Nothing spectacular. Fuuuuck.

It's so funny, when I try to relax and trust in myself, the product always seems somewhat.... mediocre. Head shots today, plus photographing the opening show. Other times it just flows without stopping....Tomorrow will tell if today was such an instance.

Timing and Impulse.

One of my recently (six months ago?) spiritual and life teachers has been consistently instilling in me the effort that needs to be made in balancing dreaming and planning. Often I tend to, like my father, build a dream like a kite, overly excited at the gentle breeze and blindly faithful to my decisions.

Fuck I'm tired. I'll finish this over tea in the morning.

Waking up backwards

My eyes flutter and I go through a check list.

One. Am I still dreaming. Good God horrors have ensued from not including this as a first in the routine.

Two is like a double sided check. It's a balance of "am I late?" and "what day is it?" Once I grasp one of these then I can swing into a schedule of meetings or work commitments, the times they start, and calculate how long I have to enjoy my tea.

Today I have thirty more minutes.

I had a huge pang of fear last night on the bus ride home from work. Mostly about my decision to go to the mainland for a month and a half. One of my patterns is to build a foundation and then send my shadow to jerk the rug out from under my feet. Meaning that when things start getting consistent in my life I make sure I'm out. Maybe it's just my defenses.

And I don't regret my decision. Just wondering how it will pan out. Home to come back to, check. Clients love me so they'll be there when I come back, check.

The two big things I feel like I dented are the Pilates course I'm taking, and the Church of Eden filming. My original plan was to audit the Pilates course in March so I really had all the information I spaced out on in January. The resolution will be that I BUST ASS in April and May to take the test before my 6 month time span runs out. Please don't let me waste $1200 of my own money, or anyone's for that matter.

The Church of Eden is a growing connection I definitely want to maintain. Good for me that I'm well liked by the Reverend, and I do a surprisingly good job as his beautiful co-host. So we'll do double filmings till I leave to finish the episodes. Cross my fingers there will be more work with them when I get back.

I'm sooo excited for my trip. I leave in three weeks. San Francisco, and a few other places in California, and Colorado Springs to visit my family.

Something real is happening in my heart and it scares the shit out of me.

Trying to sit still

it's like having ants for blood.

Choices continued

Being grounded is designed to make you feel sane.

Okay, sleep and tea do a body good. Tonight will mark the first evening of many to come where I either have only one glass of wine or none.

Being grounded is not designed to make you feel sane.

Foundation and apathy dance on a blurry line depending on how well you challenge and motivate yourself throughout the construction of the place you feel grounded. People tend to go three little pig style, trial and error, moving from grass hut to stick shack to a brick house.

I on the other hand, built a trampoline. My foundation is reliant on a system of metal springs and plastic, gravity and the weather. Slip once and you could get seriously jacked but that double bounce the rain enables is like finding the secret level of mushrooms in the clouds on Mario.

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes I retreat to underneath my launch pad, building a make-shift cave from blankets and palm frans and grape vines. Know your tools inside and out, top and bottom. Lay on your back and watch how light drips through the cracks and onto your eager tongue and gaping mouth.

Making choices

Okay, left side of the plane or the right. If we crash, am I in a seat that leaves me prone to explosion? If shit was to go down am I sitting in the emergency exit row, willing and able?

Well I did give you my verbal agreement, but I also scream silent profanities in-between words.

That's got to nullify it somehow.

39J? Does J hold good balance with 3 and 9? Is a fat person going to fart next to me?

I need to stop drinking so much.

One thing I'm realizing is that I have massive amounts of fears towards loosing my foundation. Usually it takes a good five months to build one, and as soon as the last twig is placed and the last piece of yarn has lined my bed, I push myself out of the nest in a ballsy do or die time to fly baby moment.

Except it's like my dreams sometimes, where even if a part of me dies, everything keeps going.

And I breath silently, watching through closed eyes, the colors dance and swirl.

Being grounded is designed to make you feel sane. But it's also designed to make you feel insane. Seriously. Reason being is that it's purpose is not to make you feel secure, supported, nor is it's purpose to make you fall asleep while you're at the computer...

...tea time tomorrow morning. more then.

Tragedy that brings bitter laughter.

It's funny sometimes, how you can choose to wall yourself inside this crumbling shell of wanting to hate the outside world. Even when your close friends who know you better than you'd like to admit surround you while you cry, trying to hug the choking feeling of loneliness out of you without knowing just how much it means to you to be touched by them, thought of. To be read so easily when you feel that you were words on a page lost in the book of life; written in invisible ink, rained on, dripping away under the black light of your own misery.

my yogurt.

It's mine. I bought two on sale for $2.50 each. Normally, they're $9.30 a piece. Within a week an entire one was gone. Okay, I'll let that one go...

So I wrote a note and placed it under the lid of the sealed one saying, "Please don't eat! Amber needs for training!"

I went in today and someone had removed the note and eaten a third of it.

What the fuck. I mean, to take off the note that specifically says Please Don't Eat, throw it away, and eat it is just rude. And selfish. Fucking go buy your own yogurt.

It's my yogurt.

Remembering empathy.

Had I not looked up randomly when opening the door from my bathroom, the green grasshopper that has decided to share a room with me would have gone unseen by my self-induced gloom stricken eyes. Having already stopped to photograph a dead pigeon this afternoon, the sight of a one legged grass hopper with look-alike leaf wings should not have phased me much. But somehow the pause to read the air lasted a few seconds longer than I'd normally allow; perhaps credited to the mind-altering saturation of the flowers I had smoked earlier, or the rut I'd been slinging muddy thoughts around in for the past week after I realized I'd slid into them on a joyride to my own mental hell.

Either way I found myself struck by the moment, more-so than the emo glasses my perception had stuck on my face. Fucking badass grass hopper. I have two legs. Grass hopper has one.

It crawls closer to me as I project pink light, and feel the natsukashi sensation of empathy.

Trying to grasp a shelter

Often I receive compliments of always appearing strong, grounded, sound, and warm.

Often after the curtain is drawn, I slip behind damp veils of clotted blindness, closing off my senses to the outer world that sneers at my attempts to hide from myself by withdrawing into myself.

Manic outbursts. Those moments when all the tedious details of life meld into one big frustrated pouting question of why do I have to do all this human bullshit every day? Perhaps I've spent too long floating in-between to feel a sense of home in one or the other. Confusion has been known to encourage the desire to escape. And escaping is often an easy downhill roll; look Mom, no hands.

It's funny like that. When I spend intimate time with someone, I often wish to be back in the solace of the numbing arms of my solitude. However, once I get there, such feelings of detachment wrap me up in the blatant fact that I was hiding from myself all along.

But it's boring. And repetitive. Next time might be a different setting or emotion, but always chock full of human deception. And that laughter singing from across the line drawn in chalk, marking the duality of my silver lining radar.

I could change. I'm teetering on the edge of that cliff knowing that at some point, if I jump, I'll just get cold and wet. Which is worse than not having to go through the whole ridiculous process of getting there and getting out. Predictability and apathy breeding with the seduction of routine and false comfort.

Maybe something in me just craves observing myself in the rush of falling.