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01/01 Direct Link
Most of my beloved friends are going through some serious legitimate shit. But just about each one of them needs a serious kick in the ass from a proactivity boot. This generation has developed a serious lack of willpower and determination. None of them are fighting for their lives. And I'll tirelessly stand by their side, their wobbling knees, until they fall to their perish or off themselves by some petulant pouty method like self-cutting or prescribed overdoses. I know they are hurting, but the repititious whining is getting none of us anywhere. Self-sufficiency, people! Be your solution!
01/02 Direct Link
Everytime I drink coffee, my armpits start to emit funkiness(You thought I'd start my creativity rant. I'm not always that predictable. Usually, but not always.) Husband and me rag on my stinky right pit. For whatever reason, that one's natural musk is more prevalent. I've detoxed with bentonite clay deodorants or switched back to the good chemical shit. Nothing! Coffee forever releases a toxin party in my weird miraculous little body. My lymphatic system could use a cleansing. My chakras a good soul shaking. Caffeine abstinence would do the trick, but so does green juice and a soap scrubbin.
01/03 Direct Link
Hemingway said something like: you don't write, you sit at a typewrite and bleed. Well, from that perspective, my blood is congealed and has stuck to my bones. Sometimes you can pick at it, and flick it from your fingers if you don't grab a good chunk. But I retract, by way of backspace, the things that would reveal me. I don't know why I do this, especially since this project is anonymous. Fear of complaining, fear of failure, fear of being average or less than. But I don't believe I fear that largely. That I'm consciously aware of anyway.
01/04 Direct Link
The natives, savages, dwelling between the trees and earth, peered through the foliage into the blue expanse, and saw from the horizon known only for bringing celestial rains and storms, a massive vessel growing larger in perspective and landing on their beaches. From another world. No doubt they were Gods. What happens when we see a craft sail down from the heavens, entities similar to our fleshly shells, try to take over our land. Would they be Gods? Do we attack? Do we explore them, or they us? Surely most would think it unnatural. Some of us would be waiting.
01/05 Direct Link
I used to think a broken heart would kill me. Now I truly understand the role of scar tissue. It rebuilds around the damaged cell walls. It holds the crumbled parts together. It's stronger, harder. It pumps as much blood, maybe a little thicker. Maybe I'm just grateful that I have something to write about again. But I've changed. I don't find the need to dwell on the pain. I live side by side with this swollen pulsing heart and nurture it. Only the self knows exactly what it needs to hear to appease itself. Nobody else can soothe it.
01/06 Direct Link
If I don't know what to write, it's my own goddamn fault. For not reading enough books. If so, for picking pretentious complexities way above my stress-oxidized brain capacity. For not association with free spirited vulgar snobs who never censor their critically creative minds. For trying to look deeply into subjects and forgetting to connect with those narcissistic douches who just say what's on their minds because it's satisfying and enriching and because their upbringing, at some point, allowed them to say what they want without consequence. Also, I don't drink entirely enough to express any shit I want.
01/07 Direct Link
There are piles of corrugated boxes in every room. Some neatly taped up like a time capsule, prepared for storage. Some open ended, with poorly categorized memorabilia and junk, as if in limbo. I wonder if most people would be nostalgic about four years of accumulated pain and progress, or would they feel the dull headache-inducing numbness that I feel. I try and recall some of it, but something instinctively begins wrenching and constricting my upper extremeties so that it blocks the memories from completely reformulating. It could've been that wretched, or maybe I just remember it that way.
01/08 Direct Link
So many alternative lives could've branched out from a decision split another way. What if Dad would've taken the Good Humor Ice Cream man job when we were little? Somehow this crumb dad spilled seems a big deal. He should have consulted the children to see how we felt about going this direction? What if I had persevered through my piano lessons and become a teacher based on the faith they demonstrated in me? What if Sister married a Spanish guy and we never experienced the rest of America like the other Miami habitants that only travel in cruise ships?
01/09 Direct Link
I donít understand people who, when you offer them cookies, say no so effortlessly; mindlessly. I understand people who refuse them, but only after defending their absurd position of denial. "No thanks, Iím dieting." "No thanks, Iím avoiding sugar." "Ugh..I really want one but I gotta watch my figure." People who simply say no because they donít feel the pull of the cookie, well, I just donít want to live in that world. And by the way, "Iím not hungry" doesnít qualify as an excuse. Cookies have nothing to do with hunger.
01/10 Direct Link
I tend to observe more than participate. I tend toward the introvert, therefore spend loads of time in my own thoughts and imagination. What I'm seeing is unstable loved ones repeating harmful patterns and habits, comfortable in shadows. Now that I'm ready to move on, my shoulder is a heavy with the heads of my friends. I suppose they are simply going through the inevitable process of growing up, and I prefer they not go it alone as I did, even though I'm anxious to move forward with my own unburdened ambitions. It seems I must still conquer the ego.
01/11 Direct Link
Steeped rose petals doesn't sound like they would taste very pleasing, even in tea. To soak in a bath of the aromatic flower, that's more feasible. But you can't necessarily taste fragrance, unless you're one of those whose can also smell music. The petals smell delicious, but I've had the experience of experimenting with Rose Kulfi frozen treat. Along with the thick and creamy substance swishing around my mouth, it was like swallowing a very hard alcohol, shampoo, and perfume mixture. I truly wanted to expand my openess to all cuisines involving flora, but it had to be spit out.
01/12 Direct Link
That time I was five, still dependent on my mother for all forms of protection, I experienced the third glitch in my life. I had many of unexplicable things shake my sense of reality, but it could've been as simple as the brain developing, pruning out uncessary phenomena. I was fiercely grasping on to her skirt, walking faithfully alongside my beloved caretaker. A few minutes later, never having let go of the gripped fabric, I turned to look at her eyes as a security checkpoint, and it was a strange woman. A pocket of space, time and gravity that warped.
01/13 Direct Link
In a world of seven billion people, only two and a half of that accessing the internet, I have a hard time grapsing why so little are writing their 100 words. Everyone is a storyteller, from the learned rich world traveler to the lone gamer who eats a steady diet of ramen. I say this hypocritically, since I often skip my month. Do we lack the ipline in this era of technology? Has our record keeping motivation been transferred to some shadow tracking machine? Is our ability to communicate reduce to 140 characters? Write! I want to hear from you.
01/14 Direct Link
Twenty-one hundred words to catch up on if I want to finish January before 2014. I feel, not just as if I don't know what to write , but as if I forgot completely how to generate independent thoughts. As if I no longer have my own opinions because they have been entirely manipulated by external forces or the pressure to be apart from the masses, that I switched over to ambivalence. I could happily stare at a wall all day. Or like the droids of this generation, Netflix. Or play Candy Crush with a gambler's ambition. Use your words!
01/15 Direct Link
This slump we've been in, it's possible that we are no longer middle-class. I think we've effectively slipped into the untouchables region. The lack of work and respectable pay, the shacking up with family, the scrambling and hustling. He is aging fast with stress. It doesn't take me a microsecond to remind him of the brilliant mind he houses in his skull, that I could live with him out of a car and feel like a millionaire. With a positive attitude, we will industrially start over and get back where we want to be. We got everything we need.
01/16 Direct Link
It's bad enough they stash the cold medicine behind the pharmacy. They also require full identification to sell it to you. Even if your eyes are red and puffy, and your nose chaffing and dripping, you are suspect of cooking. The pharmacist is conditioned to screen your sinus infection because you're likely itching for the next batch of meth. You cough theatrically, enhancing your phlegmy acoustics in order to convince the professional drug dealer you are truly sick. Regardless, they know where you live and you wait for the DEA to bust you while you nap your paranoid fever away.
01/17 Direct Link
I'm convinced I could go to Europe with the sole purpose of eating five meals a day, and coffee, and still not gain a pound, simply from avoiding all the added crap in American food. Subtract the chemicals, additives, dyes, fillers, and dead animal products, add handmade artisan foods made with love and I can savor all the crepes, pommes, and pasta I want and properly expend energy while I walk to the next cafe. I wouldn't feel the need to overeat because pure foods are rich enough to honestly satiate without tricking our mind that it is nutrient starved.
01/18 Direct Link
Nothing fuels me like competition (slippery slope of jealousy and envy). I would argue I should be self-motivated, but I am not always compelled to be regular regarding goal attainment. I endure too much metabolic injustice and physical pain. I easily justify a slowing pace, a skip, a cheat. Discipline. That is the key. To want something bad enough, you proudly earn it by sweating for it, for yourself. But then I see a skinny bitch going hard with better health and circumstance, and I know I want it more, it means more. I need it more. I'll win.
01/19 Direct Link
She was a live-in maid for the Central American aristocracy. Maybe just the rich, not sure. She talks about the fine ladies having tea at social hour. It's been going on similarly while I stay with my parents. They had dainty porcelain teacups. We use barbaric mugs. Of course, we keep laborer hours. Twice a day, I boil water. Chai tea, India imported. Golden Powder Tea: Turmeric, ginger and black pepper blend. Immunity tea with fresh lemon and sliced ginger, a dash of cayenne. Honey, sugar, milks always available. We drink and catch up, but we've been worn ragged.
01/20 Direct Link
The quiet morning was promising. Not an executive in sight. Just the clicking and scrolling of a keyboard and mouse, the hum of the heater that I controlled, and the dull sounds of another peer who likes it just as soundless as I do. Until the beast came in. The American who speaks loud Anglo-Spanish at a decibel that supersedes the roudiest Latino. Who types harder than whack-a-mole. Who chews gum as if concrete fastened his teeth. Who wants to ask how I'm doing so that he can counter with regales of his super fabulous business life.
01/21 Direct Link
I am convinced he is paid to supress the lowly worker and bully us into committing suicide or desperately throwing our papers up in the air and quitting. He comes in, all fat and insulated, just to turn the air conditioning down. Everybody shivers. Nobody contests the freezing temperatures. He sits, warming that cloth chair until it is damp, emitting his hot angry carbon dioxide. Our blue blood starts to harden in mid-flow, crackling into icicles on the vein. Our movement slows. We either succumb to resignation without unemployment just like they wanted, or perish in place, fully preserved.
01/22 Direct Link
Now that no one is here is a good time to write my words. No one else's presence is inhabiting my thinking space, no foreign sounds, no cat pattering on the keyboard. Just silence and seclusion, a luxurious gift. One that could quickly outgrow itself, but for now I'll bask in the void of interruptions and sorrows. This year ends with me alone. An unfortunate, but good choice. Tomorrow is the cleanest slate of all, the new year. Well, maybe a lobotomy is a better tabula rasa. Nevertheless, I will re-introduce him when I'm ready. Like a pattering cat.
01/23 Direct Link
My corn syrup intake has spiked, as well as latex inhalation from hospital masks. My dependency on vending machines and burnt coffee machines has set in. It's a strange comfort, quickly becoming accustomed to being tuned to the morning show turned down low, having antibacterial foam available at every corner, knowing you are present for your frustrated family member, instead of being at home or work. This was the perfect time to be fired. I can plug in my laptop, apply for something a million times better, while waiting for his ice water and washcloths. Nowhere else I'd rather be.
01/24 Direct Link
What a surreal time to be alive. I don't have a job. Husband doesn't have a job. Father in law is learning to breathe and walk all over again in the span of a month. We barely have a home, just a roof over our heads and a floor to lay our sore backs on. The only constants are my tea and the cats. And not even, because they are at each other's throats from the lack of consistency. We are almost perfect Obama model citizens except that we will not take the freebies. Will I wake up from this?
01/25 Direct Link
What other group of moral troops would view this lowliness as opportunity? I do not ask in superiority, but genuine interested in exploring this thought. The Buddhists I'm sure. Currently, I cannot remember all the other ascetic or humble tenets of belief that see the downtrodden as exalted people. I am not unhappy. I am not particularly sad, especially when I separate myself from what society considers success and prosperity. I am struggling. I am building muscle. I am learning new survival strategies. Earning my wrinkles and gray hairs. I am proud of this trial, even if it kills me.
01/26 Direct Link
Right after they inquired about his well being, and I responded with a detailed explanation of how his lungs shut down, subsequently forcing him into an induced coma, they would search the space above to their right hemisphere with the corner of their eyes, and briefly and animatedly congratulate my haircut. In veiled shock, I would cease my acute preoccupation in sharing our struggles with the insincere curiosity of the small-talk type, terminating the conversation with polite urgency, and go on mistrusting the next vapid drone to probe into our lives for absolutely no reason. Who has the time?
01/27 Direct Link
This has been a most tragic time, intermingled with some very fulfilling experiences, causing intense mixed emotions, but mostly a clear view of the direction in which I'm to form my future path. The strategy and skills I'm to acquire and execute, I have no idea, but I know exactly where I'm not to revisit and what to avoid. I know now where richness and value lies. I've always known it. But now every fiber in my being understands the raw vibration of fearing it gone and being a hairsbreadth from losing it. A brush with mortality... not my own.
01/28 Direct Link
I promise you everything in this month is chaotically anachronous. Read as a short schizophrenic story, but more like morose fortune cookies. Were it a happy love story it might fall into neat little mediocre lines, but what I know is pain. Messy, unorganized agony of the soul. It makes sense to me. It is not the way I would prefer it, but in my research I have learned the brain likes to emboss instances where our neurons are madly firing with emotional fireworks. And it's been a colorful New York City parade in that neural little network of mine.
01/29 Direct Link
The nurses: Googly Eyes, I'll start with her. A Colombian wily one who likes to get her way, but ultimately, she wants good commentaries for her review, so she pipes down when she crosses the line. Jennifer: blonde with bald streaks in her hair in which I fear she is the scalp's Ghost of my Christmas future, dull as a brick, but can really stop a beeping machine like no one's business. Marys: a Cuban cutie, which got Husband's and the patient's attention, but well earned might I admit. Teresa: mousy little unmemorable thing, but doesn't argue about our meds.
01/30 Direct Link
I can't help but have hope. It's this a preset human mechanism? It's been said that the mind's tendency, if moderately balanced, is conditioned to bounce back after rock bottom. Will things get better or does my autopilot prevent me from refusing to breathe, eat and sleep. Where is this energy and determination stemming from? It emanates, it seeps out of me and toward all my other human playmates that want to drink their brains away and devour their feelings. They want to punch me for it, and I want to take it, and keep shoving hope in their mugs.
01/31 Direct Link
It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only an hour until midnight. It's only half hour until midnight. It's ten minutes until tomorrow. Here it comes. Oh no.