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I have damn old Little Bunny FooFoo stuck in my head. I am pretty sure this is the worse thing ever, although Edelweiss from the Sound of Music is pretty awful also. You can just set any thought that happens to run across the old brain to the cadence of Edelweiss and then you never get out. Tailgating driver, tailgating driver, I hope your tire goes flat; stupid printer, stupid printer, you ate my document a-gain…

Little Bunny FooFoo is worse though, because it’s a story, and some people have brains that stop everything and start all over again whenever a word gets replaced with a homophone or the story gets mixed up, done over or ahead of itself; my piano practice was an utter joy because of this, I promise you. I never could grasp the concept of ‘just keep going till you get back on track.’

Stupid Little Bunnuy FooFoo. What a dick.

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I have been thinking a lot about fear. I have been somewhat surprised to realize that there is actually quite a lot of it in my life, and I have been, naturally, trying to figure out where it came from and what it’s there for. It’s like I’ve been oversteeped in cortisol all my life and now I’m just addicted to it, addicted to the high you get off all the certainty and adrenaline that fuel the fight or flight.

I’ve been thinking about the ghetto, or at least the (admittedly tame) versions of it that I grew up in. I’ve been thinking about childhood in the ghetto. I’ve been thinking that maybe it will be over my dead body or at very least worked to the bone fingers that any child of mine lives there after all. I’ve been thinking about the skills you acquire in the ghetto, the street skills, and it strikes me that, taut and cunning, they’re all based in fear. They seem so important, they’re a black and white way to not get as fucked up as other people would be in the same situation, but they’re accompanied by a lifestyle habit of tension and suspicion. And tension and suspicion are survival skills in the ghetto, any ghetto; in what I would call white bread inner SE Portland if anyone here could bring themselves to eat anything that wasn’t full of nuts and seeds and eight or so grains and probably also some flax, tension and suspicion are not only mostly useless, they’re detrimental. It makes you unfriendly. It makes you a dysfunctional jolt in the machinery of a pleasant neighborhood. It makes you like the homeless people.

I am wanting to let it drop, the impressive training in trustlessness, but it’s rough. Smoothing out one’s jitters gets harder and harder to do the longer one lets them jangle. Other than reminding myself as often as necessary that I am quite astonishingly safe in an unsafe world, I think the most helpful thing I am going to turn into a habit is the concept of caution versus fear.

Like, it is intelligent to be cautious and lock the doors when one is home alone at night; it’s still a long shot, but even in flax bread inner SE there are desperate people, and it costs me nothing to lock the door, it’s fine. Caution.

What is not intelligent is to then freak out about every shadow in my house that is clearly obviously a murderous insane burglar holding very still, waiting for just the artistic moment to stab me in the throat, for the next half hour until I can finally wrestle my mind into chilling out or distract myself long enough to forget it. This is not helpful behavior, and it is not intelligent behavior, and it makes me miserable and it pretty well sucks in every way.

Because all my fears have that damned polished grain of truth within them, sounding like wisdom, smelling like survival, I am going to focus on caution, not fear. If I cannot banish the establishment-wide alarm systems acquired in childhood and fine tuned ever afterward, I can at least perform routine relevancy checks.

I am feeling hopeful today. Maybe I will turn out sane after all.

happiness

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there playing all along

August 27, 2013

My hair keeps touching the back of my neck and it is driving me crazy. I keep reaching back to pull out the one stray piece which, having let go its grip on my scalp and flung itself madly downward, is the only hair long enough to reach the back of my neck, but no. It is an entire army of hairs back there, long enough to tickle me emo. I hate long hairs. I do not even remember why I am growing them out. There is just this grim grey determination to make it happen, like one foot after another in a desert or a snowstorm.

Fucking hairs.

durnhurz

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miles of light

August 21, 2013

It’s a long damn road.

The person I have become and am becoming amazes me. She is so different than I thought she would be; she is better in every way, because she is still the manifestation of all my hardest work and best effort; she is less explosively kickass yet somehow more badass; she is less pretty, and progressively more beautiful; she is less staccato sparkling and more quietly brilliant; she is turning her face all the time like the earth to the sun toward the wide, sea like meadow of love and family and home; she is not what I thought she would be.

But she is what I have always dreamed in my heart while it slept, waiting for us to be ready for each other.

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breeze through your mind

August 8, 2013

I just read this story, and it filled my eyes with tears several sentences in and kept them that way. Not only is this a beautiful and honest description of what so many people accept and move with from others, it stuck me as a perfect representation of the way I treat myself.

I am not much of a natural wanter. I don’t have these burning desires for things and titles to drive me on, and for most of my adult life I’ve been conjuring the hurry up mindset for myself out of thin air to compensate. It’s not that I don’t want a bunch of stuff; I’d love to have a house and a motorcycle and a 1981 Corolla and…etc, and it would be awesome to have any sense of overriding career needs that lasted longer than three months, and also a working saxophone, but. None of this shit, and as it has been so it ever most likely shall be, has at any point in time managed to get a fingerhold of any significant sort on my life if it comes and stays at the price of even an insignificant amount of my personal freedom and leisure. And this state of affairs is good for me, and this is what I decide on any time I think about it, the saving of the soul stripes over the gaining of the awesome shit and respectable status, but it doesn’t happen just like that. Most days I am yelling at myself all over the place to hurry up, to do more work, to be more of a friend and family member, to pet my cat, to get on with it and grow the hell up already, because some people have entire homes furnished with things from Ikea and my things are all ancient and crumbly around the edges. Some people put a ton of their life essence into their jobs or academia or pursuit of whatever their personal gold plated rainbow’s end is, and I’m just sitting here incapable of being bothered to adhere to a dress code.

So it’s nice to have something to remind me, to help me simmer down the constant onslaught of self impatience and dissatisfaction, and encourage me to enjoy the lifestyle I have chosen, since I choose it so consistently and with such long wind.

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young light

August 1, 2013

July

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