Miss Masochist

Pain and pleasure, the line is so fine is there really a difference? I don't think so. I think evolution has built the bridges between pain and peril so strong they can not be distinguished. But what is pain? It's an indication our mortal body is in danger. If you look at an MRI, the same center of the brain are stimulated regardless of pain or pleasure. So... if we know there is no danger in the pain we feel, could we call it pleasure?

For instance, I've been stabbed before (No worries! It was by a rather large safety pin) without knowing I was injured. I only realized something was amiss when my arm had a intensely warm sensation. I only felt the pain when I looked down to notice there was a 2 inch safety pin sticking out of my wrist. Even in children. My brother was 5 when he sliced his foot open. He was fine, he was laughing, only until someone noticed. A combination of the amount of blood gushing out and the expression on my sisters face terrified him and only then did he cry.

I got my naval pierced today - the bottom. Normally, I would have like to do something more interesting but I was acting as a guinea pig for a novice piercer. They tell me I have tough skin and it's never more apparent than when someone is using some gusto to shove a needle through me. It was painful, don't get me wrong - but the euphoria I feel afterwards is ... Oh so nice!

I've spent most of today considering myself. Who I am, what makes me tick, and why I like it so much. The answers are many and they provoke further investigation - however, I'm okay with it. Today has been a beautiful day and I've been marry. Was early to rise and was industrious. Had tea with my mother, who taught me about Chinese herbs and folklore. Got pierced and studied some more with two good friends.

At this moment, I'm sitting in a coffee shop. I'm in the corner of the room reflecting on my days and in the company of musicians. A cup of coffee, a few guitars, and the company of beautiful strangers. I am blessed.

Vanilla cup no. 8

We play these games just to be cruel. We could just be confused. Confused as ever. It's hard to decipher the reasons each time I make this orbit past square one. Perpetually landing on the launching pad, but I'm still circling the same person. 

For reasons unknown to me, I can't let him go and so I can't let anyone in. I am more forgiving than I knew I was capable of, applicable only to him. How the hell did he get so much leverage? I've cut him out of my life multiple times but one way or another he worms his way back in. I burned the bridge between us only to build a raft. It's not easy, but somehow it works (most inefficiently). 

He said yes, but I don't remember what I asked him. I was too drunk to remember things I said. There's a faint recollection, but by no means is there a time table. I wish I knew what he agreed to. 

Brought to you by Superstition

My rat died last night. It was time for him to go, so I took him. Stephanie had to come with me, I couldn't do it. I'm being vague because I had to sneak into the premises to use their facilities. End the chapter to Llama's life. He was a good rat: answered to calls, was a fierce cuddlier, and always made that cute face when he wanted lovings. I will miss my dear baby, but I am not sad. 

Here's how I've rationalized it. I shouldn't be sad, it's selfish of myself. Instead, I should rejoice in the good life he's had and the next life he will live. This death is just a means to facilitate the growth of a soul. Maybe he's a young soul. Maybe he was an old soul that needed this experience before completion. I'll never know this truth, it's not time for me to know. I'll just keep on and he'll continue on his path to nirvana.

It was also my brothers birthday - which I forgot about entirely. 

I am still concerned and have been watching my steps carefully. A dread hangs in my intuition and my eye's been twitching. A Chinese superstition, my pulsing vein in my lid speaks of something. A forewarning of ... something. What I know is the feeling that accompanies it. I'm worried, but it's based on nothing. I also fear that these worries will somehow manifest into real concerns. I got a call from my dad. Medical debt. I'll deal with it tomorrow, but not right now. I don't know if these ties can be dissolved. Oi. 

I am dreadfully superstitious. For example, while mulling over how to care for sick little Llama, I noticed Dali has gotten fat and wondered if something was at work here. I once scoffed at the Devil and now he will defend himself. Messages are hidden in cracks in the sidewalk. If you read them right you could save your back. 

Demons. Monsters. Ghost. They live inside us and are only seen by the expert eye. Most none of us pay attention to the things that hang around behind our vision, but they linger and color the world in shades of ruin. Mishaps, missed steps. I don't think anything is left up to accident. Coincidence is the product of a finely executed plan. 

I will call my grandmother tomorrow and ask her advice. She told me months ago to hang red in the east and leave something by the window. I normally wouldn't be so skittish but my eye has persisted for a day now. One can never be too sorry. 

Oi

My last day of this "official" break is winding down. I feel like this is my last opportunity to indulge in guilt free personal pleasures that I've saved away for a time when academics did not rule my forebrain. There's this magic surrounding a to do list on nice parchment. It sheds light on the fact that most often, I need to be told what to do. It's quite contradicting since also, in the same place that needs direction, is the part of me that refuses authority. In the benefit of productivity, I submit. 

I woke up this morning resolving to do no work. I have money lying around so I think I might just spend it. The forecast today seems lonely with light showers of human contact. I don't know if I'm up for one-on-one time today. If that does happen, it must mean that I've gone to see Kevin about some ink. The only draw back of being so indecisive so early in the morning is that time waste away. Perhaps I should make a Like-to-do list and see how accomplished I am by the end of Earthly rotation. 

Things I'd like-to-do-today

1. Smoke a blunt. 
2. Print immunohematology text
3. Go North
4. Go West
5. Stay put. 

As you can see. I can't very well go in two directions will staying prone. Just won't happen. Logic says no. But maybe if I get in the shower now I could do all these things. Maybe if I get in the shower now, I'll decide which one is more important. Oh Leisure, you take the best of me.

Wearing a sunset of purple

Alice is one of the dreamiest places I've ever been taken to. Play the track from one to the end and lay me face down in the sheets. When I hear this collection of songs, it takes me somewhere within the folds of my brain. It beckons with the stealth of a thief and leads me to a dark garden illuminated by the reflections of solar light. I take my seat on the cold stone, my legs grow into the soft earth, rooted here. Taken as a prisoner in this astral labyrinth of this girl's discretion.

It's my favorite collection of the strange and ugly, yet it has a polished kind of charm that renders me absolutely smitten. I hear the words and my heart starts to melt, over flowing it's chamber. With the dread comes a sense of peace. The will of time is definite. Only a fool resist. Only the lame pretend. When I need to run, I turn it around. I lay here and I remember.

It's a dark place with one distant moon and a host of characters. Each take their place beside me on the seat next to the lake. They tell me their stories. In fragmented speech I learn about their loss. Their temptation. Their lunacy. A life times of lessons imparted to me, the most ignorant of the sort. I replay their performances, an encore for the lonely and the ignored.

"And you'll die with the rose still on your lips.

And in time the heart shaped bone that was your hips.

And the worms they will climb the rugged ladder of your spine,

We're all mad here

And my eyeballs roll this terrible terrain.

And we're all inside a decomposing train.

And your eyes will die like fish and the shore of your face will turn to bone."

Faintly breathing the air.

Throw it away? I'd throw it all away. I'd roll over it's warm carcass on my way out of this place. The licking shadows to my back. I'd leave all this behind in flames. Say the word and it's to the finish line. We could make it there by dinner time. Twist your fingers around mine. Pack yours with mine.

Quite Contradicting

I'd like death to take me swiftly and painlessly in the still of the night. While my resting head is unaware that something somber has taken it's place beside my bed. I'd like it to be an ignorant passing to save myself the decency of trying to fight it, because I will if I knew of it. I would resist it with whatever I had left in me, I am not an agreeable woman. I tend to be fashionably late to most occasions and my own demise would be no exception. 

I made up my mind very early in childhood about my opinion on death. What is mine, I rationalized, is mine to direct. Mine to conduct. If it is truly mine, it is mine to control. It was decided that death would not happen to me. Rather, it would be the opposite, I would happen to death, I would permit death. I believe this for a very long time. 

The human brain, the frontal lobe to be exact, is said to be completely mature at the age of 25. These conceptions of how things should be seem more practical to myself as a child than they are now as an adult. Although not a completely mature adult, an adult none the less. Undeniable that this immaturely contrived notion followed me well into development and still leaves it's traces. Like toilet paper stuck on my heel. 

During extreme times of stress there is nothing I wish for more than an absolute solution. It's the wimp in me. I want to run into somebody's arms with tears zigzagging down my cheeks. I want to collapse into an embrace and know for that moment that I'm not falling apart as long as somebody is holding me together. In such times, I can't breath. They come in haggard bouts, enough only to keep me at the precipice of consciousness. It's no way to live, I'll tell you that.