resisting urges to put on the glamor. knowing this is fake way to pump up.

i swear texting is changing the way that i think, a more efficient english.  Ha. my computer underlined it in red. take that personal dictionary. add to.

a cofactor for this unenglishifying of my syntax is also spanish . whether or not i always speak it well, it has woven into my brain patterns and emotionscape. in my dreams i carry out important missions in spanish.

the best dreams are an escape from verbal. the port towns i fly over, searching for an invisible way in.

i finally got up the last piece of my apartment, a sage curtain,  and feel energy filling in finally. this too is magic, and i hestia.

more fears, more fears. that the delicate and so complicated lace i weave over my eyes has no market value. that the few  things special about me are very,  but too much of a secret garden to benefit from. in the world i mean.

i am good at noa, most days at least. i can distract her back to happiness, instead of fighting.

cloister tempts at these times, but i cannot.

certainly one key to love: absorbing like lead the rays bad and good and transmuting them into a softer and more nurturing wave. beaming it back out. this is the ultimate step in my one-off religion.

perhaps born of my deep embarrassing need to provide a harbor for people that will make them not want to return to sea.

also passive in that harbor way, but this in a positive sense: no trap here.

these are confessions to you, i guess. things about myself that have put me in mauvaise foi.

but all banes are also boons.

maybe i need to blog drunk.   kidding.

i figured out tonight…that i need to breathe deeply in front of a mirror every day. like physically immobilize for a minute and breathe dance. i guess this is my revolutionary yoga.

it really is true, about the people in california. because they spend so much time half dressed, they are in better shape. for better or worse, they have a stronger physical esteem, and it shows.

there’s nothing wrong with physical esteem, but you have it go about it the goddess way. otherwise it tricks you into plastic and amphetamines. you know what i’m talking about.

so the goddess way, i’ve decided, is yoga in the mirror.

i asked my husband tonight if he thought my body had changed since noa. he calmly said yes, (and i know this, i know it’s yes). then said, you are a mother, now, for the rest of your life. you have become a slave to noa.

this sounds bad in english of course. english slave is an ugly word, but in mexico it has a slightly different connotation. more like someone who you can accept lots of care from, and then the slave gets a benefit, somehow, like protection. it happens a lot between older and younger boys. like an apprenticeship to manhood. someone to run and get the beer.

so, the point….is that..his answer was wise. because it made me think so much about how i am limited, but for the best cause, and i might be lacking in self care a bit, due to this situaton.  and then this revelation about yoga in the mirror.

no excuse, no excuse.

wrote that to a girl on the internet tonight. for some reason after i sent it it made me sad, not like i regretted sending, just sad about the impossibilites that follow concrete choices. it’s also a silly thing to waste energy on. i know.

this blog was never meant to be like this. i was supposed to advertise baby products.

selling though is a disability of mine. i mean i can’t do it. it takes me out of the running in a way, this annoying insistence on being me all the time. seriously, i would trade.

i’m reading infinite jest (can i get a woot woot) and it’s awesome so far, and not easy to read, but the denoument of each sentence is a small prize, so i’m in it for the long haul. 1007 pages, plus 50 of footnotes and references.

hair dyed black again. i think my need to go from black to orange says something about my state of general flux. not sure what.

a need for some kind of transformation.

jilting the image, a small pinch to back of neck.

had dreams and fantasies, or have, of writing some kind of short novel, or short stories. i am actually, writing, but at a reaaally slow pace.

seattle winter,  what a cocoon you are.

i really need to learn how to type.

also, this post is peripatetic, sorry.

besos retóricas

lea

the last few months- like six months- there has been such a conflict in me that i wasn’t even aware of it. i was dimly conscious that something is wrong, but finding this phrase today- the archaic smile- has brought this messy storm out of its hole and now it crouches on the dimly lit floor in front of me.

the bifurcation of the soul. mine, in this case.

i think it all goes back to noa, and myself in noa, which may come as no surprise to you, dear reader.

the real question is… is this just an excuse?

perhaps i am being harsh. perhaps i need better seats to watch this game. perhaps i am in one of those material gathering stages again, the ones that used to worry me but then go away. and this one is sticking around for a while, i guess.

fleeting encounters. funny how the end of my saturn return has ejected me out into space here.

my first and only request for a blog entry has come in, from halfway around the world. write about the fictionalization of the self please.

how can i ignore such an appropriate and loving order.

and so that’s just it, that thing that goes back to the archaic smile and bifurcation bit. in order to thrive…the only way i can do so, i know, is to fictionalize myself over and over into the media of words, color, hard labor.   i need to come back, come back from this place of focus on what i am not, how much further i need to go, how much societal and economic headway i am making. these preoccupations are killing me, slowly, and i know that wrinkles and grey hairs and insomnia are their symptoms.

i wrote again on the mirror:

the myth of inadaquacy

and i know that i cannot succeed if i continue to worship it as i do.

come back, leahla, i am sorry i have made it so hard for you to thrive in me.

trust that you have not stopped making art, that you have not shut off the magic of interacting joyfully with the thousand other mees. yous. i.

trust that your baby girl is herself a work of your art, and indeed the most beautiful one. she will take and has taken what you have given her and along with her own magic spells is weaving a tale for the ages.

and my sweet in order to fictionalize myself i need look no further than the life i have created thus far, the peripatetic mind states, the willingness to explore for its own sake, for the beauty of the awe, foreign religions. this i carry with me and it is my lens on the world, what happens in front of me. thus the bifurcation.

see yourself as i do, she says to me and i to her.

floating, or flying, in that space

between past and present that informs aesthetics, humor, hunger for proximity to the edge, to you, and to myself.

for h.

footnotes to my soul:

http://leahla.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/otto-rank/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archaic_smile

you know. that void where things you think about, and things you are, get forgotten.

why am i so willing to care but get so blown away by other’s caring? somewhere in that condition is a condition.

like maybe i believe my ability to empathize is a freak of nature.

long ago i learned to curtail my displays of innocence.

they still happen, a private show for me.

i make it sound like i haven’t been through bitterness. i have.

mostly self directed, which is where 99 percent of it deserves to flow.

i want to apologise to everyone who felt badness from me. please send the message, universe.

tonight i think for the first time i felt really, fully disenchanted with waiting tables. i have been for a long time i guess, but tonight it hit bone and seeped it. good thing i finally, freaking finally have something else on the cooker tho. it’s too soon to get excited but i am anyway. spike those punches.

i realized that i haven’t made mention of the resolution of three months ago,family reunion and all that. yes. we did. i got lucky, again. this is me thankful and smiling. because i know the one random person who reads this forlorn blog every day will have no idea what i’m talking about. yes, you.

they say that existing in a state of gratefulness is kind of like magical thinking.  thank you thank you thank you.

and noa: noa is turing into a little aristocrat right before my eyes. Man! never mind one, that girl is going to be more like two handfuls. good thing i got four hands.

brooding lately on how much of a failure i’ve come to see myself, and how that is just an excuse. i’m on to the next phase.

wrote in lipstick on the bathroom mirror:

lift off

again.

and i will.

i still feel i am getting ready to begin, and need to be gentle with myself about that. along those lines, i discovered in bed these past days a cool trick: breathing like the tide. in the dark i draw on those sensory memories of the rhythmic but infinitely random sound of waves. thinking about how the moon and earth make love in this way, slowly but tectonically, endlessly exchanging an singsong energy that is mimicked in every living body.

i want so badly to exteriorize the art humming in my body, but for now it is intermittent, sporadic. so much gets lavished on my baby.

still cultivating interests, surely. gathering information. starved for it, actually.

begging for more proof that the outcome will be positive, that progress is possible, that love might prevail.

so much of the last four months has been a hibernation for me. counting down weeks to an indeterminate deadline. esperando con alevosia for a man to tell me he’s on his way.

silver linings-the hawk self and the owl self have certainly been born from me and my reflections. as always watching me waiting. watching me hold, and hold, and hold and occasionally break and self-consciously lose my cool.

not that i’ve ever been cool to begin with. you know.

had a guy inform me i was acting unstable a while back. this gave me pause and also made me laugh. felt like one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. i certainly have my moments, but i prefer to see them as a calculated release valve. we all know how bad things can really get, and my sartrean fear of the cliff is actually pretty well developed. the self sees from above and takes things with a pinch of salt.

i’ll keep you posted on the deadline issue. a whole chapter of my life is about to open up before me, and unlike the impatient reader, i can’t flip through the pages, skip to the end. i have to read every dull word, sounding out the vowels and consonants as my eyes wash over them.

it’s like zen practice, where you have to let go of your pedestrian rage in order to get in the flow. i’m still working on it.

was reading about how the thing that seperates humans from animals is the invention of linear time. i wonder how accurate this is. it’s hard to tell if the squirrel is thinking about snow coming when he stashes food or if he’s just roboting around instinctually.

one could say the same about us, i guess.