The Musebox

Ambiguously awake
with an empty wine bottle
…my last cigarette
brings me madness.
Falling under the sheets
with our psychosis
- a tumultuous affair
That should soon be discarded

So honestly, I never had any real Hollywood crushes growing up. I went through a Trent Reznor phase (thank God that has passed) and might have liked one of the New Kids on the Block at one point and time. It seems that ever since I saw Moulin Rouge, I have had this incredible weakness for the talent of Mr. Ewan Mcgregor.

So, I stalked on over to Ewan’s Myspace, he hasn’t checked it since November. His friends list is pretty slim for a movie star….which is a little daunting, perhaps he is very selective as to who he adds.

Dear Ewan,

Let’s talk. I promise not to ask you to sing me “Your song”.

- Elle

I also did an image search for Baz Luhrmann and wow…not only is he a film directing genius but he is quite the catch. It’s nice that Nicole Kidman seems to be his muse - kind of like Uma Thurman and Quentin Tarantino.

Move me where you want me. Take me where you need me to go. Helpless in the room you’ve put me in. Capture me quickly and force me to forget and to discover the intensity of your presence near me.

I thought I would share this: a virtual game by Nick Bantock (author of Griffen & Sabine).

This site has escaped my memory for a long time. It used to help me with writer’s block. enjoy.

Sage

Writing.writing.writing.withering.

I tried. I tried to make it a cheery Christmas. I even downloaded christmas songs. I sang them, oh so dutifully. I even enjoyed them. Yet, It seems every year I fall victim to some form of illness on or before Christmas. My mother thinks it is all in my head. Perhaps, I have some subconscious determination to always loathe this day and project this sort of intolerance to a standardized cheery holiday into a pseudo illness of some sort. It’s so dark and depressive of me, it’s cliché and it kind of makes me giggle in spite of myself.
Phase two. New Years. I am looking forward to the upcoming festivities. Chicago. A place where one can get lost in a sea of people, booze, and industrial music. I’ve been captivated, enchanted, and drawn into time stopping bubbles of the surreal. Here, even a person who is terrified of dancing can get lost into a dancing oblivion. It seems, only here, am I able to indulge in my magnetism to erotic depravity. The sun is the enemy, in this place. It sheds light on reality. Chicago is best served under a veiled sky of secrecy.

Maybe, I could do this again. Pull those things that I used to love about myself out from the cell in a prison soul. I was once an aspiring writer, whose voice suddenly became so silent - alarmingly silent. I’ve never really understood why. I’m trying to recover some things that I used to have. I’m not sure I should. That was then. I’m trying to gain something I had from the past. Isn’t the point to keep moving forward? Looking back is supposed to hinder, is it not? I’m not here as a writer or even an aspiring one. I’m here to keep record. That has always been important to me. A few years from now I can print out the entries and paste them into composition books. My history, however trivial, profound, or mundane the entries may be.

Last night was interesting for me, I FINALLY went into my first REAL abandoned farm house. It was perfect, didn’t have to break an entering the door was unlocked/falling off. It smelled like actual shit. What was really really strange is it looked like the family had just up and moved - leaving everything. There were old clothes, complete room furniture, boxes of food, a TON of prescription bottles with pills in them, oil lamps, books, knick knakcs… valuable stuff…magnets on the antique fridge, an old hand cranking washing machine…calendars ranging from 1984-2006 - but the calenders were nailed to the walls kind of sporadically - never covering a previous year. There was mail there, and I looked at the name. James H. There was a woman’s name on a stamp collection (that I’m guessing was worth a lot of money) Liana H. There was an old picture in the bedroom (lying on the cluttered bed) of a woman. It looked like it was from the 30’s. I wonder if that was Liana. Obviously James had stayed there…”squatting’ or someone had….it was just so strange.

The windows of the house were broken, some boarded up…no electricity…in the woods, weeds growing everywhere…It took me two tries to finally go all the way in. The first time I walked in through the door and saw all of the stuff…the belongings the way it was left…like someone was desperate to leave…. and just totally panicked. …Anyway fear took a hold of me and we drove away at my command. Heading back towards town, I decided I’d always wonder about that house. So, I gathered my courage and went back an hour later. I was determined to find something to take - I’ve always wanted a special souvenir from an abandoned farm house, in my reoccurring dreams I find a piece of jewelry.

I rifled through papers and opened old candy boxes full of once loved treasures, pushed around the cluttered rotting mess. In the bedroom behind the door, hung there, with the intent to prevent wrinkles were a few faded dresses. I touched what looked like a summer dress and a vibrant yellow scarf fell into my hands. (I collect scarves)…this was my souvenir. Soon after that, I noticed a battery operated space heater and a fairly new alarm clock - which didn’t work. Fuck. I knew someone had been here..maybe with in the last year (duh the calender). Now my mind has freaked its poor self out and I wanted to leave. As we were walking towards the door, I threw the scarf on the kitchen table…next to a box full of antique silver. I couldn’t take a damn thing. It just didn’t feel right. This place was strange. All these belongings left there…but why? I want to find out more. I’ll try to.

P.S. I just thought of something…all of the prescription bottles…maybe she died of Cancer…maybe James was her senile husband or son…or…

- a lawsuit
- paid bills
- asked dad for money and/or to buy me another car
- lots of futility
- mixed with fair amounts of laughter
- past lover obsession
- a marriage proposal
- facing sushi addiction
- trying to calm the desire for clothes and shoes
- tried to be crafty
- ordered too much take out
- first parent teacher conference (was so proud I could have cried)
- making sure to pause Grey’s Anatomy before going to see if the tornado sirens were being serious. (Not to mention being highly pissed off, if the lights were to go out and interrupt regularly scheduled programming.)
- put sleeping boy in bathtub full of blankets, grab cell phone, flashlight, and head back outside to make sure Ms. K wasn’t sucked up by an F5.

- can’t finish . must go. Costume shopping.

- chi lattes in the fall
- waking up with energy
- my son’s laughter
- music that moves your soul
- mysteries
- gigs in comic book stores
- road trips in a rental car with full coverage insurance
- morning cigarettes and coffee
- scarves
- Egyptian cotton sheets
- Down comforters
- Silk nightgowns
- Painted toenails
- Working at my dad’s auction
- Algebra that I can handle
- School
- My job
- Painting random things
- My reckless moods
- Neo
- Waking up with perfect hair
- How I feel in black
- Dusk
- Lilacs
- Acoustics in church balconies and parking garages
- Old basements
- His desire

- getting a “bad” pistachio
- only finding one earring
- only finding one sock
- a hole in the crotch of your favorite jeans (due to a dog that pees on your living room rug)
- no splenda available
- no coke zero available in a fountain machine
- season finales that are a huge disappointment
- car maintenance
- gum losing it’s flavor
- guys who think they are sexy with no shirt on
- politics
- last call
- clothes that are expensive just for the label
- being ‘without’
- not knowing
- codependency
- squishy sounds during sex
- dropping a full bottle of wine on the kitchen floor
- regretful lonely text messages
- music on the radio
- your friend’s band
- a bunk pencil sharpener
- passionless
- deadbeat dads
- mornings
- having to use the quadratic formula because it won’t factor
- dating
- cat puke
- forgetting to take a movie back for over a month
- forgetting.
- Hair gel
- Dirty bathrooms
- last cigarette or
- cigarettes but no lighter
- sometimes, my reckless tendencies

…should not become President of the United States.

This is (mainly) a gender issue not a (in) competency issue.

Alright, here is the quick and dirty (that leads to a sloppy tangent)

1. Anthropologically speaking, a woman acting as President would automatically make us look weak and vulnerable.
2. Typically, A man is head of household. This is typical for a reason. It works the best. Men are naturally born to lead, more so than women. I am not saying women are weaker and less worthy to do so. Not at all. In fact, I believe (ideally) in a nuclear family they are equal.
3. A woman as president could do the job and probably do an alright job. I have no reservations about that. (Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth…)

I was exaggerating a bit much when I said a woman president would be worse than Bush. *ahem* I am just saying, I don’t like it.

My reason is simple. The President should reflect traditional family values.

When it is all said and done, if a woman candidate was better than all of the male candidates – of course, I would vote for her.

Personally, I just think it’s a man’s job. A good man. A good role-model (the young men today need it desperately).

In all actuality, men just may be shoved in the backseat to women empowerment. I just don’t think it is there yet (I’m not all that excited either). I’m still holding out some hope for men, particularly with my generation and younger. Men these days have lost traditional family values. They are lazy, less ambitious, selfish, and have a false sense of pride. Hence, a woman having to take over the job and gender roles that men are lacking to step up to.

Men are digressing as leaders ….and it is going to smash the nuclear family to pieces - leaving dysfunction in its place.

only enough to keep.
Current mood: missing

only enough to keep
another glass of bitter (bound) red.
turn it up until I’m back
where I want to be
with you.

take me to
the place where
the light is kept
that the darkness
brings.
Stay here now.
until the dawn
silences your heart.

Touch me. I am free.
Hold me. I may-be caged.

So still and silent as you touch me. For hours. Frozen and feeling, only my breath betrays me. Eyes closed. Refuse the sight but welcome the hunger. Whims and whispers mean nothing. Left you for my beloved, again. Solitude is always my more worthy embrace.

I can’t stand what fluorescent lighting does to my eyes and head. It’s torture, I tell you. this seems to help a bit…thought I would share in case your brain is frying because of lighting too.

“Is your Monitor giving you a headache? Check the refresh rate.

Some people are more sensitive to lower monitor refresh rates than others. Go to the display control panel and click to the Settings tab. From there, click the Advanced button and go to the Monitor tab. From there, you can adjust your screen refresh rate.

As a rule of thumb, higher refresh rates are less likely to cause eyestrain.

If you pick a refresh rate and your monitor goes all blooey, don’t panic. Just wait fifteen seconds and the system will switch back to the original settings. (If you have a Plug and Play monitor, it’s supposed to report the refresh rates it supports, but sometimes that doesn’t work.)

Note that not all refresh rates are available at all screen resolutions, so if you want to crank the rate higher, you may have to sacrifice resolution. “

“I’d go spit in his face but then I might do it wrong…and get it on me…” Ahahahaha. I crack myself up.

Independence from dogma
Independence from ego
Independence from religion
Independence from hate
Independence from politics
Independence from dependency
Independence from what people think
Independence from fear
Independence from the fear of death
Independence from desire for money
Independence from depression
Independence from needing the world to be what I want it to be

“Doesn’t it make you mad?” she asked.

Honestly, No. The ignorant man (his name was Pope, I think) was laughable – not infuriating. Stupid man. Those ignorant man babies – how I despise you. Maybe it was the gray wig that made you so hysterical. Maybe it was your complete lack of anything admirable. I am sure it is both.

I mistake a fantasy with my reality - fault is not at all one sided.

There are silly/ignorant and immature women, mothers, and wives as well.

I am not one of them.

I can be silly and immature when blowing raspberries on my son’s lovely little tummy. I am silly and giddy with my girlfriends. I am not ignorant. I do have faults that I take full responsibility for, as long as I have a conscious awareness of them. I am not on a pedestal of pride, that’s for damn sure.

******
Music gives wings of freedom to the enslaved.
******

Holy shit, did I just write something profound? I think so. That is my deep breath of accomplishment and a silent thank you to my sister Dr. C. I am reminded of how a sentence can nurture, cultivate, and fuel an energy I can only describe as empowerment. I hope my sentence wasn’t published. I hope I didn’t read it some place and just forgot about it. That’s my sentence. My passion. My truth. MINE.

Sing for all of us Coregidora. Sing for the future generations, the present, and the past. I would have loved to meet you.

******

Scribbled in unenthusiastic ink is the word Dissonance. My torture, my love, and my struggle (are all glued to the soul of my life shoes.)

“Fear and violence take our children.” “It doesn’t matter where you’re living the women gather crying.” – Sweet Honey and the Rock

An anvil of sorrow, tears, and connection. A shared fear, most definitely.

Give me my voice and I will cultivate it, I promise. I will fight back for them and for myself.

I’ve mentioned my issues with sexual content and even the fact that TV commercials make me look away or blush. Some friends and I were all watching the Wedding Crashers the other night and I had to GO TO BED twenty minuets into it because I saw boobs and other sexual content and it made me so unbelievably uncomfortable that I had to leave the room.

This is all coming from a girl who loved the Nine Inch Nails CLOSURE “video”. (AKA the pierced bondage naked masochistic music video that would make Howard Stern cringe?.)

I can watch TV, movies, even porn by myself. I don’t get uncomfortable.

My issues would thrill an aspiring sex therapist, I’m sure.

Apparently, we will be reading two different versions of Lolita and “explore other sexual issues with gender using film, music, and multi-media”. *gulp and try to remember to breathe*

When I realized what this class was exactly I started to tense up, become adgitated, and unhappy. At least I didn’t jump in my seat with the mention of something sexual (like I do watching tv) I did, however, start crying to Dr. C (my professor and also a dear friend) after class about how intense this class is going to be for me – especially in the middle of my work day! *breathe* The tears just came….I couldn’t help it.

She said a lot of people have issues talking about sex and watching sexual material in a class setting. I explained to her that my problem has become a constant battle in my everyday life and it isn’t from being shy in class. This is some strange issue that has an actual physical effect on me that has developed over a relatively small amount of time. I swear I get weirder with each passing day.

Anyway, Dr. C is determined to help me get to the root of my sex phobia. Dear God, I hope she is able to help!

Our syllabus includes steamy, raunchy, icky, and slippery sex material. I will have to read and DISCUSS these issues. We will have presentations. I will surely explode. I REALLY want to get through this class. (btw the class isn’t ALL revolved around sex. It is a Gender in Literature class. It has a lot of political issues (blah) and world issues covered as well.

I am going to college today..not the mediocore standards of the community college I’ve been attending but a college that can be considered in the top 10 of this country! I am going to do so WELL! I am excited. I have my brand new five star 3 subject notebook, ready to take notes written in perfect handwriting and good spelling. (I’ll bring a dictionary if I have to). That’s how it always goes the beginning of a semester. Die hard college Mom turns to slacker college mom who goes to class half the time BUT (major point) still manages to get an A. (ok so probably a B but sometimes, an A). GIVE ME A CHALLENGE! My English class is going to be fun. I am dear friends with my professor. I am going to ask her to be extra hard on my assignments because I really want my writing to be pushed. She’ll do it because she will admire my determination to learn. – I think.

R. is home. Last night we moved the coffee table, played some music, and danced. We should dance again tonight, I liked it…even if he had to slump over. I tried dancing on my tip toes, but that was kind of uncomfortable. I left him a lipstick message on the bathroom mirror this morning. Yes hello, this is me trying to be romantic – dammit.

By the way, How do you spell damnit? Bloggers seem to have taken to the more casual and goofy spelling – dammit. I have always spelled it the other way. Hmmm. Perhaps I’ll spell it according to my mood. Problem solved.

The boy had a rough weekend. he has gravel burn on the left side of his face – from his forhead to his lip. He had his hands in his pockets and tripped landing hard on the gravel. This is the worst injury he’s ever had. I panicked while R. stayed perfectly calm. I don’t know how he stayed so unafraid. There was so much blood. I was ready to call 911. T was up and running around with his buddy in minuets – blood gushing and all.

THEN yesterday he came up to me and said with proudness, “I took your white medicine! My cough is all better now.” OH. MY. GOD…..I had left a pill on the coffee table last night. I was going to take two but only took one instead. .05 MG of Mirapex. It’s what they give Parkinson’s disease patients and people with Restless Leg Disorder (me). I called poison control and they were unnervingly unconcerned with any real and immediate threat. My son threw up, was very tired, wanted his grandpa and nana, couldn’t really balance himself, threw up some more…..just heartbreaking to see my boy bruised and poisoned.

Needless to say I feel pretty awful about everything this weekend. (especially the medicine).

*deep breath* Regardless my boy is in good spirits this morning. Well, He has the initial crankiness and lingers in bed until the last possible second - but that comes with the gene pool.

*yawn* I need some coffee!