Ahhh, so very close now … waiting for tomorrow for the paint to have dried and for the last of the imaginative detailing, perhaps a little white here and there? A little loss up top with the addition of pop colors … alas, these things happen to balance things out, but I think the painting as a whole, if you look back, the loss of some of the delicacy of the upper layers, the addition of the horizontal line … well, you see what you think … I felt I needed to go there. ‘Tis done, nonetheless. We all know what was there. For posterity’s sake we can look back and say, alas, alack, but ’tis done, ’tis done … wringing of hands. Hee.
And the lovely mungering of what IS the difference ultimately between blue green and green blue. ? Really. A lovely thing to ponder deeply. Among the seaweeds. They ponder this alone and quietly. A child cries outside and I cannot comfort it and I do hope it’s parents are comforting it? banging sounds. eep. Hate this sort of thing. Truly. Hate children crying publicly and not knowing the full story. Hopefully the children are okay. The childre are okay, are not okay — the deep pondering of not knowing fully, similar to the deep ocean of not knowing.
Today have had the edge of wanting to cry at the drop (ping) of a hat! No reason that I know of ! Just my life (time) of some (thing). Not know (ing) what. So rested after counseling and just on the edge of not doing anything until I could get up and do. Again.
Singing Practice. Ahem. Wild Country, like the back of my hand, so many times. But Dust Radio. Weed version first, that version so understated, I kept wanting the Living with the Law version that I had GREAT TROUBLE being understated. so …. Sang the singing out version from Living with the Law and was CHALLENGED to sing the singing out version don’t you know the Chris Whitley range of vocal motion way being challenged don’t you know … way … so … listened to the Weed version … just listened to it … sooooo understated ….
thought for a moment … libido being what it is … the Living with the Law version is like the 20s to 30s libido version and the Weed version is like the 40s to I’m dying to got cancer version … low libido Blues why do I care really version … hmmm — somewhere in the middle we shall find our version version tomorrow —
Reading in the waiting room for counseling today Buddha Standard Time … how magical movies are, and dreams — how that’s great for getting past your ordinary thinking time — spurred on my magical thinker girl writer person! yay! — then, this … “coming to terms with life’s fleeting beauty, unbearable pain, and impermanence. True realized masters are not beyond suffering and dissatisfaction but are one with it.” That first part is the surreality I feel a LOT. Here I thought I was dissociated and felt guilty and bad. But some part of my dissociation is good. Some part of my surreality is right. Okay. I’m doing something right to have a semi-detached state. Feels weird, though. I need to practice the feeling more ONE with it at the same time. That must be the paradox.
In my novel there is a Mobius strip. An inside and and outside, and an endless, infinite loop. Maybe I’m hitting on it without meaning to, in my own journey. That would be cool.
Another cool thing is that part of my journey has to do with broken and whole mirrors. I was partly watching the movie The Apartment the other day on TCM, walking in on the part where Shirley MacLaine hands the actor, who I dearly love but at the moment I can’t recall his name, her compact mirror, which is broken. He says, something like, this is broken, and she says something like, I like it that way, it’s the way I feel. And I happened to see that walking in to get my decaf or something.
Oh, also Sybil Exposed the book came out. I saw the email on NPR email news yesterday and felt kind of hurt that anyone would make up multiple personalties for any reason. But then I was all hurt when Milli Vanilli came out that they were fake, too. I don’t like fakeries. I see no reason to be fake at anything. Hey, I have had the PTSD diagnosis since 1998. I had Clinical Depression since 1984. Check me out. We can go through it all if you want, but I don’t need to go through it all, cause I’m for real. Check the DSM-IV or whateva. I remember watching the Sybil movie with my sister and joking it’s Purple it’s Green and then fixating on the bare lightbulb fixture because there was really something to that but no one would listen to me. Whatever.
Song on the radio says “too late”. yeah. Too Late.
My 47th birthday — yay! — is on Wednesday — we start celebrating on Sunday with a brunch at Comus Inn — hooray! and culminate with another brunch at an Indian restaurant next Sunday — I have a lot to be thankful for — hopefully this year I can remember how old I am — for the life of me I thought I was forty-seven already this year — heh — ha! time is so funny when you’re older — I met a friend who is in her fifties today on walkies and we are so worried about the flood in Thailand —
we have no money to send — we are lucky to pay our own bills — we never thought we would see the US only able to send $100,000 to Thailand in such a crisis — China sent a million — and there is the famine in Somalia — where do you send your money? I send to the Carter Center and Friends Committee on National Legislation — CARE — UNICEF — American Red Cross –when we can — when we can — crazy times — at Christmas time? when there is a crisis?
there is so much need — my friend from college this week said that one time when we were partying hard in the eighties — yeah, back in the DAY — that I was so messed up that I saw child poverty in my own hand — yeah, I think that is quite real — it is that real — why I had to leave politics — because I take it so very seriously — sigh — so I do what I can and then I have to let it go and do my little art projects — and write my novels for world peace — Rebekah’s Closet — soon come — heh — I’ll stop saying that — now!