Call Me Kaleidoscope

The Tides

As I get older I find myself gravitating more toward the blue tide. It probably comes as no surprise that I am a deeply introspective person. I love philosophy, psychology, physiology, literature, nutrition and fitness, and eastern religious studies. My whole life I have been searching for a single answer “What does it mean to be human?”. I am still learning to love learning but when something or someone sparks my curiosity I am positively insatiable. I analyze and reanalyze but logic is not my strong suit. I am more intuitive and insightful than I am logical. I am constantly tripping over the basics whereas more complex ideas make sense immediately. As I get older the less, I realize, I know. The black and white certainties of youth have given way to so much grey. My pursuit of truth is very personal, very internal and unfortunately I have never been good at taking society into account. Which is not to say that I am criminal, just that fitting in never figures in. Did I mention I am mad as a hatter?

I hate seeing people/animals suffer. I am unable to distinguish between my suffering and other people’s suffering, sometimes I even sympathize with inanimate objects! Yet many would consider me insensitive and I can be insensitive. I push people away. I avoid forming close personal relationships and I have a blind spot when it comes to people’s feelings about me. I wouldn’t consider myself a martyr though, when I do something for someone it is because I want to. I cannot be made to do anything.

I am internally motivated and yet I do seek reassurance. I am insecure and lacking in confidence. When taking on a new challenge I tend to need a lot of reinforcement/guidance (I have learning disabilities). Once mastered I prefer to be left alone to work but in the initial stages I can very fucking needy. While I don’t generally concern myself too much with opinions I don’t like to be seen as stupid and I hate situations where my ability to communicate is limited. Although I don’t talk very much in general social situations (I talk my husband’s head off!) I like knowing that I could, if I was moved to do so, express myself intelligently. I also need to be loved and to be listened to but that’s probably just the human in me.

Red is one of my primary tides. I am intense, passionate, emotional, moody, and instinctive. I have a fiery temper and I am stubborn to the point of insanity. While my stubbornness has allowed me to survive and even to thrive in difficult circumstances it has also proven an impediment. I tend to refuse opportunities and changes when they are first presented to me and it takes a lot of soul searching in order to accept something even if I wanted to accept it in the first place! I gave everything in the pursuit of love, in the pursuit of the extraordinary and I found it.

Indigo is probably my weakest tide as I feel that each person has their own personal truth. When I was a child living in an abusive and unstable environment I did seek comfort in rules and routines. How should we treat one another? What is the right course of action? How much responsibility does a child have for the sins of their parents? How do I become a better person? How do I become a person at all? I wanted desperately to find clear and concise answers. I wanted the people around me to behave in ways that I could understand. I wanted to control others so that they would not be able to cause pain to themselves/others. I still have some control issues. I still organize when I am stressed and I boss people around when I clean. I still try to fix it when someone comes to me upset but I have come to understand that everyone has their own path to follow and my opinion guides me alone.


Going Nowhere


Do you approach me now

To assign a destination

To the topography

Of my inhospitable flesh?

I have traveled for miles

Down ravaged gangways

Unaccustomed to the brevity,

The shark eyed infrastructure

The transparent hunger

In eyes that never suspend

Their purpose for long.


I labor over my identity

As if it were applied

A clumsy wooden frame

That holds more charm,

More beauty than the occupant

Can woefully prescribe

I could look at that frame

All day but the portrait

Does not resemble me.


How strange it is to start

But never to cross

A single boundary

Even with the gun waving

Before my estranged eyes.

The threat, the authority

Perhaps it is why

I only run in place.


I am not alone,

There are others faster than I

Sweating for both

Effort and effect

Wearing their pink soles

Blue but going nowhere.


More of my crummy photography. This is me I am wearing hubbies’ jacket which is too big on top of a large skirt that is why I look so lumpy lol



I used to walk

Until dawn surrendered

Adroitly to dusk

My terminal tethered

To the horizon

To a land

Primitive with heat

And lascivious wires


I sought the nostrum

Of a more compelling


My life being

Wholly inconceivable

I welcomed

Asphalt flowers into

My soiled heart

For is it not tenacity

That propagates myth

To chase the sun

Whatever the expense


I used to wear a forgery

Of my asperous smile

Each scar accented

From a pretentious palate

Each virtue smeared


Into the lower lashes

Like the blight

Of an impious contagion


I grew fearfully

With a predisposition

To inversion


This is a deeply personal and traumatic piece I am not certain it makes sense outside of my own head. As a child I would walk until my shoes filled with blood, it was my way of escaping a horrible home life.

Diary Entry September 22 2013


I am immobile. Grim. My thoughts boil, dissipate, scald on inquiry. I can not adjust my moods to the indulgence of either obligation or whim. So I stoop, incongruous with a sustainable architecture. Contradictions define me. I am exhausted and vehemently opposed to the clock’s covetous hands withdrawing my youthful diversions. My habits offend me and yet I am fondly and inconsolably dedicated to their exploitation. The most significant discovery I have made in the past few months is that I no longer want to be unhappy. I understand unhappiness. The alternative remains incomprehensible. My mouth is a monument, grief-stricken but no longer frequented by superstition. It dips well below the horizon. I frown mostly and I’ve found that the face really does assume the angles most held.


My hair has started to turn grey. Not grey precisely. The hairs are hysterically white. My grandmother had a head full of freshly laid snow, immaculate and cohesive. I am 32, a red head it could be worse but I still find myself cringing whenever I see one of those albino imposters sprouting from my autumnal mane. Even if you approach life slowly, delicately it still passes by in an instant. I am not aging well, despite my good intentions, genetics don’t give a shit about my intentions.


I find that I cry less. That I spend less time engaged in preparations for war. I spend less time generating ulterior motives from happenstance. Some days inexplicably I even forget to hate myself. I realize that soon I will have to articulate my goals to a stranger. My goals have always been survival oriented. Get out of bed, keep breathing, feed, clothing optional/shower mandatory. My existence has been about maintaining a state of “not dead”. I want more than “not dead” but I am not sure how much more. I don’t think I need much.


I am not ready for real life friends. I just want to be able to go to the grocery without the comfort of my automatisms. For God sake stop talking to yourself in public it generates unwanted conversation. Contrary to popular belief talking to yourself while wildly flapping your hands does not discourage people from socializing. If anything it seems to encourage them.


As for jobs. I am at my very core an Anarchistic. I could not, would not, should not work in an office. I cannot drive or operate machinery and I cannot be responsible for a herd of living beings (except maybe plants). Being a surgeon is completely out of the question. I probably can’t watch a store because of the absence seizures. Whenever I think of working I think of all that I can’t do I am not sure if I am being pessimistic or realistic circumstances considered.


My seizures are very frequent. Speaking of which my seizures have actually gotten worse since the pneumonia. My pupils are asymmetrical more often than not these days. I am in a chronic mental stupor. Please don’t let this be a permanent change.  Is it even possible to work outside of home at my own pace? My pace being on par with your typical earth-dwelling mollusk. I couldn’t get any slower if I stood still and waited for the task to spontaneously complete itself.


My idea is to get a physically demanding job, something that would allow me to skip my daily exercise and that would be mechanical and repetitious (memory issues make complicated tasks impossible at the moment). Grave digging for example. Unfortunately I believe they use machines to dig graves which I cannot legally operate. I only want to work part-time in the mornings when I am at my sharpest. I want an apartment/house suitable for a three person family. Not a big space mind you as I have to be capable of maintaining the space in a habitable fashion. I want my bedroom door to close and lock! I want to have vocal sex! I want to be less self-conscious. I want to write poetry books and live with purpose. I want a functional brain, which might be the one thing I can’t have. I want the independence that comes from learning. I want to see a memory specialist desperately.


Today’s something different is letting you read my diary. I have no idea how to write a diary and so I can never figure out if I should pretend I am talking to an audience or if I should talk to myself. Diaries confuse me and to be honest I rarely write in mine which is probably some kind of criminal offense given that I am a writer.  I mostly pretend I am talking to someone else and so I weirdly explain things about myself that are obvious and that I already know. Diaries really confuse me and I think they make me sound insane lol