running up that hill
today is my best friend traj's birthday. although we talk on a very regular basis, I haven't actually seen him since his father passed away last summer and a lot of shit has changed for both of us since then. you know what's been up with me for the most part...well, he found love, knew the anticipation of expecting a child himself, lost the child and then the love. these events alone could be enough to send, say, a rich white popstar to the hospital for "exhaustion" but most of us in the real world just have to struggle on through these suffocatingly painful experiences and hopefully, if we're spiritual and/or strong and/or hippies come out okay the other end of the tunnel. back into the sun...dig. a normal person would pick themself off the floor, maybe brush their shoulders off, and stumble on...traj, on the other hand, recorded an album...cause he's an overachiever and just emerging from heartbreak seemingly unscathed wasn't nearly enough for him. he released a fully downloadable version yesterday, officially, along with artwork by yours truly (reality on my messageboard called it nas meets hitchcock, I'ma just pretend thats what I was goin for)...and I know I'm biased because he's my former love and present and future potna 'til death (and then some) and I was there while he was in the elementary stages of at least half the tracks so I have a connection to them myself, but this is really extraordinary shit he has created. heads can judge for themself or whatever...but as far as I'm concerned it's game over. if the universe is just, this inspirational, beautifully flawed, militant, tortured man is only at the beginning of all the success and recognition he deserves...as the phrase goes, all that is to be determined. happy birthday, jay, I love you mang. if I could drink I'd be raising a glass of hen and coke in your honor.
anyhoo. now onto something less meaningful. my computer is on my last nerve, I'm not even playing...I wish I could afford to buy another one...this shit is hopeless do you hear me...I can't even open photoshop without it going all thundercunt on me. it's just not been a good few days for the kid right here. because christopher has to work every single day wrapped around christmas, we're not going to be able to go to denver at all this holiday season...words cannot adequately express how sad that makes me. I was pratically daydreaming about being back home in colorado driving my dad's car instead of riding new york subway trains, seeing my girlfriends and my cousins, showing topher where I'm from and what shaped me as a kid, getting diva like top-model eva for some christmas parties, eating good food...maybe even seeing some snow. spending time with my dad. being in a house with pine and white lights wrapped around the staircase banister...having a fireplace to hang stockings...the beautifulness. I could still go by myself, I have an entire week's vacation from work, but I sincerely doubt I could find any enjoyment in spending christmas away from topher, knowing he was back here alone in this apartment on christmas day. so we're gonna have to do it up real holly jolly-like right here in the bronx. I'd like to get a tree and decorations if financially possible. since I still have all of next week off I'll have time to invest in making it festive for us...its not like it's the end of the world if we'll have each other. plus, this will literally and figuratively be the last christmas we spend alone...next christmas we'll have beans.
that last sentence must sound crazy to those who are reading my site for the first time and have no idea who beans is. "and next christmas...beans - cause nothing says yuletide joy like farts and mudbutt." I clearly missed a calling in an advertising career...my taglines are boss.
caring about people is a motherfucker. it is the basis for the majority of my decisions in life...I have in no way decided if this is a good trait or a bad one. I admittedly (I use that word a lot lately, blame it on the catharsis or purging) care too much about shit that may or may not be worth my energy....but it is just in my nature and to deny it would be denying self, as pointless as wishing tomorrow wouldn't come or yesterday hadn't gone down. which is why I am done fighting and agonizing over the natures of both people and circumstances...I've reminded myself after a very large hiatus that it is a major roadblock in the yellow brick road to joy/enlightenment. I am just scared in some ways, which lets me know my defense mechanisms are very much still in play keeping me safe. in the past, everytime shit would be perfection to me, I'd find something out that would make ugly everything I thought was so beautiful before. now, instead of thinking anything perfection I realize it just IS. and everything that IS, besides our beings at their most naked essence, is ephemeral and fleeting...the sport of flirting, the shudder and shake of what seems the entire planet during intercourse, splash waterfalls, the hush of post-coital exhaustion that inspires entire universes, promises, anger, and expectations alike. I fought so much for everlasting, unwavering specialness I exhausted the possibilities.
I am equal parts eeyore and pooh. oh bother.
I care about my friends and try to protect them on some bear cub maddness, but like baby eagles they wanna fly on thier own right into lion's jowls. ironically enough, they probably think the same of me half the time. faith gon' kill me quicker then a bullet.
edit: it's an interesting thing tearing my guts out to write on this site every week...I sometimes wonder why I do it at all and what is the payoff for sharing myself with a bunch of strangers. I don't want or need a soul bowing at my feet or thanking me profusely, I pity the fool who'd make that assumption...I only continue to do this to reach out to likeminds. there seems to be such a lack of that, however...unless of course I write about my panties or there's drama with my boyfriend...then heads got some shit to say. but when I reach down inside to squeeze my heart's blood out, or promote something that actually means a great deal to me...profound silence, disinterest, intimidation from the majority. what a sad, sorry, shame...I thought most of my audience were more then sheep who's attentions were only won with frivolous shit or pretty layouts. prove me wrong...I'd honestly love it.