magician, my muse
I was once an artist dormant, and in his love I was an artist ever-inspired.
January 16, 2020
I miss the Magician as my muse, and I miss being his.
I remember sometimes I’d just pace the room philosophizing, and he would sit with his eyes glued to me in amazement. It was a beautiful feeling.
It was also a beautiful feeling to love that hard and to watch him perform the comedy and theatrics of his soul. He was a wonder to watch.
I’ve never been so spiritually and aesthetically flooded, never experienced another human being as art in that way.
I was once an artist dormant, and in his love I was an artist ever-inspired.
My passion was my artistic product, and I’m afraid I’ve peaked.
No being could ever inspire me equally or beyond.
/
frog in a bog
She said, “I had a vision you were a frog, and that’s why you like bogs so much … you were floating on the current on a lily pad, and you were hungry.”
February 18, 2020
Yesterday I went to the aquarium with Boo and Jarrith. I love it, being surrounded by marine- and wild-life, standing beneath a massive tank of water and sea beasts while in the company of people I love. That said, I still feel an uncomfortable and unwanted level of separation from others, even when I’m around people who love me.
I’m not sure what it is, but I’m trying hard to be patient with it.
I enjoyed being inside my own mind at the aquarium though. I especially loved sitting next to the octopus tank and feeling its energy and power. I felt like it felt me there. I was sending it love.
I was also big time vibing with the frog exhibit, imagining myself living out my existence in a bog with endless moss and moisture and heat. UGH. Esme told me a couple of days ago that she believes I was a frog in a past life. She said, “I had a vision you were a frog, and that’s why you like bogs so much … you were floating on the current on a lily pad, and you were hungry.”
Such a cute image. I would LOVE to be a frog on a lily pad. That sounds like a perfect life! I love the inclusion of the hunger.
Esme also pulled this oracle card for me:
Surrender to sweetness—
Venus energy. Pleasure. Joy. Make love to life.
This is a sensual, highly feminine card. It’s a call to surrender to the sweetness of life, to let the ever-abundant feminine take over. To taste the fruits you’ve been working so hard to grow. To let your senses take over and really drink in your life with wonder. To get intoxicated on the simple bounty that this planet has to offer and which you have within you when your well is full … This card is wooing you back to the pleasures of being human.
Words for a poem: wild, wild nights; frog; green; leopard …
“Wild nights, wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights would be our luxury!
Futile the winds -
To a heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the sea!
Might I but moor - tonight-
In thee!”
Despite being somewhat of a stoner lately, I’ve been having unusually vivid dreams, more sensually engaging than real life, and more clear-headed. In some ways they feel more “real” than my day-to-day. They’re more engaged, or rather they inspire me to be more of a creative participant than reality does.
/
100 roses in your toadish eyes
Do you ever weep after a dream
For the loss of emotion?
February 21, 2020
Do you ever weep after a dream
For the loss of emotion?
You hadn’t recognized it as lost
Until you felt it in sleep?
Once again I grieve the mania
I grieve the transcendence
I grieve you
Jasmine said, “100 roses in your toadish eyes.”
language and perception
Something that massively influences my perception of the world is the idea that objects do not exist in our perception, and therefore do not exist in our consciousness, when we don’t have a word for them.
February 27, 2020
Something that massively influences my perception of the world is the idea that objects do not exist in our perception, and therefore do not exist in our consciousness, when we don’t have a word for them.
Either we create the universe through language (i.e. we bring it into existence) and thereby live in a reality that uniquely our own (solipsistic), or the universe is an unfathomably large mass of data that somehow communicates with us, perhaps magically in the sense that our minds “quicken,” and we are somehow able to translate the data into a linguistic symbol (collective).
Neither argument is provable with logic or other means.
Oh Universe, unfathomable, expansive mass of spiritual data, of which I am a part, I invoke your presence now. Please envelop me in love and beauty. Bless my intuition that it will pierce my mind and enable me to speak and heal others. Show me truth so that I may transcribe it for others to consume and know. Reveal thy beauty so that I may write it into the perception of thy children. Hold me so that I may hold others.
/
I am suffering right now. My situation with the Rat is bringing up a lot of feelings for me, and I don’t even know how to write about them, because I don’t know what they are or where they’re coming from.
/
poetry and solitude
I look to no authority in writing except my own direct connection to the divine. I “take dictation from God.”
March 01, 2020
I’ve been struggling to complete an entry. I wonder why.
Perhaps it’s because, on the one hand, words are becoming much more meaningful to me.
In the past I used words to process situations and trusted others’ words at face value.
I still use words to process, but it feels so much more inventive than it ever has. Now that I’m not blindly following another system of beliefs, and now that I’m not limited so much by my ego or by philosophical pessimism, I’m using my mind to understand—and love and embrace—the spiritual truths that exist within the coding of my being.
And I do so with so much more confidence and creativity.
I look to no authority in writing except my own direct connection to the divine. I “take dictation from God.”
I trust and value my aesthetic taste and love it so much, and also my ability to create beauty in my expression of truth. All of it fills me with existential humility.
I’ve also been reciting poems and incorporating poetry into my life as a ritual and as a way of imploring the Universe to bring me strength. It has made me a lot more present, expressing pain through the texture of words that resonate in the same aesthetic vibration of what I’m feeling. Praying to the Universe and tapping into feelings and feeling them so strongly.
I feel a deeper connection to my intuition than I have in a long time, maybe ever. I’m much more self-aware, mentally and physically. I feel strong. When I speak to God, I’m speaking to the goodness of my own Soul. I can and will continue to do difficult things of both a spiritual and earthly nature.
Living a higher standard has shown me how much love and harmony I am capable of feeling with others and with all matter. But unfortunately I haven’t found anyone with whom I have both earned enough trust to share openly and with whom sharing is reciprocated effectively.
Being ahead of your time and still having to live in your time is really lonely. And to be fair, this perception of myself may be partially stroking my ego, and that’s something I genuinely try to keep in check, but I also have been told adamantly by everyone my whole life—family, friends old and new, teacher, lovers, and strangers—that I have an unusual spirit.
I have also generally felt especially spiritual lately, and it’s difficult to describe.
The way it feels in my body is like an energy charge from my chest and throughout my limbs, a blanket-like heaviness over my whole body. I think if I were to honor my intuition at time, I would live with so much joy. I think the satisfaction of what mormons calls “the spirit” actually came when I followed my intuition. Now I’m learning my true values, and living accordingly is a difficult alignment to sustain, but it is incredibly satisfying when it happens.
This summer I’d really love to camp along the Pacific Coast Highway with Momo, or even Southern Utah. Maybe I’ll take a long trip home, pass through Zion’s and spend a couple of days there writing. I really just want a radical amount of solitude and a reliable, limited social circle also sounds sooooooo good to me right now.
Some spiritual things I want to understand better:
bibliomancy
poetry (writing and memorizing)
glamour magic
feng shui
spells and speaking to the Universe
singing my own songs in the forest
Kulning
All the cherries in the trees
Could never fill you
When you keep your mouth closed
Hiking alone and telepathically engaging with the earth, taking pictures of me in my blue bikini and sandals and greasy hair, connecting with nature and water on a semi-daily basis during the Summer, lots of yoga and acrobatics, moving , exerting in terms of stamina and of the challenge of shaping my body in unusual, challenging ways.
I LOVE THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS and SPIRITUAL BASIS OF YOGA.
That said, I don’t think it is a truth that yogis own more of than the masses.
Practice sex magic: approach masturbation as a means of getting back to myself, learning what I want, and shedding shame about my current sexual awkwardness, which I think is basically rooted in the fact that I am only motivated to have sex with very few people, and I can only get turned on when there is a shared chemistry, which includes trust of an important kind: shared vibrations.
When the vibes are in sync, I get a deeply erotic feeling, like I’m a puddle of goo, and I start gushing. I feel like a perfect, exalted swamp frog jumping into a puddle of warm water.
Listen to lots of classical OR no music, and recite poetry in your head.
Spend more time outside and moving your body.
Drink more water!
Spend more time in intentional solitude.
Create poetry and art for myself.
Write and cast spells ritualistically, for peace, for grounding, for others, for school, for sex, etc.
I accept all of myself, or at least I am working on actively doing so. I am working to keep promises to myself, to honor my needs for solitude right now, to honor my needs in general, to allow myself to make “errors” without judging the process. To trust myself so I can more fully trust others.
LOVE AND BEAUTY ABOUND IN MY ENVIRONMENT. I am at harmony with all things; even in conflict, I stand on holy ground.
/
a genteel woman
Increase the eroticism by intensifying the beginning stages: holding hands, touching skin, touching face, playing with hair. Enchant through poetry, love, and passion.
March 06, 2020
I’m beginning to uncover the once unfathomable pleasures of solitude.
Perhaps one day I might truly love myself more than I love anyone. The more time I spend alone, the more I discover the beauty of my face and body, the unique attractiveness of my style, the poetry and strangeness with which I experience the world. I’m also much more grounded in myself, as far as I can tell.
Recently I realized I should quit school, because I think it will allow me to stop obsessing about money and take are of myself 100%. Then I’d also have the free time to work on poetry and the development of my character, values, and social persona. Like, who do I want to be, truly? What do I want to accomplish in life, with respect to my skills, passions, hobbies, careers, spirituality, knowledge, and relationships?
School isn’t inspiring to me anymore, not at this time. I am fully capable of learning, in the best ways and about the best things, on my own.
Lately I’ve been thinking about adopting the manner of a genteel woman. One motivation for this is my recent discomfort with sex. It might be empowering to refrain from physical intimacy until the passion in me takes over and I’m unable to resist. Increase the eroticism by intensifying the beginning stages: holding hands, touching skin, touching face, playing with hair. Enchant through poetry, love, and passion.
I’m writing on my bed right now. Twin Peaks is on the television, and I’m writing by candlelight. There is a red glow of LED lights which line the closet on my right. I truly enjoy the design of my self-made environment.
Boo and I watched “Barry Lindon” this evening. It was beautiful. The main actor, Ryan O’Neal, had an incredibly beautiful face and eyes that expressed such passion that I still have a heaviness hanging between my thighs. I want to awaken sexually.
/
the rat and the jade
I can’t force a situation to be ideal, and a situation can never be ideal without a LOT of communication from all parties.
March 10, 2020
Albums to listen to:
Gentle Leader by Peach Kelli Pop
Darling by The She-Devils
Seasons of Your Day by Mazzy Star
Tonight someone told me I look French, which is cool.
On another note, the Rat is “going through some stuff” and has withdrawn from me. I understand where he is coming from, but it hurts me because we’ve been so intimate in other ways, and the lack of communication makes me feel really uncertain. And really lonely. My instinct is telling me to take space. It’s hard because he is lovely. His girlfriend is too, despite her interference in my relationship with the Rat.
And all the people I’ve met through them have been lovely people.
But I can’t force a situation to be ideal, and a situation can never be ideal without a LOT of communication from all parties.
/
age of sickness
Today’s horoscope: There is no such thing as fate.
March 12, 2020
Today’s horoscope: There is no such thing as fate.
If I’d been told this a year ago, I would have scoffed. My belief in determinism was so solid, I never thought it would change. Now I wonder if the Universe isn’t complete chaos, and my perception of causality is a false induction—there is infinite matter interacting with other matter at all times, the majority of which I am incapable of seeing.
I wonder if prayer, if carefully chosen words spoken into the ether, simply changes my focus to the parts of reality that better suit my soul. I’m still trying to conceptualize the material (and perhaps immaterial, but I highly doubt it) properties I share with the rest of space, with the universe and with God. Which matter do I possess that brings metaphysical sensations of peace, awe, and love to the rest of my being? How do I spend more time engaged with them?
Today has been one of the strangest I’ve had in awhile. I’ve been unwell the past 48 hours or so, and my body has been extremely sore. My brain feels like it’s functioning at half capacity. I’m having strange dreams which leave me feeling emotions that aren’t associated with a single reality. People feel like foreign objects, and I’m seeing them all with the suspicion of peripheral vision. I’m feeling hurt, cast off, unwanted, and misunderstood. I’m trying to open up, but I don’t feel acknowledged.
With the Rat, I don’t know what to do exactly. I’m trying to enact boundaries, but I’m also feeling compelled NOT to enact them. He’s supposedly going to call me tonight to hear what I have to say, but I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’ll write him a letter:
Dear Rat,
I don’t know how to ease into what I want to say. Overall I’m feeling the uneasiness in my intuition that I must follow, and it’s compelling me to disconnect from you. I also feel drawn to your beauty. Your presence feels warm and pleases me.
But I feel very much not on the same page as you because you don’t communicate as often as I need, nor have you made any effort to resolve anything I’ve directly asked you about.
Namely I don’t know what you’re looking for from me in terms of friendship, romance, and sex.
You have said that I “flood your senses,” that you “adore” me and want me to be your girlfriend, but you don’t back up your words with communication or initiating time alone with me.
This inconsistency makes it impossible for me to move forward, to trust, to know where to stand, and therefore also which ways to behave towards you, which feelings to nurture and which feelings to let pass.
I know you are doing your best, and I don’t think bad of you.
But as I’ve betrayed myself in the past by waiting and trying to force others to see my perspective and get on the same page as me, I am going to listen to my instinct this time.
I don’t know how to approach romance these days. I feel like I might attach too quickly, obsess impulsively. And the disappointment I feel with every minute loss feels larger than it is because it pokes at deep wounds inflicted by the Magician. It’s impossible to explain how sinister the things are that I’ve seen in the past couple of years. Even I am distanced enough from them now that I don’t remember or fully understand how sinister.
With him I feel like I was entrenched in a cultish false reality. Why was it so beautiful?
I’m going to memorize some poetry for a moment:
“I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain’d. I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owing (sic) things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. ”
evince: 1: to constitute outward evidence of, 2: to display clearly: REVEAL
retonym: a term … that is newly created and adopted to distinguish the original or older version, form or example of something from other, more recent ones.
In this age of sickness, I ache to surpass the perameters of my body.
I need to leave the city tonight.
I seek a patch of grass to fold itself around me, a muggy bog bottom to imbue my cells, a fungal network to become a part of.
Is the determination in my eyes as sincere as the crocodile’s?
I wish I could fold myself into a prism,
and experience myself as a frog.
The moss, the lily pad, the bog, none greener than I.
I close my eyes: the only light is stars, fireflies, the moon.
I close my ears: the only sound is the buzzing of flies, the croaks of bullfrogs, a few chirps and splashes.
I process them as though I were the chasm: the sound and its reverb flood my senses simultaneously.
My tongue captures a fly, and I plop into a puddle.
I don’t laugh because I am a frog. I blush—ribbit—sugar hiccup.
like moths decaying in a glass jar, asphyxiated by our own heaving breath
/
lists and poems
We are the only poets, and everyone else is prose.
March 13, 2020
“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”
I thought about writing a letter to Prince Charming, but the communication between us is random and so hit-or-miss that I’m not sure it’s ever going to become anything. But he still has my “Get yourself to the poles” stripper tee shirt, so I definitely need to get that back.
Random Lists!
Wishlist:
Vintage nightgown
Tarot deck
Beth Hoekel fruit collage
Dresser
Bed frame and white fairy net
A big pink-leaved plant
Vintage candelabra
To learn in my spare time:
Yoga
Rollerblading, cool tricks
Tarot, divination, bibliomancy, spell-writing and rituals
Hiking and backpacking
Music production
Horseback riding
Piano again!
“Blazing in gold and quenching in purple,
Leaping like leopards to the sky,
Then at the feet of the old horizon
Laying her spotted face, to die;
Stooping as low as the offer’s window,
Touching the roof and tinting the barn,
Kissing her bonnet to the meadow-
And the juggler of day is gone!”
We are the only poets, and everyone else is prose.
/
the ides of March
I don’t want to end up alone, but I also don’t want to sacrifice the quality of connection that I know is possible in love, the sensational occult-like splendor of perfect chemistry.
March 15, 2020
Future me,
Maybe you already predicted this, but I think I might have a crush on Boo! I spend a lot of time with her because of the quarantine, and it’s been so lovely. I still have this strange fear of romantic partnerships, the far that no one could ever really love me and find me sexually attractive. And I hope it’s not so much that I find myself undesirable, although I think it just doesn’t occur to me that I could be seen as a sexual person.
It’s excruciating and confusing how the Magician made me feel so unbelievable beautiful and gorgeous and also so undesirable and unworthy. He would stare into my eyes looking like a complete puddle of lovesickness and say, “You’re so gorgeous, Lainey.” He would make me feel like I was overwhelming to behold, would kiss my feet, every toe, and say, “Perfect toes, perfect feet, perfect legs, perfect knees …” all while kissing up my entire body. And he would also totally ignore my sexual advances. I felt so unnatural with him sexually after awhile.
But we were truly in love. I wonder if he succeeded in his attempts to deny the purity and beauty of our love. He said it himself that it was a tragedy. But he terrifies me. I don’t understand how he is able to disappear into new “characters” if you will, so easily. It is as if he is a wound desperately seeking the balm of love and yet fears love so deeply that any hit to his ego sends him diving from one consciousness into another.
It sounds absolutely insane when put in those words because it seems as if he has almost no similar characteristics to his other selves, which isn’t true. But for one, even on the outside his friends, family, and former lovers have made comment that he is an extreme Black-and-White personality with no perception of a grey area. He makes extreme personality and lifestyle changes every couple of years (e.g. devout guru religious type to hippie free love wild child to strict ascetic again; no structure versus rigid routine).
And also, I was his deepest and most meaningful connection; I knew him extremely well (or at least I thought I did), until suddenly and as if completely without warning, I was peering into the eyes and soul of a complete stranger. It was as if he disposed of the parts of him that knew me.
I wonder if those parts will remain deep inside him and pull as a red cord between us, or if he is truly capable of forgetting. If that’s the case, then true poetry, true romance, is dead.
It pains me to say it, but I still don’t know that I won’t be in love with him forever, if I will ever heal from the horrible things he did to my brain, the deep tethering of pleasure and love to fear and insecurity.
My devotion to him terrifies me. I’m terrified that I’ll never feel that freedom, the insane euphoria of utter submission, trust, worship and mutual understanding. I still believe we are mirrors of the same manifestation of divinity: yin and yang.
And I still wonder if my time with romance is over. I don’t believe I’ll ever find a love that provides me with something more meaningful, or even equally as meaningful, as my love for Magician, or just as important, how his love made me feel: like the god of my own universe, like a pillar of light called to save the hearts of the world, simply by existing. And I know I made him feel SO good too.
I remember how he would moan and squirm and just completely melt into a puddle beneath and on top of me. We would reach simultaneous intense orgasm with zero effort.
I’m ruined from it honestly.
It was like he was my soulmate from day one. And it still doesn’t make any sense to me that we would feel that and not end up together.
I wonder if any of this ever passes through his thoughts or resonates in his soul, or if the being that I knew, that possesses those memories, has passed from the ether into oblivion. I miss that beautiful boy. I want him more than I want my own soul. It dulls in comparison to him, my once bright star. Perhaps these feelings are those of the demented girl still inside me. All I can do is pray that they will pass through and that tomorrow when I wake I will be in a less tormented place.
I just felt so natural with him, and I don’t want to end up alone, but I also don’t want to sacrifice the quality of connection that I know is possible in love, the sensational occult-like splendor of perfect chemistry.
a day in quarantine
I am feeling WEIRD. Like very isolated and freaked out. I’m going to go on a walk and drink some water and see if I feel any better.
March 18, 2020
Times is weird these days with this quarantine! Here’s what happened yesterday:
4pm: Wake up, Boo made us a picnic and we went to the woods and ate by the urban decay stuff. Then we hung out there and talked for awhile. We had a really good conversation.
6pm: Rollerbladed in my bikini to Hobby Lobby to buy more candles.
7pm: Cleaned house.
8pm: Bought groceries.
9pm: Drank wine, painted my toenails Kelly green with Boo.
12am: Boo goes to bed. I stay awake, get cross-faded, listen to music.
3am: Go on a walk with Momo and follow her around.
4am: Bed.
12pm (today): Wake up, make crepes.
3pm: Clean, take Momo on a long walk.
I am feeling WEIRD. Like very isolated and freaked out. I’m going to go on a walk and drink some water and see if I feel any better.
I want to be someone my friends and family know they can count on for compassion and understanding. I want to always speak the truth but know deception so that I can protect myself and others when need be.
I want a pair of handcuffs
and bat wings
and angel wings
/
coven like a cobra
“A coven deprived of its leader is like a cobra without its head.”
March 29, 2020
“Bad luck isn’t brought by broken mirrors but by broken minds.”
Items I want for the home: sapphire-colored curtains, decanters for the intake of mystics, art deco style wallpaper like Suzy’s room in the original “Suspiria,” and a nice tea set, candelabras and other candle-holders, an orb-like lamp, hot pink candles, a self-portrait of myself depicted as Baphomet
Find a fucking coven. Be initiated. COVEN LIKE A COBRA!
Love and manipulation often live in the same house.
I want to to learn: tarot, bibliomancy, the occult, paganism, oil painting, sex magick, plant care, glamour magick, how to present a dog in a dog show, a third language
“A coven deprived of its leader is like a cobra without its head.”
/
golden
I struggle to believe I make anyone feel inspired, because no one looks at me the way Magician did.
April 04, 2020
Dear Scientist,
are you mad?
Dear Magician,
do you lie?
I’m lying on a yoga mat on the top of my car, outside Esme and Jason’s apartment in L.A. It’s overcast and in the mid-60s, but the sun is shining through the clouds with enough radiance to warm my skin. Before writing I was sitting on the car in my bikini, spread out and absorbing the sun. I feel so embodied when it’s hot out. The hotter and wetter the weather, the more right I feel.
I left Orem at 10AM yesterday. The drive was incredible. The last couple of hours were pretty rough, but the scenery for most of the drive was breath-taking (I kind of hate this word. Heh.) outside of L.A. The mountains here are so tall, lush and green. And the sky was perfectly clear.
Last night Esme and Jason and I took an edible and listened to music. I still feel unreal being here, especially given how last minute the trip was. My horoscope today says, “This is real life, even though it feels different.”
I’m currently listening to Harry Styles new album. The way his voice and charisma affect me reminds me of how I used to feel about Magician, and it makes me miss him. Strums a painful chord in my heart. I miss being physically overwhelmed by how beautiful someone is and knowing I also make someone feel that way.
I struggle to believe I make anyone feel inspired, because no one looks at me the way Magician did. I thought he was magick. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever feel that good again. I guess I just have to believe that will happen for me again; otherwise I won’t want to live.
Turning off Harry Styles now. Maybe I’ll turn him back on when I have someone to share a life with.
/
melancholy in L.A.
I really feel like the Magician destroyed me, and maybe the loss of sexual confidence is the worst of all, because I feel like I’m back in middle school.
April 10, 2020
I feel so uncomfortable. Something about being here in L.A. is bringing out restlessness and melancholia in me.
I’m uncomfortable with my loneliness. I miss being able to hold people and let them hold me. It used to be my default. I’m uncomfortable with my insecurity and with my sexuality. I know it’s important to grieve past selves so that you can move on, but going forward I don’t want to be this person. I want to feel confident like I used to be, to stop feeling like I can’t be sexy or that I’m not attractive or sensual or seductive. I want to stop feeling so alone, like such a loser.
I can’t even put a finger on exactly what I feel is missing, whether from me or from my life in general, but I just don’t feel like I’m living the right life or that the right life is available to me. I’m still so confused about everything with the Magician. Our love genuinely felt to me like the culmination of all the past and future meeting at the exact right time and place. Being with him finally made me feel whole. I didn’t even realize how un-whole I felt until I met him; then everything in my life felt warm and complete.
I have no idea how to be someone I like, to feel the deep satisfaction of the sun on my face like I used to. I feel like I’ve lost my spark, my sense of grounding and worth, and my inherent belief that I’m deserving of respect, of taking up “too much” space, making “too much” noise. I’ve lost the attributes and demeanor of someone who has never had her love and her trust in others abused and then trashed.
I feel like my soul has died, and I can’t imagine being able to restore it. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve actually healed.
I’ve lost my humor and my charisma because I have NO confidence.
I really feel like the Magician destroyed me, and maybe the loss of sexual confidence is the worst of all, because I feel like I’m back in middle school.
When will those wounds heal?
When will I be restored?
/
nihilist rage poetry
Magician is no longer, to me, to the world. Where the fuck did he go? Was he ever real?
April 23, 2020
I will only accept unconditional, pure love from this day forward: a love not based in ego or appearance but in connection and the desire to see others flourish. I will only accept this from myself as well I don’t feel I truly love myself yet.
It’s painful to realize these things.
I wish I didn’t dislike my boobs so much and obsessed about them, my skin, etc. It’s soooo much energy rooted in rejecting myself. I think it’s rooted in general self-consciousness, the belief that, in order for me to love myself, I need to be objectively lovable to others. Do I even know how to accept unconditional love that is also romantic? Does that exist?
It continues to be hard for me to accept that my life with Magician is over. I can’t fathom ever feeling that good with another person. To what extent that was embedded in co-dependency and to what extent it was the fire of true twin flame magic, I am at a complete loss. In either case, how do I ever overcome this loss and stop aching to be with him (or rather, the person I thought he was)?
I don’t know how to find real closure without speaking to him about it. But I think that’s rooted in me wanting deep down for him to acknowledge the profound passion, connection, and friendship between us, and promise to heal and try love with me again. It’s too painful for me to believe that he wasn’t who I thought he was, because that means my experience of true love was a total self-deception, that it never really happened.
But to believe that it was true love and that he and I are in the end still meant to be together is also too painful, because it’s anchoring my soul to something that may be a step backward or that may direct me away from peace or real joy.
Worst of all is the possibility that it was true love, and I lost it for no real reason except the cruel frailty of the human soul when confronted by the ego. Magician is no longer, to me, to the world. Where the fuck did he go? Was he ever real? If it was only my imagination, why couldn’t my imagination continue the lie?
If I am never able to look in his eyes and see the person I knew, will I be able to find that powerful connection with someone else? If I can’t have what I want out of life, what’s the point?
I either sit around waiting to know for sure if I can have what I want,
or I find a way to change what I want out of life,
or I kill myself,
or I suffer through a woeful existence and leave the world with a trove of nihilist rage poetry.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light … or just don’t even fucking bother, because you’re going to die either way.
Sometimes I think it best to suck the entirety of consciousness from my existence. Other days I want to transcend existence now and never return. Some days I feel deep inside Samsara.
/
migraines and mind games
Why does my soul get so dark?
May 15, 2020, 5AM
I’m losing track of time.
My mind is playing cruel games with me tonight. Around 2AM I got a horrible migraine, which has only happened to me once, 6 years ago when I was riding to Oregon through Napa Valley with my first husband. I keep having the thought that something out of the ordinary and sinister is the cause. I’m fighting the urge to check the stove again to make sure there isn’t a leaky gas valve or something.
I also watched Pan’s Labyrinth, which was beautiful but definitely cast a dark mood.
I’m also stressed that I’m going insane, because I’ve felt extremely unstable and isolated lately. I need acupuncture and to talk to Carole and Papa. They always know what to say.
Why does my soul get so dark?
/
poem to Magician
I pity the girl still inside me, who mined for your gold,
Who still toils within the lightless cave of your self-loathing.
May 22, 2020
Stay close to God, my friend, my love.
Is he really charismatic, or are you just attracted to men who hate themselves and attention-whore to fill the hole?
You never listened with ears to understand, only to reprimand,
Never respected my anger, but thrashed to be yourself heard.
A coward to your lovers, afraid of yourself, certain of your unworthiness.
Screaming to be held,
Cooing like a baby when your needs were filled,
Still whirling from an infant ache.
You pathetic child.
I pity the girl still inside me, who mined for your gold,
Who still toils within the lightless cave of your self-loathing.
psychedelic mania
He is certainly a showman. He doesn’t know how to exist without an audience. All theatrics and no substance.
June 04, 2020
Last night I dreamed that I started attending a Spanish-speaking boarding school. It was small, but dreamy.
At one point I left to go see Magician for some reason. When I reached his door, he wouldn’t answer, and it occurred to me that he was ashamed. When he finally opened the door, I saw his home was in shambles. Like, shit strewn everywhere. It felt like a hostel: people everywhere, all around 20-22 years old, low lighting, kind of like a dorm or frat house.
He told me he wanted to kiss me and moved his face really close to mine, and I wanted to kiss him back just to see what it felt like, but I didn’t. I felt like he was too young for me and “asleep” spiritually. I refrained from speaking my heart because I knew he wouldn’t understand.
Before I fell asleep last night, he crossed my mind. And I started to feel a lot of compassion for my younger self, the self that showed up in my romance with Magician, the girl who felt misunderstood and was not seen for her pure heart. So I put my hand on my chest and reassured myself that I know my heart is good. I’m a good human. I’m intelligent, open-minded, and kind.
I’m also planning on tripping acid with River on Saturday, and I was thinking about how acid tends to bring out the scariest parts of people. And when I was with Esme and Jason, they both said that it showed them the sweetest parts of me and helped them get to know me better.
I remember when Magician and I would do psychedelics, the entire experience was ALWAYS about him. It would elevate his mania, and I would essentially become either his babysitter or his groupie and try to force us into being on the same page, but it would never work. Sometimes I wonder what I ever found so charming about him.
He is certainly a showman. He doesn’t know how to exist without an audience. All theatrics and no substance.
/
apocalypse dreams
I don’t remember much except a giant smoke that came all the way from L.A. and then made its way to Utah.
June 06, 2020, 11:35AM
My dreams last night were so apocalyptic.
I don’t remember much except a giant smoke that came all the way from L.A. and then made its way to Utah.
The dream ended in me being homeless and living in the walls of a run-down business.
Papa was there, but he was much younger.
/
for the soul that sits most often beneath
the owl’s howl
plucked from the dark sky
that looms over us all
illuminated by the moon’s bald glow
/
gentle tempest
today I am the humble bee,
gliding along the currents of today’s gentle tempest.
June 11, 2020
some nights I am a worm
wiggling ecstatic beneath the owl’s howl
the moon’s bald glow floods me
until I am swirling in it’s watery microcosms.
this is how I think,
how I love and link,
sink, and emerge breathless from another shipwreck.
I wish to be lifted into the headiness of atmosphere
above the dark charge of oceanic orbits.
today I am the humble bee,
gliding along the currents of today’s gentle tempest.
/