thoughts from lost and loving it (particularly may 16, which for some reason won’t link so I have to do it this way)

Guess it’s better to Turn this Way

Ooh, you’re in for another unclear one. A good and cryptic one to lick your lips to. I wish you could hear this with me right now. This, what I’m listening to right now: the buzz and tangle of too much information and the futile compromises of human connection…in a sound. That’s my interpretation at the moment. In a minute, after the benny (Thurs, 5.22., 12.12 am) kicks in, it’ll be something else altogether. At first, I thought this month’s CMJ was nominal at best. Lacking compared to past precidents. But now, I am witnessing it redeem itself.

So, Human Connection. How strong, how addictive. How clearly we are not meant to be isolated. How basically we wish to be heard, seen, known, shared-in-our-reality. I am hands down in complete and saturated love with human connection. I want you real. And raw. And without the dismissal of flaws.

you and I are vagabonds
we travel without seatbelts on
we live this close to good.

Hmm.

I learned today that 16 states are taxing the black market drug trade. Kansas, for instance, sells special stamps so drug dealers can “anonymously” pay ‘taxes’ without fear of getting found out. Doubt too many drug dealers pay that tax. And would you take a look at Big Brother? Gettin’ his? Sheeeeet. Even in this interesting, humorous way our government will make it’s money by collecting taxes on the black market narcotics trade. I bet B. Brother actually gets His by taxing the payout once said dealers are caught.
Cause I’m The Taxman, oooh the Taxman, yeah.

Tonight’s experiment started out well, with a varied number of tangents semi-thought through and in want of flushing out. But then tiredness set in, and boredom and the newly defined, well-known symptoms of Blog ADD. Urging me now to just quit.

And try again tomorrow after a night in the soft bed.

Flow

The words haven’t been coming for awhile. Each attempt yet another experiment with less fulfilling odds, like Roulette at the Bellagio. The fingers too slow, the source gauchere. Too slow first to physically write and too slow now to naturally type. Do you know that I don’t even really have handwriting anymore? Typing for years at school, typing at work, typing at home. When I write now I can barely recognize it. My signature now is some strange disaster, a couple of loops and some sportive lines. A character. Actions occuring at The Speed of Thought would solve all this. Bluetooth, Wi-Fi…children of this reality. Engineers, design something now to cater to the speed of my thought.

But I know you will not because then I would be God, in spite even, of what you would then be.

Time now in our program to respond to listener comments: So you don’t like reading me because it’s too personal, indiscreet; you blush for me, you think someone should. You like the fun blogs with the pictures of beautiful girls and written in the, as 566 would say, urban mentality of conversations & popular culture. You’re annoyed at my continual links to and of the same people. My little blog commune. Although the blogosphere is a huge multi-million participant mundo, the village for me is small. 5 or 6 beating hearts worth. My personalization of blogdom. So a warning then for you. Set your mind to the annoyance because it will not yet change; this is the way it is right now. The prose and the wit, I hope, will come later. I do it this way; that’s why it is.

Haven’t found my voice. Not finding my voice yet. Reading and reading and reading, trying on this style like a sweater, discarding it and buttoning up the wrinkled shirt of the next one. And of potential? Wasted, spent, misdirected? Perhaps, or maybe just changed. All Gambles. Like planning for the future.

Now, a rant: At work, I’m constantly coaching clients to take a stand on issues, to develop a definable point of view in order, mainly, to categorize their service. (Categorization – future blog topic) For some, for people, this is a difficult thing. For me it is too because I see most things as relative. My ‘hard lines’ are in the constant state of metanoia, in flow…a constant because I am always gaining context or more information on everything. It never ends. What things are really ever put to bed anyway? But that doesn’t mean I’m a fence-sitter, it means my eyes are open and I know the people who write the news and I know also that the world is big and that feeling is vast. So this cultural obsession with the future – with planning for it like it’s a tactical point on a timeline and discussing it as though you’ll “reach” it,… hedging assets against it, setting expectations, la la la – is all in fact a mirage. A mirage. The future will be what it will be. It is an abstraction Darlings. And your efforts to control it are Gambles. Saving for college is actually a gamble, but with considerably favorable odds. Investing in real estate, in conservative mutual funds or aggressive options packages…also gambles, however more obvious. By no means am I saying that these efforts are fruitless. I’m saying that for chrissake, Identify it by what it actually is and take hold of your disappointment when the time comes, because it will, that you’ll want that split second back, that it all turned out vulgarly different than what you had planned. That you’ll wish you could rewind to that second and put your hands around it differently. It’s a mirage honey. No supernatural force made this happen to you, it’s how it goes. It’s part of The Cycle.

Usually I wish I had “that hour” back or if I could go back, how I wish I would have performed differently. Tonight I was terrifically, vehemently humbled. I wished I could rewind just one tiny nanosecond to stop the whole cascade of consequences that progressively followed. But I couldn’t. I am Small now, quiet and in awe. And no more blogs with recurring themes.
Goodnight.

“It seems to me that there are two kinds of trickery: the ‘fronts’ people assume before one another’s eyes, and the ‘front’ a writer puts on the face of reality.”

Some Props

Thank you for the grand surprise yesterday.
Thank you for making that happen.

What IZZ Up?

So look at you, walking on in here. Calling my celly and IMing me at work. What might bring you back around here? Might you want something? Of course you do. Let’s see what you could want… What could you be wanting nowwwwww….

Good god, who knows anymore.
Jeezus.
Who’s up for putting up with you anymore anyway.

Completely unrelated, but from my 5th floor window I just watched a guy walk down the street in plain daylight, look around, turn and jimmy open the door of a honda. Then he ducks in – ass out – and takes the radio. Now, he’s looking up again with his shirt untucked, radio in it probably. He looks around and bends back in. Hmm. Right there. Guess he’s all done now. Door shut, looking around, steppin’ down the sidewalk with a new radio and some little stranger-treasure. I can see you Mister Villian; I’m looking right at you Un-sly Thief. I’m watching you in someone’s car.

That’s it. I need to visit that Spy shop across the street. Telephoto lens time.

How Long Must You Wait For It?

When you wake up one way, in one mind, and end up in another. The Day spends you. It takes you and wastes you and then what is there? Intention? Desire? Regret? Things unsaid and not done and wished and wanted? I woke up one way, blazing with a a fire I welcomed, and by 7 – spent, extinguished, worthless. Legs heavy, moving barely – without vibrance or animation or preference. Shoulders tense, tension claiming a man-hand grasp around the -your-pulsing-with-life neck. Gnash gnash, TMJ, gnaw, gnash gnash. Menacing memory now, the blaze from the morning.

I hear you, and I like you, it; but what when the sound you hear isn’t for you? It’s for who? and What if it’s for no one…but for money? To make money and no longer to make art. Limiting, deciding factor. $. Life or death, sometimes, factor. Not bitterness, but not a smile on my face. Instead a what….a heart attack. And a toil. And a heart break and a disappointment for you and subsequently for me because I cannot give you everything. I would give you everything, anything you needed. But now, what am I giving you? My time. My ear and my voice and my time and my heart. But not pulling you out and not fixing what you need fixed. Although I can see it and want it…but like you, not quite acheive it.

Gorgeous day. Spent in the office, heat felt on the bare shoulder from the 10 am sun through the window. JP Morgan Chase building sharing the view with the pigeons, Stanley and Midgeon the Pidgeon. Daily visitors.
With Wings.

Shuffle, shuffle, walk. Straighten. Breathe. Bend; shoulder left, shoulder right. Neck, the circle. Small pop – release. Extend. S L O W.
Faster, the Walking, clicking down the hall. With key, to the room, to the mirror to examine, to question here of all places. To leave phone and connection and Grasp. Slowly making it through the Daylight. Quickening and slowing it down, the day. But in no damn hurry.

Make it work. Spend yourself; get by. Make it work; hold it
Together.

Run though; run. Not away, put past it. Long past it. With youth and vibrance – run right past it.
And leave it.
For later,
Or for Good.

I hope, again, as usual, that you find what you’re looking for.

Tricks

Start getting used to these because I recieve about 50 inquiries from journalists daily.
So, why don’t you answer Miss Rose Martelli? Why doncha? Tell her all your secrets…reveal your “game”. Reveal it to the Man. Reveal it to Me.

And when you do, if it’s not a complete sarcastic joke, remember to stay the hell away from me because quite frankly, I don’t respect you. Or do I? Or do I wish I had it too?
Nope. I want it real.

Hey Everyone. Let’s look for this story in next month’s Cosmo!

**19. RELATIONSHIPS: HOW TO MAKE HIM WORSHIP YOU – COSMOPOLITAN (US)
I’m working on a story called “50 Ways to Make Him Worship You.” I am looking to collect quotes/suggestions from relationship experts addressing this idea — little tricks women can do in a relationship to kick up a notch her boyfriend’s affection and devotion towards her. If you have any ideas or suggestions, please e-mail them to me at the provided e-mail address, along with a brief summary of your credentials. Please note that experts with Ph.D. or writing backgrounds are preferred, though not necessary. Male and female experts are needed. I will follow up via e-mail if I need to ask any follow-up questions, or as much as I can to let you know if your quotes will be included in the story. Lastly, I am under a bit of a deadline; if you can send over a quick response today, that would be great.
Need leads by 10:00 AM US/Eastern MAY 20
>>> Rose Martelli

Shoulder to Shoulder

Dammit woman. We will talk.