thewritingroom's blog

08-09-06
I get disappointed when what I figure out doesn't magically stop others from running their patterns. I figure out one way to listen better to my archenemies at work, but that doesn't magically make them stop running their confused, harsh patterns. And my pattern of wanting to live under a permanent metaphorical bed, inside my own blinkered head, rears up.

8,5,06

Nobody gets it. Nobody believes it. They think it's a session but it's real. (That's how it feels). I manage to cover it up, act like life goes on, but interiorly I know I won't live through it. Oh, I'll appear to live through it, but interiorly I'll be dying. Dying, cumulatively dying, until one of these Mondays I'll truly fully be dead.

8-03-06
Maybe Fidel is dead. He is the greatest leader of all time. Or, he is a tyrant. The Cuban revolution's upward trend is that it's moved wealth distribution, access to resources, justice centuries forward; its downward trend that to do so it has been represive, been forced to resemble its own oppressors who have been blockading the economy and militarily undermining the Cuban state.

7-26-03
My mind's all over the place not knowing where to start to write. I only now am realizing this is July 26. Fifty three years ago Fidel, Abel and the others assaulted the Cuartel Moncada. Last night I started reading this article in the New Yorker about the succession. Fidel is an old man, he falls and forgets things and isn't seen in public very much and what will happen when he dies? In the photo I remembered how much he resembles my father, who loved him and hated him.

Driving in, seeing the tree lined entry road and the out buildings; arriving, pov of the inmate; seeing their shackled hands and feet; already I am crying, outraged
People's lives should not come to this; the criminal is history's serial killer, class society; capitalism. Will we live long enough as a species to get to look back at this time and say, what were we thinking. We are sorry. We will make amends and offer reparations to the descendants of those who were harmed

July 5, 2006

I had a voice mail on Monday I didn't hear until Thursday from J who works in a literacy program near home I unsuccessfully applied to direct, maybe 3 or 4 years ago...Hard to remember exactly when. Asking me to do a yoga workshop and sit down with them to meet to maybe fundraise to start some kind of community arts, writing, yoga, peer counseling, health literacy...rational job.

July 12, 2006
It's hard to choose between writing, the practice of putting words down, and the meta practices I need to feel on top, outside, in charge of the material. (Is it like balance of attention? Or rigid distress?)

July 8, 2006
I am powerful, an expert, authoritative.
(I know nothing. I am in the middle of a sea of isness and I have no clue, where am I heading, what am I making, why?
Why do humans hurt each other. I must answer that? Am I lost because my Mother, pobrecita, could't stop herself from hurting me? Who hurt her?)

July 2, 2006
I want a life where I don't need to complain.
I can decide to not complain about the life I do have.
Or I can get myself a different life.
I don't want to not complain on top of the wanting to complain, covering up the wanting to complain.

July 1, 2006
The food is horrible, and such small portions. Woody Allen
Well, I hate my job. But I don't want to lose it. Not until I decide to. I work in a rogue burocrazy, a pirate ship burocrazy. And now we're being brought in, made into official civil servants after 17 years of being a grant funded crew. I don't want to be moved. This is the work I fell into because I couldn't find a way to make a living doing the work I want to do. This is how I've wasted my life, in this job. The irrational work I've had to do because there was no rational work to be had. And because I wasn't graced with the right distresses, the right patterns, wasn't alpha enough to secure for myself one of the few available paid artist slots.