(night of December 9th)
I hab a code. A code! Idd by doze, a code. Add by thwoat.*
Not doing too bad for having had only three broken hours of sleep over the course of last night, and kept waking in a cold sweat as the toxins seep out, and having been up for a long time now. No point laying down if my nose won't clear. Not desperate for sleep yet, doing okay...want to push it as long as I can or until my nasal passages clear long enough to be worth the attempt . This is the aspect of colds i hate most, needing to sleep and not being able to.
What I want to do is create, suddenly I'm in the zone. To draw, paint, build, sculpt. Anything. Now, when I'm sick?? Okay, sure, why not? I need to do something if it isn't sleeping. My workspace is again not cleared for it but I can try. Maybe I don't need a specific image, just some detail I like. I've been pointed toward a home-made modeling putty that might finally be the right medium for sculpting details. Unfortunately, the details would have to be fine, a little at a time when I'd rather be working in bulk. Simple stuff, superglue and baby powder. haven't got any to try yet, way shot on money.
I want to post, I want to post tonight if possible and I would like to add some image to justify it. Anything, new or old. Maybe I'll check out what little is on my flashdrives. (Oops. No, that was the flashdrive I lost.) New would be better though that means waiting. It's...oh, it's a mood thing. the dream below was a mood thing. We...need...to...express. At some point, everyone is on fire with a need to be heard about something.
Expression is very much on my mind lately, especially given the election. If you don't know why then you have not been paying attention to the news. It is a cherished American right and we are in serious danger of throwing it away mindlessly.
__________________________________
There's a group on IMDb that picks short-lived Tv shows, watches an episode every Firday, and discusses them. We recently finished Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's UFO, and I posted each of my own reviews to my other blog. Might as well, it hasn't seen any other activity. We are now voting on what to watch next. Possibly Twin Peaks or Kolchak: The Night Stalker.
(Blog, what an odd word. Sounds perfect to decribe how this cold makes me feel. Blug. Blogh.)
We voted a name for ourselves, we are now The Sages of the Single Season (our motto: "We have episodes").** I suggested The Idiot Box Savants, but it would probably offend someone.
__________________________________
Dana, grab a pen and something to write on. Add 2129 to the address you lived at when we were in school. Clatsop, that's me. You can check a zip code map but I think it's the same yours was. Whatever you've chosen, at least don't leave me in the dark. I've earned this, goddammit.
Can you tell your story to yourself? Because if you can, then you can tell it to me. Write it down, just for yourself. Try it.
Challenge me. Tell me the one thing you've least wanted me to know, even if its' just an imaginary exercize. Find out if I react the way you're afraid I will. You've lost me already anyway by your own choice, so what's to lose? I'm not going to keep thinking well of you the way things are now.
I keep trying to challenge you and you never step up, so you challenge me instead. See if it turns me away.
__________________________________
One of the best dreams I ever had of Dana was many years ago (mid-'90s?), was one in which I actually got to be Dana for just a few minutes. I cannot give a couple of prominenent details, but as briefly as I can: it starts with me (as myself) listening to a live radio talk show, late-night programming. Dana is the in-studio guest, and she tells her audience of this guy she used to know. Though she does not name me she knows that if I hear it I will know. She wants very much to think that I am listening out here somewhere. I'm an anecdote, and she fuels herself with the venom with which she relates it. She wants to hurt me and by doing so, she wants me to feel and comprehend her own hurt. I do not recall where I am, maybe Northern California (that rings true), in a bar IIRC (not my kind of setting).
Dream then segues to L.A. after the show. I am Dana and I have no awareness of being anyone but Dana. I have driven into the Hollywood hills, not apparently to my home but to some clinic where I will spend the night. I am alone in a large room full of beds for patients, all empty. I have the place to myself, and I deserve it. I need this privacy. The room is locked, no one will disturb me. I should sleep but can't, and sit in bed with my back to the headboard, restless, until the pentup energy makes me throw open the bay windows that overlook the city lights. It's a hot summer night, now after one in the morning. Music plays on the radio and I dance. I want to tell the world, scream at the world, rage at the world to go fuck itself, go to hell, burn, eat shit and die. I (Dana) feel empowered by my outrage, which I have fucking earned. I have a vague impression of Madonna from the song I dance to, as if I look to Madonna as a role model of personal power, a strong professional woman who rigorously controls her own identity and image and will let no one take that from her.
If that was just purely my own imagination, in a way I don't care...it was intimate and exhilerating!
__________________________________
(evening, December 10th) Finally slept, still stuffy, probably another long night ahead. Eyes are sore and keep watering, they demand rest.
*Oooooooh...and my cough, it's been a while since my cough was bad enough that I grey out, but that's started up again. What a strange sensation, as the brain starts to come 'round again, dizzy, aware of sounds and images swirling around me but they're too choppy to make sense of...happened just now.
** It's not but it should be.
No comments:
Post a Comment