Monthly Archives: January 2012

I think too much. Sometimes I wish I could just remove my brain. Not permanently just when it’s acting like an annoying nagging child. It just need a bit of an off switch. Something to relax it when it’s getting too crazy. Alcohol doesn’t do the trick, it actually acts as a stimulant and makes it get all deep and introspective. It’s becomes a bar-stool philosopher and want’s to unravel all of life’s dark mysteries. Sleeping doesn’t turn it off, it just gets more surreal in it’s dream state. Reading tends to slow it down as it focuses on each word, but then it takes the words in and digests them, and in the end it gives it more ammunition for over analyzing. Exercise is the closest thing to shutting it off, but not in one of those runners high sort of way. Instead in a “I feel like I’m going to die, this is so hard”, sort of way, that makes me unable to think of anything else.

I tried to meditate this am. I try to do it all the time but I just can’t seem to do it. I focus on those little star-burst kaleidoscopes that fill your dark void when eyes are shut. I focus on my breathing. I sit very still and try to reach a calm state but thoughts of the most mundane shit just fills my head. While I silently say to myself over and over; breathe in, breathe out…there is all this little chatter going on in the back of my head. “I really need to get a manicure, I wonder if I can squeeze it in later today. Remember that time in 5th grade when Allison kicked dirt all over your brand new white patent leather shoes, what a bitch. I really need to clean the bottom of my toilet with a tooth brush, around the little screws where the rust is building up. I wonder when that cute boy from the park is going to call me, I wonder what I will wear on our first date. I’m so sick of all my pandora stations..music is dead. Wait breathe in breathe out….focus? Agggh”. I mean it just wont shut the fuck up. How am I ever going to reach inner-peace with this stupid brain?? I mean seriously? This brain mostly just causes me problems. The more information I fill it up with the more challenging my life becomes. Does my soul really need this brain to exist? I mean most the time the two just seem as if they are battling each-other. I have made the decision to forget everything I have learned and return to a simple child like state where my life is filled with wonder. Hell I might be become stupid, but isn’t ignorance bliss? Yes I aspire from here on out to be ignorant.

Ok Ok I was one of the many silly girls sucked into the whole Ryan Gossling craze. After I saw the notebook I found myself unusually occupied with his chest in a way I usually reserve for boys I have actually spent time with. I rarely get celebrity crushes and honestly I can’t stand being around or meeting famous people. They are just too famous…and it makes me uncomfortable, jealous a little maybe and mostly just like I need to exit the room and conversation pronto. But dear Ryan, I spent hours daydreaming about you and I and your sexy beard hanging out on my couch drinking tea, reading Rilke poems to each-other all the while ticketing each-other and screaming with happy laughter. I went there. I joined in with the rest of the over sentimental female population and dreamed about us recusing puppies together. I felt bewildered when you did not win sexiest man of the year…and then fell even deeper in love with you when I heard that you actually turned the title down. I mean I just knew you were too cool for all that and it made me obsessed with you even more. You and I got closer as we shunned holly-woods cheesy, tabloid attention.

But Ryan I have to tell you, something happened. You just got too Ryan.It was more than I could take. All the things that you are, have just become too amplified to the point that I have grown tired of our love affair. You have become too cool and sensitive, too charming and confidant, and just too hot. I’ve grown tired of seeing your photos plastered all over girls blogs and pinterest accounts. I used to feel exuberance when your face popped up on my screen and now I’m just like, “oh yeah, it’s you again, whatever.” It’s all just been over kill. You know I’m not the kind of girl that likes the mundane and you darling have become mundane. Too much of a good thing. So could you ask your people to get your face off my computer? Can you ask them to take you off the cover of every magazine? Can you see if they can get the hype to die down a little? I mean I can stay away from your films…but please stop forcing yourself on me and popping up on every damn page I open. I would really appreciate it. I mean it kinda feels like you are obsessed with me and Darling it’s really just over. You need to move on. If you really need something you will have to go through one of my new boyfriends whose photos I posted bellow for your reference. k? Thnkx

I wish I had fallen in love when I was a teenager. I wish I had been one of those rare special humans that found her missing piece just as life begin to rise and grow and change. I wish I had allowed people in to see all my disgustingly horrible, dark, hollow insides seated comfortably beside my sunshiny goodness. I wish I had grown, and learned and become wise with another humane by my side, both of us wandering aimlessly or twisting around like two massive oak tress swaying gently on a northern skyline. I wish I had been naive, and pure of heart. I wish I had been both simple and complex. I wish I had not taken so long to work out my kinks.

Sometimes I fear it’s just too late. I endured too much, I adapted to being a hidden character piling on masks to shield myself from the audience. I’m resigned to my existence. I’m happier sitting here alone, with my books and colored pencils. Away from the outside. I don’t want to let it in. It might be time to run away and hide in the trees. Smothered and sweating…sometimes I just feel too old. All those dreams of everlasting love and soul mates; let’s leave it for the kids with their cotton candy dreams and naive hearts. Just leave it alone. And let me be.

I had too adventurous of a heart. I spent my days gobbling up life, lusting after the unknown with a terrible unquenchable thirst. I dreamed so big, I could hardly contain my thoughts; I’ve been an overflowing cup, a fountain to rival Trevi. My insides moved so swiftly I got lost inside my own head. I felt as if I could never allow someone else to keep up. I collected experiences like a child collects stickers and places them in a book to fade and curl at the edges.

And now here I am safe and warm. I’m almost comforted by knowing that I may have missed my train. I’ll see you in the next life and “we” will try harder next time.

Or maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and see the world through the eyes of the 13 year old me full of hope and passion for life. Maybe the rain is just getting me down. I’m probably just being melodramatic. I’ve been known to be that way. Maybe I’m just full of it. Yeah that’s probably it. Just ignore this post. Thanks.

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion. The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized; the dark green sail of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth, now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies.

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The onion has as many pages as ‘War and Peace’, every one of which is poignant enough to make a strong man weep, but the various ivory parchments of the onion and the stinging green bookmark of the onion are quickly charred by belly juices and bowel bacteria. Only the beet departs the body the same color is it went in.

Beet consumed at dinner will, come morning, stock a toilet bowl with crimson fish, their hue attesting to the beet’s chromatic immunity to the powerful digestive acids and thoroughgoing microbes that can turn the reddest pimento, the orangest carrot, the yellowest squash into a single disgusting shade of brown.

At birth we are red-faced, round, intense, pure. The crimson fire of universal consciousness burns in us. Gradually, however, we are devoured by parents, gulped by schools, chewed up by peers, swallowed by social institutions, wolfed by bad habits, and gnawed by age; and by the time we have been digested, cow style, in those six stomachs, we emerge a single disgusting shade of brown.

The lesson of the beet, then, is this: Hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you’re brown, you’ll find that you’re blue. As blue as indigo. And you know what that means:

Indigo.
Indigoing.
Indigone.

Tom Robbins