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Monthly Archives: May 2013

Something Made Different

I’m like a bookend.
I bend, shake, even crack.
But, I always hold up my desires, dreams, and changes.

I made myself believe I was an Atheist because I accept Science as Truth(Evolution is NOT a Theory, but EVIDENCE).
I pushed my Spirituality under me, beneath my unknown.
I carried Atheism with me like a book.
I deemed Religion weak,
a farce.
I pulled Reincarnation from my mind through my Soul, trying to bury it as if I never conceived the idea.

Time. Past and passed.
Epiphany once more.
Again, I see change.

I am aware, I will always conclude
Science and Evolution my backbone, but my roots are in

So, I am joining a Buddhist Temple(I’ve actually never entered an American Temple. I have only practiced and studied inside a Temple when I lived/educated in Asia).

I am opening myself to new people, projects, ideas, and languages.

I chose not to attend
Summer School for my
Second M.A (which now puts me 1.5 years behind Graduation Schedule), and instead apply for
a Summer Creative Writing Institute.

I am planning two Trips
this year.

One, to India(I’ve been wanting to travel to India for twelve years now).
Two, to Cuba(This is a dream in the making of truth).

I’m pondering a second part-time job in the Fashion Industry(if my health gains).


I owe the awakening to two people:

My late Grandfather who spoke to me through a surprising (small) financial gift.
He would want me to travel.
To find my way, my reason.

And, to my cat Jackson Davis.
Before you, I disliked your species.
But, on March 25, I found myself in a place, wanting you.
We connected in that wooden waiting room, as if you knew I was coming for you.


There is something within me.
Maybe Death, maybe life, but an altered existence is in place.

Now, I begin this Journey with the comprehension and possibilities it may all be temporary.

Once again.

”Time it was And what a time it was, it was A time of innocence A time of confidences.” 
                       Simon & Garfunkel


A Buck Short

Mondays Wednesdays Fridays
have evolved into early week specials.
As I listen to
Natalie Maines Cover ‘Mother,’ I am in so much pain.

I had my MRA yesterday evening.
I approached the white tube breathless. I laid upon the tiny plastic table, and I was strapped in.
Clear duct tape across my forehead, as the brain apparatus was screwed in over me.

I found myself in Meditation.
A practice I let go almost 3 years ago.

After the physical and mental torture ended, I stepped down then off the tiny plastic table, and vertigo grabbed my hand.

My Father walked me to his red
Jeep as I contemplated passing out.

I opened my eyes as I sat on my dead Uncle’s couch in my parents
family room.

Language. I lost it. My way of
communicating broke down.
Imbalance swimming in my brain as I worry about the internal explosion I experienced the week before.


I sat numb, thinking
The End is more
possible then ever.
And, all I had left was something I gave up years ago.

I’m falling short.
In silence.

‘Think Twice’

Think Twice is a Song Title by
Eve6 from their 2003 Album
It’s All In Your Head.
How appropriate.

”Life is a difficult assignment. We are fragile creatures, expected to function at high rates of speed, and asked to accomplish great and small things each day. These daily activities take enormous amounts of energy. Most things are out of our control. We are surrounded by danger, frustration, grief, and insanity as well as love, hope, ecstasy, and wonder. Being fully human is an exercise in humility, suffering, grace, and great humor. Things and people all around us die, get broken, or are lost. There is no safety or guarantees.”

Again, my dream allowance is tittering bankruptcy.

I found myself caught in a cycle of dreams that question the very purpose of it all,
Why do we dream?

”All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.” ~Elias Canetti

I couldn’t agree more.
Unless you’re Me.

It began as the usual experience,
I am bedridden, weak beyond my taking, and I fall.
I was inside a house unknown to my past.
I was crying, hurt.
A boy came from behind the bedroom door.
Derek Rothstein.
Him and I were dating, yet he was tearing me apart.
We had dinner with his father as his dead mother watched from the ceiling.
Derek’s father begged us to stay together, yet gave us ultimatums.
I wanted him, but he remained emotionally unavailable until I woke up.

I attended part of my Middle School and High School years with him.
He tormented me Grade 7.
He would break me down, tear into me, as if I was nothing, disposable.
He would physically bully me.
Ripping the bows out of my hair, giving me fistful of tears.

But, everything stopped once we entered Grade 9.
I became a true Gangster.
My transformation began the year before.
My actions were to expose people like him(including Teachers).
The only words Derek spoke to me where in Grade 11,
”Why don’t you date White Guys?”
As I was waiting for my Colombian boyfriend.
(I gave it all to him when we were in Grade 8. I knew he was ashamed of his Jewish Roots, and I let our Classmates become aware,of his true Identity, since most of his comrades were racist).

I have not seen his face or brown eyes in 15 years, so why dream it all now?
I know nothing of him or his family
(minus his younger sister, who was quite the bitch in High School).
His words of hate never lingered, but in Grade 7, I wanted his death to occur quickly.

Then, like dream lightening, my Jungian diagnosis fell from my head to my heart.
Derek’s appearance is a metaphor
for the people in my current life who cause me pain and still expect my kindness.


Derek had no conception of my personal hell I was living when we were adolescents, my physical abuse, my PTSD from childhood molestation and rape, my culture war as an Immigrant, and my failing health.
Do I think he would have changed his behavior toward me if he walked a day with me?

Absolutely not.

People in my current existence, are well versed within my soul, and the acts of selfishness, hurt, burn continue.

I grin, I will never go down.
I have an 130IQ, Speak 7 Languages(learning two more this year), *4 College Degrees, Have Lived and Traveled the World, and my intelligence and mind are continuously advancing.
My soul is superior from all I have lived and died with.

I am better then any of those individuals in life and spirit.
It’s not Ego, but Truth.

I know now, We dream to remind our sleeping minds of our infinite change.


*I will Graduate in 2014 with my Second Master’s.
Then in 2017, my Third Master’s Degree.
May 2017= 5 College Degrees.

*I do hope someone treats his children the way he treated others.
To learn pain is by experiencing it.
This goes for everyone who hurt others for internal happiness.

Cold War Vibrations

It’s 1986.
Reaganomics has depleted me.
My crosswords are useless.

Then I remember…
How lucky I am.

My own Mother was masquerading in the 1970’s
as a Catholic heart peasant girl.
Her jet black hair and olive skin kept her a Sicilian at best.

The World shook with
Cold War fear.
My Mother and her 5 Siblings kept an American silence that cost.
She had to change her Surname,
Her Accent/Dialect, Her Culture, Her Identity, just for the sake of Peace.

She NEVER mentioned the Spring swims in the Danube, or the Winter Slopes in Krasnoyarsk.
She understood the havoc of her own Culture Identity could implode.

Instead, her eldest sibling of ten years, attended a
Beach Boys Concert.
The Democracy!
The Singing!
The Freedom!

Moments like this kept my
Family safe.
Teaching Culture Phenomena is quite unique.

As 2013 passes, my Mother deludes any factor she is aware of anything past


To watch your own Mother
dissemble her existence is
soul wretching, a disruption of one.
But, I guess
”Gotta keep those love vibrations.”

Return to 1986.
My Hungarian Independence and Slavic face gives me away.
Time is not kind.


*Can you imagine having to deny your own Culture, Race as a Caucasian(and I’m 1/4 of Color)?
How ironic.

I wish I was at that
Beach Boys Concert chanting ”It’s all a lie.”