I’m coming to understand more and more that I think I really did meet a psychopath. It’s the construction of the word. This was a psycho-path. Even this man acting like he didn’t do anything when he most certainly did is heartless and cruel. He decided to intervene, he decided to “help me” when all he did was create more problems.

He made a whole “to do” about me as if I could BECOME the ONE literally, and I didn’t know it. That spun me round because who cares? I mean when it comes to being a writer. I didn’t think it was impossible. Nothing was holding me back, I had only just gotten to Los Angelese when I had met him. YOU COULD BE “IT” WITH SUITORS AT YOUR FEET. You could get the Lamborghini or become JK Rowling, basically, but none of this had anything to do with what I was doing. He spoke with such authority, he presented himself as if he were a guru, truly, and why I fell for this I have no idea. Maybe because he was successful, maybe because he lived in Beverly Hills, but nonetheless, that was shocking to me looking back… with him, I had to take it back to step one, because I was just a girl in a cafe who caused him to stop short, I saw him out of the corner of my eye, when he saw me… I was nervous, but I wasn’t in touch with my inner signaling system, because I had a lot to work out — but HE didn’t understand that HE was it. He was one of my main problems, that is, the outside world in relation to this story, and that I had to assume the position of authority. Tell people to fuck off, quite frankly.

The whole Hero’s Journey “you’re the one, could be” caused me deep stress, the success obsession. It wasn’t my problem. I was a star in his eyes, but he didn’t exactly treat me like one, which my friend Gary wasn’t surprised by, “weird men.” He kept referring to him as a weird man, and he is. He acted weird. He didn’t act normal with me though I suppose he had his moments, but everything about him feels manipulative. It was unnecessary pressure to put on me. It seriously messed with my head. And it sucked because I came from a real background, if he had any interest in my opinion, I didn’t think it was unfortunate, or something. I mean, I don’t know how to approach that. It’s more than that, this was the end of a short lifetime, in that he ENCOURAGED me in a destructive direction. This was not a constructive relationship. I didn’t need to talk to a wannabee psychologist, get all confused about how I felt, and BE TOLD, seriously, HOW I FELT BY SOME DUDE FROM BEVERLY HILLS. No offense. There’s nothing wrong with being from Beverly Hills, but he doesn’t look good. I was made to agree, you see. People TOLD me how I felt, should feel, what the story meant, and the joke was, no one was listening. I was in a sex scandal. Why are you acting like you understand what that is? Have you been in a sex scandal? Over a child? It’s not the type of story to act as though we’re skipping in a meadow… sure, let me help this young woman… when he had no right to.

But I could do it, make it, um, okay? I was trying to do that, but he made this a problem… and the more I think about it, the more I think that this MAN — this boyish man, he was attracted to me as he confessed his love to me while role playing some version of my father over a lost DVD, forget which one, and, excuse me? He made me feel like some cheap amusement. Forget my “power.” This man had no interest in my power. My biggest regret over the years was — getting involved where I did, to be frank, and not telling people like him to FUCK OFF — day one. “How dare you?” The first night I hung out with this sorry excuse for a man, he pointed to me across a room and looked and sounded like the catepillar from Alice in Wonderland, this is what I mean about how he “acted like a guru.” “KNOOOWWWWW WHAT DO YOU WANNA KNNOOOOOOOW…” Life is about what you wanna DOOO, not what you wanna knowwwwww,” still pointing at me, “what do you wannna knowwwww?” I fell for it. I had no idea what this was. I literally just met him.

Listen to this.

He’s acting as if he can see through me—danger. He’s acting like he has superior senses that’s he’s finetuned with meditations, forget life experience, what life experience has this man had? Sure, he “made it,” which he said, haughty, cocky, in his stupid leather chair. But what right did that give him to treat me like this? There was not an ounce of respect in his approach. Not one. But now, I got roped in, like the next time we hung out, and most people wouldn’t have stayed after his impulsive outburst, a family trait, in that, his father slept with any woman who walked into a elevator. I just can’t believe this man. The second time we’re hanging out, his “knooooow” comment had struck me somewhere, but nowhere with credibility, literally. None. That was a bad move. We got on a computer (gasp) and looked up my mother, and I look back on this horrified, and he could feel “my pain,” he said, when I was just being vulnerable, what a jerk, because it actually happened to me. He wouldn’t be the first who would confuse the two. He has no vulnerability, he doesn’t even know what that means. This man sucked the life out of me the second I got back to the United States, I had just gotten there, and this man thought, I know, let me take control.

He took “the book” out of his head, (this is what he did), and he called it a “psychological object.” He’s not saying, “read books that relate to what you want to do…” he’s saying “the most successful version of this book already exists in a probable reality - literally - the future.” Is that even fun? That’s so flat, as an idea. I got sucked into it, I mean, of course I want it to go well, that goes without saying, but what a strange way to help someone write a book when it’s not that complicated. It wasn’t that complicated. This man exhibited no self awareness, in that, he said “DRAMA equals problem” because he’s a screenwriter, but he had no self-aware that he was obsessed with problems. He was obsessed. He projected nothing but problems onto me. And I don’t know what to say, because, well, when I was in grade school, people spoke about boys, as this man was not a man, as being mean to girls they like. But this man was hard to pin down. I ended up laughing a lot because he was impossible to connect with, impossible. I tried to get him to talk, but that’s not what he did. Finally, years later, he wrote me a birthday card, which was filled with too sentiment, like “I’m mailing your birthday card,” who cares? Awful. He said, “thank for letting me teach you things.” “Thanks for ruining my life.” Teach me things—teach me what?

Now, as I’m on break at work, I’m just reading books right now, like, that’s all I had to do. That’s it. I could have skipped the entire relationship for the simplest piece of advice, as I was writing without thinking about it first. I’m getting over this horrendous period with a truly offensive man, who made me life harder, worse, less accurate even, because what the hell does he know about psychology? His father was a prominent psychologist, apparently, and looking at him, he appeared to be a troubling man. Scary. But this is…why he acted like he was a psychologist, because his father was one? I didn’t get he or his brother’s obsession with their “spiritual greatness?” Or their supposed genius in this field? This guy gave me The Seth Books to read, (though he’s never admit it, which makes him a bigger coward than he already was), so he was of the type that believed I needed channeled material? He said, “forget the costume,” but picture me delivering information — to you — in a clown suit. I think one might not want to forget the costume. I’m giving spiritual advice in a clown costume. That one is easy to mock. I didn’t need this shit. Why they were geniuses, I don’t know, but they handled me stupidly, both of them. All I had to say was fuck you. Being told within twenty minutes that I was psychic by his brother. WHY this man knew so much about psychicness, I don’t know, but they both acted as if they had superior senses that enabled them to skip the real part: getting to know someone. But this relationship with the guru was such a bad idea at the start that I don’t even know if that’s “who I was” since that was such a strange, manipulative relationship. There was nothing normal about it, and he thought, “yeah that’s going to help her…” someone who didn’t need HELP. I did not need HELP.

I could make it, this was his perspective. He believed in me as an artist, when I didn’t not believe in myself, exactly. I don’t know what to say because he really really fucked up. I thought, he must really love books, because he’s… presenting himself as a guru expert who has a gift as a psychologist… with complex cases… looking at his family… is that true??? He hardly has even read books, it turned out. He doesn’t even read. It matters, in fact. This man wouldn’t have listened to me if I began trying to help him be a screenwriter as a book writer. He would have gone “I don’t have time to play a stupid game.” If he could PUT himself in my shoes… really really do it, like, I looked nice in a dress, I was some stranger — key word — stranger in a CAFE and this is what he does. Can you imagine? We had a weekly lunch date, and I told him that I was met a chef, a guy, and he goes, “the theme here is nourishment.” And I’m like, “what?” “I’m always FEEDING YOU,” in a manipulative tone. I thought we had a recurring lunch date. He became obsessed with me being fed. It was so disturbing.

When he decided to “mentor me” on my draft, and why? Again, he’d never even read a book, practically. I’m totally confused by this point, I was unable to see ANY OF THIS. Of course I was a mess. This relationship was destructive. He’s a destroyer. He started throwing titles at me whenever I did completed one. “Try this, try that,” and what was the point of that? What was wrong with the original title I proposed? You see what I mean? I said HOLY IDIOT, which, right? I was. I was an idiot. This relationship made me feel like an idiot. Like I wasted years of my life on some manchilds disgusting game. It was disgusting.

That was the first title I proposed, and he goes “not bad what about…everything flows?” I can’t remember the exact order of ALL the titles, but there was quite a list, where he’s just throwing titles at me, and I’m RUSHING to finish the next draft in like two weeks - which, first of all, doesn’t make any sense. As a writer he should know that. It was crap, that’s all he had to say. Instead, he’s not saying anything on the phone, like nothing. He’s saying “words aren’t your primary form of communication, feeling is…?” But this okay for… words aren’t your primary form of communication. You see, this disgusting man coupled with the disgusting psychic talk pushed me to the edge of sanity. How did I get here? (And was I abused? I’m going through physical experience through this…)

And the thing is, he chose to help me, that’s what he wanted to do for reasons…that escape me. That’s all he wanted to do, strangely! He’s telling me to meditate on the final product, he’s throwing titles at me, but not asking me any questions, at all. He’s not helping me at all. He’s not kind, at all. I started rattling on “you create your own reality” because he was so obsessed with this concept, that I had absorbed it, as if my wheels were spinning internally but with no action, you see, as he eliminated the “do,” as in, you gotta “go out and DO it,” and Jesus Christ, there’s more to life than a fucking book. I never hated a person, but I hate this man, and I won’t let it go.

He was a psycho path.

So now, taking a breath at this restaurant, I’m just reading books. That’s it for a while. That’s all I needed to do. I didn’t need a fucking guru. A shitty one. I’m trying to picture Spielberg, um, meeting a young woman who, I don’t know, he was taken with? As he clearly was? I think for that man, a real giant who makes this guru look more like a speck, let’s be real, he would have said, “your story is interesting,” you see, this guru couldn’t admit how HE FELT, and he’s telling ME to FEEL my FEELINGS????? In this aggressive tone. Because that DRIVES reality. When I didn’t HAVE A PROBLEM TO BEGIN WITH. I don’t think Spielberg would have had all these problems. “Ever thought of film?” Because that’s what he does. “I can help you with a script, in that, if you want to try writing a script, I’ll read it, but that’s…what I’m qualified to do…” you know what I mean? I would have loved that, truly, an opportunity like that. Someone who was appropriate. This screenwriter, this Hollywood screenwriter, was not appropriate.

And the thing is, it makes me want to smile, because he really really acted this way, he really really said these things, and from the first step, just step one, I shouldn’t have taken another step. Is he a liar? He is, I’m almost certain of it.

Like now I’m going, okay, so let me read a book that has movement in it as there’s a lot of movement in mine and that might be an idea to develop. This was not rocket science. This was not the Hero’s Journey. “The most successful version of this book exists…” and I couldn’t believe it either because I met THIS GUY. And I didn’t even see it. I ended up asking him what he thinks I should write. What sense does that make? None. And he became obsessed with feeding me, that they feed me, my cousins. I’m telling you, this relationship brought out a side in me I had never seen. But of course, I was involved with this plant medicine group, in that, they, too, believed I was psychic — these were people in the same realm of thought. He was just like them, and more harmful, even. I’m going to work on an impersonation of him, of course I am. Tyrant. A tyrant.

His interpretation of me, my story, was ludacrious. All I had to do was say fuck you.

I’m almost over the whole thing, in a sense, I’ve accepted my position right now, but that sucked. It really sucked. I was blamed for all my parents problems. Absurd. This man was absurd. Ubu Roi. Just the name. Who cares if I read the fucking play? It sounds right, that’s who this man was. And he was someone who solely went off his FEELING, hands behind his back, acting like a guru. Once, in BEVERLY HILLS, even the setting is… poignant, I was leaving my current family, right? I called a meeting. He had this way of raising his arm… like he were Jesus in that Caravaggio painting… and pointing at me… like Sir Ian Mckellan might need to play this man, it’s hard to explain. “You do not have to manage it,” he said. (Not a friend, this man). “You do not have to manage the shift in reality.”

“You like a meeting,” he said, when, looking back on this: why are you pointing at me like that? Why am I talking to you about this? And I said to him, “what about responsibility?” He thought that was “interesting…” he could talk in SQUEAKY CLEAN tones, but also, and I’m appalled, he could also come on the phone acting like he were “dashing,” saying his full name to me, like he didn’t know it was me? I don’t know if this man had a personality disorder, or something, but that relationship seriously harmed me. “FEED YOU FEEDING YOU I LIKE HOW THEY FEED YOU…”

Like he can’t give a note on the draft? Like, this isn’t a draft? Like read a book? Unreal. All that real stuff, you see, was unnecessary to him. I imagine if I were to go back to his real life, what he did in his real life, his sick interests, okay? As this man wasn’t well, he didn’t act well even if he’s sort of a good actor, I can’t tell, evidently, you know? I just did not need that. He was so insensitive, it was insane. I don’t even think this man ever had a girlfriend. He “loved someone once,” in vague tones, but she kissed another man… he caught her, whoever she was… was that me? You see? This man was the opposite of loving. So— terror, a M. Night Shyamalan film. And I have to let this go, because I was, really, a nice young woman… who just didn’t understand how people could react to this story…who needed to work something out, most definitely, because WHY, WHY was I even here to begin with?

And the beauty of it? If he were to lie, that says it all, so WHY did you do it? If you have to lie about what you did? What you said? Because the world “is not ready?” Does not understand “how it works?” The best part, his brother, he showed me how energy works, so “you’re red,” and they are “yellow.” He showed me where two auras meet, or their energy field, so you’re not seeing red or yellow, which is how his brother acted, literally, “you’re seeing something in between, orange.” He should give his brother a lesson, though I wonder if his brother actually respects his brother, in that, he would LISTEN to him… or he wants to play UBU ROI. Ridiculous.

I thought a show about the psychic period could be good, but I want to try Miracle Mile, I have to watch Fleabag. I cry, I cried so hard, because I was blamed for all this, this man was so cruel. I think, thinking back on my parents, like was there abuse there? Maybe. It hurt me, so deeply, that he treated a person so casually. AGAIN, all I have to tell a person is what he did AT STEP ONE. Warning sign, someone pointing at you… shaking his pointer finger at a stranger… knooooooow what do you wannnnaaaa knoooowww….

Firstly, life, I think, is about action. There’s a real mental health component. I did not need esoterisim. And here’s the good part. This man believes that I am Carl Jung, imagine? Played by Barbara Harris in stupid glasses, just stupid. Too big for her face. She doesn’t know it. She could play me, no? In this scenario? Because it’s horrible and comical. He believes I am Carl Jung. Since I’m writing a book about my investigation into this, I became obsessed with psychology, I don’t know what parallel to draw… did I meet my demon? He was such an idiot this man, because in looking back on my father, the image gets even more terrifying. I wondered if he had some fetish, this guru, yikes, in being the guy girls talk to? I don’t know what this was. He pounded on me before I could barely speak. And admittedly, when we were getting a drink, I felt uncomfortable, he made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn’t have these signals worked out. He’s not asking me questions, normally… he didn’t act like a normal guy…

He could, at times, but it all felt like a manipulation game, actually. Most of the time.

I wake up on another morning, and I keep on evacuating this horrific relationship. A true horror. I didn’t need help. I didn’t need to be his brother’s guinea pig, whatever. I didn’t need to be in this relationship at all. He shouldn’t be “teaching,” he shouldn’t be acting like a psychologist. He was the opposite of what I needed. And maybe that was my father. Maybe there was… abuse there… as that’s what I’m working out now. This guru, it took me YEARS, truly, to work him out of my HEART space. Why? I don’t know yet. I went through enough sensations down there, okay? For me to contact a sexual trauma specialist and work this out. But no longer, finally, thanks to just getting this out, does this guru inhabit my body, practically. And even taking in that he thought I was psychic? Looking at his brother, as well, what sense did any of this make? I don’t understand why they are so obsessed with reality creation when they live extremely contained lives. What exactly did they “create?” The thing is, watch out, because his brother told me this story, and it broke my heart later, because this screenwriter, his brother, took his hand, his brother’s, and starting punching him with it, when they were young. “Why are you hurting yourself?” And so, I got involved with the type of person who would grab your own hand and start punching you with it, wondering why YOU were doing it? And his brother told me this as if it were wise…

So that’s who this man was — in a nutshell.

He could convince even his own brother that this was wise.

That he wanted to be punched… or else it wouldn’t be happening…

So, now, think about my question of whether or not I was abused by someone…?

He would be the type of person who would argue, behind closed doors of course, that the woman wanted to be raped, because you create your own reality…. when that goes TWO ways, and people ABUSE power. The Seths book, no offense, contain deep deep flaws. This was a woman channeling information… think about it. It’s this kind of thinking that fits right in with much needed critique about how we think about “reality” today, this otherworldly word, somehow. This was the dark side of manifestation. And it’s all over social media. I’m critiquing it most definitely. So, anyway, another day. I still have to work through “the future writes the past” at times, all the while trying to hold a vision for myself… I guess. I suppose “anything is possible” technically, I guess, I just wish I didn’t meet these people because now I have additional problems I didn’t have, need. I started over completely. I can’t do anything, you know what I mean? I can’t go after this man… legally. I can mock his character onstage, in rich robes, coming to teach you, with brows, wise brows… how to “CREATE,” in manipulative tones, “your own reality.”

And I just might.

“This is a psychological object,” talking down to you. “What?” Someone could ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” he’d say—in private.

I don’t know what to say about the whole debacle I went through, the physical experiences I started to have, but once I get my money sorted, I can keep consulting this sexual trauma specialist, and I’ll really go into it, because I was such a mess, my body was. Already, I can tell you, which is funny, because I read this recently, that the brain and heart are connected. Sometimes our stupidity over the human body and how it works is astounding. If I didn’t have to deal with you know where, you know which body part, after the hospital, I don’t know what I would write…as I went through enough down there to question…maybe something happened. I was awakened down there, even, it was harrowing. Like, I went to Naples a couple months after I was in the hospital, and imagine? I called this guru, and I hardly even spoke to him during that time, and before I can speak, this is what I mean, about how dangerous he was, he’s using his FEELING to draw conclusions. He needs to be taken down many many notches. He deserves a slap across the face. A real slap. “You wanted that asshole, didn’t you?” I wondered if he were a type to go to a dom, you know. Anyway, he goes “i’m concerned,” after all that, after his disgusting role in all this, yes.

“To me,” he says, without anything real… to go off of… “it reminded me,” in guru tones, “of Carl Jung’s The Red Book.”

“Did the RED BOOK taint Carl Jung’s reputation?”

And then, his brother thinks, “oh yeah, I’m the person to… assist her…” seriously. He has no credentials. These men were stupid, I’m sorry. For geniuses they were stupid.

So, now we’re here.

I wandered the earth for a few years, I worked on separating myself from this total lunatic, and as months went by, as I was the one who called, compulsively, once a week, a mess, of course. He started sending me… weird photos… as if fishing for me to say hello. He couldn’t even say hello to a friend… because I wasn’t a friend to him. So again, how was this supposed to help me? Finally, he sent me some stupid picture, of a couple of people in a stupid car. Finally, I was able to break all ties, but I did send him some outpours I did, emails, as I really really woke up to what a utter disgrace this was. And I don’t care about public scenes, you see. Making one. What he did was outrageous. That was…the worst relationship I ever got into. I wonder about his “one true love” routine, whoever this woman was…

You never know, you know, sex, all bets are off. It’s really true. You think, “nice guy,” as he had one of these routines, as well, just like my father. I wasn’t sure where these two people met, and I don’t know if everything has to relate to one’s past, but I didn’t see this coming— a destroyer, death, yes, as he inspired “Death” to arrive in my draft, this fictional character he thought was “a really good psychological device.” “Helping me through my childhood.” And like, his brother thinks, yeah great, what a good idea…? “The ultimate guide.” It was a fiction. That’s the lesson. He called a fictional character in my draft that he inspired “a really good psychological device.” I told him, he would make a really good Death. He thought that was funny, amusing. So there’s a little snapshot.

Again, I was vulnerable a way that surprises me… I don’t even know how I could have gotten into this relationship… except, I heard all sorts of crazy shit, I heard all sorts of nonsense, also, around my stupid childhood.

Just nonsense.

I had to work out a whole life, stop talking to people, clarify my relationship space, and of course, tackle the question of my parents and whether or not I was sexually abused. OH, right, so I went to Naples.

I went to Naples, and my stupid cousins who got all wrapped up in my stupid story, again, and started acting like parents, I’ve since stopped talking to them to do a little course correcting as this got WARPED, confused, and HARMFUL TO ME, I had feeling down there…I was activated down there, and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t talk about it, obviously. Not in my head. In my—you know where. You see what I mean? I had no idea what this was.

Was she jealous? Why is he telling me I look bella? Nice? I went through a whole event down there, which, no offense to my shitty friends, but when I say “physical experience” I mean it. This guru’s brother, he was an idiot, jumping down my throat — as everyone did — when I tried to talk, because he had said, “oh yeah, there’s no body in mental health,” and when I voiced to him that I didn’t know if I had been abused, he didn’t even think of asking me about my body, truly speaking.

I had terrible dreams, I would wake up in terrible states, not often luckily, where I would have to walk for hours and wrestle with all this… unable to even state… how I felt. Finally, when I did, state to myself that it might have happened to me, I calmed down. I couldn’t eat, but I got this weird message sent to me in the middle of the night as I began having these odd experiences, by the slytherin, who I met in the plant medicine group, I’m pretty sure, ths sexual trauma specialist was, who might also be a Gryffindor, as that’s even his last name. I did not need some weird random threat coming through my website at 5 AM at this time.

So, I’m sorting through all that.

A terrible decade.

And then, Angelica Leibowitz, please, I called her recently to broach this stupid story, of how I lived with her for four years because my mother said my father was a threat to me in some way… and she said, “we had fun.” Not really. So I flipped out at Nicole, especially because of my hips. Interestingly, I had a flare up yesterday and once again it went away… and today, I’m fine. The cranial sacral therapist told me, because I asked her if sexual abuse might manifest like that? It can, she said, vague, but it can, she can’t speak definitively, but I’ll continue to see her… she teaches at Columbia. In any case, anything that works the central nervous system is heaven. It really is. It’s the gentliest relaxer, I couldn’t recommend it enough, cranial sacral therapy.

And you gotta hear the lambada or lambador through this entire story as that was my first music. Hers. Angelica Leibowitz, the last name is important, and it was more or less unseen by “most,” which I’ll put in quote. Like, um, it speaks for itself. I would have appreciated meeting someone who did well in their lives, as the guru did, sure, who would have asked “no offense but why are you doing it this way?” I imagine JCO, Joyce Carol Oates, would have asked me that. “Stop writing. Just think about what you wanna do, and find books to…help you conceive of it?” NOW, that’s clear. So I’m reading about books that happen in one location, like Fierce Attachments, or books that have movement in it, so I can make my writing better…. evidently. I just didn’t know WHAT I was dealing with.

It’s totally amazing, right? Just the lambada, what a sex goddess she was, and a family dancing sensually, PG, in a living room… Jose Leibowitz or Ben Stiller as it was a role made for him… in a kippah, being latin, also. I mean, what do you do with it “all?” You know. The whole experience. We performed Jewish prayers, too, so there were moments we remembered sorrows, to Jose’s voice offkey, lol, we danced the night away… I don’t know what to say about what people believe it possible. And waking up to all this was… an ordeal. Like, why is he acting like that… I don’t know what to say about what people believe is possible — they would rather believe, regardless if it kills me, that the pieces could fall incorrectly, but it was how the pieces came together… but we’re dancing…

And I went through a whole sensational event, for years, too, needing to sort out my head, yes, in the midst of all this, because of this ridiculous talk of me being psychic. So I danced, I took it, just to expel fear, as I went through a lot of it, the discomfort, and that’s what I did. I moved. So that’s true, I looked up, calmly, at my day job, nothing abnormal, no need for meditating 50k into existence, books that deal with dance a way to deal with sexual trauma, even, “okay…” I thought, “okay…” Jim Carrey a kind of anchor… I thought about him so much… I mean, his work and how I could approach doing a show — even just the inner body, like I looked like “this,” but “this” was really my body: some unnatural shape. Put a hat on top. And you’d think, “uh oh, all that needs to happen is…” something that makes the whole amazing, in some respects, structure collapse. Like “here are drugs, sure…” and why not “become psychic? Because you always were…” and now I go cross eyed, wearing a winter coat, being given a mirror to reflect back on myself, you see? “And maybe, it was because I was pretty?” I truly don’t know what to do with that. Absurd. I did not need that. I’ll figure this part out, “the poetry…”

But when I get to this part, which is moving forward, I get excited, or enthused by being able to pursue what I thought I didn’t want to pursue, but maybe I did. At the end of the night, I can get tired, worried, I think this future-thinking can get wrapped up, I had to hold my head on my break, in this guru’s obsession with me being able to be Timothy Chalamet, lol, “his IDEA,” he said, one day on the phone, “is irresistible…that’s his IDEA… poke on it,” as he believes everyone has an IDEA and they are POKING reality… they are POKING the subtance of, and making waves ripples across the fabric of what is, and generating that reality into being… right? That’s what he actually believes. I will comment no further. But he believes, I think, that’s way he took me to see Little Women, you see, I couldn’t FOLLOW where I was, industry wise? Did he think I could be… Greta Gerwig? At that point, just pick up a phone… no? Get someone on the phone, “look, I met someone you should really meet…?” You see what I mean? Am I supposed to make connections between movies and me? Am I supposed to be an actor??? I truly… did not understand. He’s not going, “you know, you should read — this person…” because “you sound like them,” because I hardly wrote anything for a minute. I wrote interviews, that might have been my best arena, I don’t know, I just didn’t like the construct of fame, if that makes sense, it felt weird. I didn’t know this world. Now, I’m fine, I’m over that part. I got a little weirded out. Everyone is a person to me… and I’m seeing flashes, Angelica and I holding hands during Mr. Toad’s Wild Adventure, as we couldn’t get through this ride without thinking about Dr. J.

It was — hard. Too real.

It’s just, that was A LOT of roundabout logic.

Thinking about Joyce Carol Oates…hearing all this…makes me laugh. “I’m irresistible, poke on it…”

I don’t know what to say about that.

So sometimes, when I think about anything, I can get a bit thrown by NEEDING TO SEE — SEE — SEE — the OSCAR in my HAND, when I just want to figure out if I can act, again, if that makes sense. I don’t have a problem dreaming of the best case scenario, I just didn’t need these problems. I don’t have a problem. I have to keep telling myself that. Please. It was part of the reason why I didn’t pursue it, I found this arena to be very confusing. I found my friends to be confusing, even, who wanted to do it, who never did, and I never thought I would be this person. But I thought, hm, maybe I’ll skip it because it can get a little weird. Now, I’m alright, I’m past it, I like comedy for it being a very real space, it can be. So that’s my plan… I’m trying to dislodge a bit from the writing path…I took… because I think most writers would be like, “whaaaaa?” To the whole thing. “Especially the talk of lamborghinis…” though “it wasn’t about the literal lamborghini,” sure. But I could rule the world, Madonna style, I get it. To the guru that’s “a poke.” She wants to rule the world and she got there.

Anyway, these thoughts aside, I don’t want to be a server, to be frank, I have to remind myself I’ve only been here two months. I said I could move fast, and I am, so I don’t know what to say about that, but I’m at least trying to go places where I can make decent money. I went to a fine dining restaurant, very nice, and they were very nice, and I went to an Italian restaurant, also high volume, and I have an interview at a club. I bought a sexy dress, lol, for this interview, thinking that’s basically the point—is she sexy? I thought that would be good. I am told I have a nice body, so, okay. If I can make up to thousands in a weekend, sure. Working three nights a week from 10pm to 5am, that’s fine. I have a financial goal, you see, having a real marker like that…helps.

I’m meeting with another musician today to jam with someone else. I’m seeing a few over the next week or so. So there’s that, if I can get a gig, to start, there’s a little more money right there, and I’ll keep MEETING people, too, though all the musicians I’ve met are guys, but that’s perhaps par for the course. I’ll keep that going. But I’m really trying to solve the money problem as fast as I can so I can sign up for an acting class, just because I haven’t acted… in a long long time, and I can see how that feels. I’ve been thinking about this agent’s class, where we write an email with a package attached, so I have to find SCENES, and work on those, and clarify my point of view, simply put. And then, I can start signing up for these One on One classes so I can just meet…casting directors. That’s the plan. Have no idea. Just going to put myself out there. I’ll take it from there. Maybe find a hobby, I don’t know. Get back into working out gymnastics, something. I want to both save money and be able to invest in that as I’ll have to. And I’ll keep working on the book…

I like xmas in naples, it’s just, I have no idea what that is, and I would have to restart my approach and go read… for a while, dialogue heavy books, or decide if it’s more about the event. With that one, I don’t know what to say, because my cousins still have no idea what my story even is…and that concerned telling them about the “adopted families” in a state worthy for an Academy Award winning actress truly. WHY? Why did I end up in all these families? No one heard the first sentence. Didn’t believe me either. So no, for the moment, I don’t want to talk to them. That’s where I am at, personally, but it’s a good story, for sure, I just don’t know what to do with that yet, or if it would just make a better film. I kinda have to publish something, you know.

I have to rethink this writing space, just how to make this work for me. Those scenes are great. That scene where I just try and tell my cousins what happened, and they tell me no, it didn’t, and look, do you think — I’m talking to them in my mind — that I don’t already know…that you’re going to tell me that you didn’t do this? That you didn’t go on and on and on about how “it didn’t happen.” Just please. I practically remembered this dinner VERBATIM, luckily, to Sorrentino (lol) as my cousins believe that we would “understand each other.” So they vaguely know that some personal tragedy struck us both, though I might not totally see it that way, but they will, in the next breath, deny that.

I ended up getting up and opening up invisible cages. I would never do this again, but it’s a great scene. The Christmas is great. The family around me. It’s a good idea. I don’t know if Sorrentino does comedy, you know, but he would get this… for sure. “The American cousin,” that none of the Neapolitans see as American, so he would probably wonder, “who is this person?” Comes…back… after a long disappearance… with this story. Throw in a band, Carmine’s band, so I know there’s potential in that idea. I think as a modern Neapolitan story. A good one. It would make a great sitcom. I sound so funny in Italian, it’s true, that it could really work.

“IO?” My Italian persona, my Neapolitan persona is respected even. My cousins were amazed that I was so Neapolitan. I might be “one of those Neapolitans, like Toto, Dante, someone like this…” but “it’s Neapolitan most definitely,” they call my hands, as they always were, “art. This is art. It’s Neapolitan abstractionism, but of a museum quality.” I’m respected as a truly remarkable gestural artist, but they don’t get I don’t SPEAK Italian, which is where all this is coming from. I’m impersonating them. I’m MEETING them. They’re just so fun.

So “IO” I begin in a tone. “Maria IO? MARIA IO?” Egging me on. “IO? Maria, io?” “Si si, io Maria…?”

So, to pause, my cousins will enter my mind while I’m writing this, for example, and no offense to the gurus, I got all confused, is that the future?????? You see what I mean? They’re saying yes, but do you know what a mess that is? Is that really how they’re living their lives? They aren’t reading this. Will it all work out, in a sense, at “some point in the future,” and is that what I am “navigating towards?” Sure, I guess, but my head was a goddamn mess. Feelig pulled by unreal ideas, like I hope it goes well for me, Jesus, but I didn’t need externalized forces internally pulling me… around. Where I’m supposed to “reach for my future audience,” all this crap.

I still have these moments.

I’ll work on that material at these open mics, too. I have a lot to develop. It’s more just needing to get to a real step one, break through. That’s basically it, I’m just finding GROUND again. I’ll try to trim the fat, if you would, so I can figure out what to do with all this. I mean, in looking back at the guru, it seems like he wanted me to act? That’s where I get confused. But I have to ACT to ACT. I’d love to tackle this family play, I just don’t know what that is, given the story, but it’s a good idea. I mean, I would have to seriously work on my character, you know, because that was complicated indeed. Aware, unaware, on dangerous territory… this story, specifically. The guru only proves why. I did not deserve to be ripped open, Jesus, or a source of entertainment, you see. AND, and, at the same time, these people were the first to show real concern over what I’m saying, but they are confusing me further. I also don’t see what I’m doing, because I can’t just say — fuck off. Angela said it, “you gotta learn how to tell people to fuck off, vai fanculo.” And she’s pressing the pedal to the metal — up the cliffs. But the ROCKY meets Christmas is great, no? That’s basically what it is. I’m training just to get through this XMAS. I’ll get there.

Here I am, another day. I knew there would be rough patches. And these gurus, why don’t they get a job in a restaurant as a server? Just to try it out? If they think everything is so easy…? Could I make a PDF with Erin Wendt, general manager of Balthazar? A lesbian. Sure. Could we make 600k a month? Maybe. Can money come in, with Jack Nicholson’s face in the Shining my inspiration, from unexpected places? Sure. For the moment, I don’t know what to say because that didn’t get me anywhere. But sure, the goal is 600k a month on a PDF, of course it is. To figure out how to make money online, somehow. Just because I’m very broke. AND I didn’t HAVE to be. With all this — diluted logic that I could MAKE it, when I had money… not A LOT but with the right thinking, you can make MORE money with it. You see what I mean about being ENCOURAGED in directions that MADE NO SENSE?

I did not need help. This help shadow was the death of me. Idiots in geniuses, slytherins meets Gryffindor as that was his last name, the man who farted on the phone at me when I got out of a fucking hospital. This guy. Sure, let’s “journey together,” just — retarded. Once again, I came from a background. Was that HARD to see? But of course, he wanted to do drugs, no? With someone? This selfless man? I didn’t dislike him, actually, I would, today, go, “we can get a coffee sometime?” Just please, my mother wasn’t NORMAL either, just to make sure that’s clear. “You wanna get a MEAL?” Too much genius. Genius, helping me bullshit. Left and right, male geniuses, just please, thinking about Dr. Roger Berkowitz, taking this in… not knowing what to do with it…

That man is definitely smart. He knows he’s smart. He’s read everything. I mean. So — no offense to people’s needs or problems, but let’s be real. This is the phrase that could be applied across the board. Be real. Please. I don’t have a problem with drugs, but someone in the theater world, someone reputable even said in the middle of a journey, as that’s how you generally hung out with this Harry Potter character, and he happened to be in town, “it’s the same thing,” he said, he’s seen it before, different “stuff.” Same idea. I just wish I were never here. Or I was… on his end of things. Not getting INVOLVED, exactly, but sure, I’ll be there, once. I don’t know. Hard, hard to look back on myself, the ethereal space I was in, and only Hannah Arendt to rely on to help me through my embarrassment. It was not funny, cute, actually, nor something to encourage. And this thinking made me well, just to make sure there’s a real difference drawn here. I had different spaces I could exist in, probably like anyone else, in a way, but this enchantment came to be seen also as “charming.”

Not to me. Not fun at all, actually. This theater artist, he saw that. I think, or I ended up thinking that he did.

But, good news — all worked out. YOU go be ethereal. YOU go be charming in this way. I will do something with it, maybe, but I will no longer exist there. I wasn’t always that way, but you could call it escapism, maybe, I don’t know. Not the person to call psychic. Just to… give me two cents. I mean, this man, the syltherin/gryffindor, told me that the shaman, the leader of this group, told him that he was basically just a glorified drug dealer, and was that true? Or was he just saying that? I think what I learned, more importantly, is that, when boundaries dissolve, one should keep in mind whether or not they are doing drugs. Just because I happened to be around drug users, quite simply, not knowing that. I did not need to be here. Bringing me into this… looking at my ex, that was not necessary. NONE of my friends, no offense, got that involved. But I had boundaries issues, where I would go all in, in general, which was not that hard to correct. The guru represents that, as well.

When you’re in the driver’s seat, in your car, your life, it’s a different experience. And, I myself, was surprised by what I came to learn. So…thanks Hannah Arendt, really, truly, and I got through that mess. I do nothing, now. Nothing. I didn’t do anything outside of this context, but I was a marijuana smoker, but I don’t even smoke, anymore, just that whole decade, um, even watching my best friend become more lured in by all this, without any judgment even in the user, occassional user, this is NOT my problem. It’s just a no. I’ll be drinking a glass of wine, over here. My best friend threw himself a 40th birthday where he had every drug under the sun available… and my other friend went and called me to tell me. “Wow…” riiiiiight, I thought. So no. Even just smelling weed on every single person that walks into this restaurant, truly, there’s weed everywhere in NYC, it just turned me off. I was like, hmmm, no thanks. I’ll see for CBD, sometimes, as I can get so nervous, but I was always a sober person, in fact, and my cousin, Kristin, she got into weed in high school, and she smoked A LOT back there, it’s true.

No thanks, no thanks, no thanks. Good for you.

I’ll be drinking a couple Japanese inspired cocktails with my friend Steve Schneider, or Jonathan Tucker, lol, as that’s who would play him, and steering clear of the rest, generally. I didn’t want to get into drugs, simply. I just stopped too, I didn’t find these addictive, in that, I NEED them, it wasn’t that. It was more, these states aren’t that comfortable, and I wasn’t treated appropriately. And of course, I could be shaman, that’s the development starring George Clooney as shaman. “You could be a shaman…” I had “gifts,” in this regard, and perhaps it’s true. I could be a plant medicine facilitator, that’s what I was told, and what people believe. That I am truly a gifted psychic. So there you go, food for thought. I could have been the one showing up… and leading you through all this… and who wouldn’t want me to be there with aviators on? Who wouldn’t want to see ME as their shaman? It’s basically Barbara Harris showing up… in a flora jumpsuit she would never be caught dead in.

In other words, I’m adept at psychological states, I guess, and talking to people about problems, or whatever, as a safe person. I don’t know if I have a problem with shamanism, I don’t, I was surprised that I was here. I liked the shaman, I’m trying to work on my shaman persona, it’s not working in public yet, but I’m working on “Maria the shaman,” I need to get in a rehearsal room and channel Jim Carrey, evidently. “But I am a shaman…” that routine went well on the comedy circuit. People laughed… when I said, “imagine you’re seeing shit… and I’m the one who arrives in the middle of all this, somehow THERE and also HERE — to lead you through: Blossom, from the TV show. “I’m a shaman…” though maybe more on the clown end of that idea, I guess. I just can’t even with my clown thing, no offense, I just want to get married and have a nice house. That’s basically where I’m at.

I’m a bit too confused, bit too confused in the multi-verse, with Dr. Strange, somehow, there, you know, the character… bit too confused with bending reality this way, that way, um, just too much. And I believe shamans would back me up. I’m sure I can use social channels to BE the shaman, BE. As is. No need to be anything OTHER than Neapolitan. My cousins would laugh. “Sure, you want a shaman??? They could find you a shaman in Naples pretty quickly.” I am a wise person, lol, apparently. A true wiseman. So I will attempt to ACCESS the shaman within and speak from here, to you… smiling… as this is the arena of society… the shaman knows. I have to keep developing it… the persona… as I can sort of impersonate the shaman, which I think could be so funny—even to him. Like he would laugh. “Many doors,” he carefully lays them out, “are opening…which one will you choose?”

Again, I don’t have problems around the utility of drugs, evidently, as people use them all the time… it’s more… where I ended up within this… world. And, not everyone responds to it, heck, the shaman doesn’t even… take these. So there you go, the last decade. Whoa. Onwards… but none of these people were there for me at all, when I started contacting them in a state of emergency, clearly. Not any help at all. Nothing. Just nothing. So I do not like them, I do not buy them, and their response to my experience was ridiculous. The shaman told me that my experience in the hospital had to do with “belonging…” really??? Not one question about my body, not one. And this ex of mine, what a joke. What a goddamn joke, speaking of facilitators, just get the fuck out of my way.

The guru, listen to this. The guru and the slytherin, they both spoke of betrayal…? This is about betrayal, when I just got out of a hospital, does this make sense to you? Don’t I need reassurance? Kindness, tenderness? Betrayal? What betrayal??? Jokes. Who was betraying me? No one could just be real? Like real, for real, like “this is what happened in CLEAR language?” This wasn’t ethereal. I’m sorry. I was appalled. And like, to be honest, that word, I was thinking about it last night.

You see, it was my ex’s idea, to put me on the phone with the slytherin after the mysterious message came through my website at 5 AM, randomly, and I acted… strangely no? A fact that they did not share with my friends who came into the equation later. Why? And then, he farted. So it was premeditated? Meaning this was discussed beforehand? He had to prepare for that fart, most definitely, probably eat a good helping of something because that fart was long, hard, intentional. Riddle me this, no? Why did he put him on the phone, when I was royally, clearly, freaked out? When I was obviously freaked out? After that message. A couple of months later, I ended up in the hospital for a day. I received this message in my gut, like physically, but I was also under a lot of psychological tension, maybe obviously. And I think most people would be on my side. I had a right to be freaked out. You see what a fucking nightmare this decade was? So, it was true, wasn’t it? Doesn’t it sound true? That he sent me this threat that my banka account was going to be shut down, AFTER I discussed getting my money back? Call it an emotional move. Meanwhile, these GURUS are telling me I CALLED THIS IN from the ether to “deliver the final blow…” whatever the fuck that means…

I was a GIRL at a CAFE—to the fucking guru from Hollywood.

So fuck all these people. I got the message, regardless from the slytherin. I thought of writing him a little note. I just might. The almightly slytherin. I do not fear him or his tyrannical moves — that he can make, apparently. He boasted of those. Organizing protests… for example… acting as if he had a right to do so.

I can’t prove it, obviously, who sent that stupid message at 5 AM, but him farting on the phone was enough, obviously. And he just looks like a loser. Not me. AGAIN, to state it from the tops of buildings with a goddamn microphone — I was in a goddamn sex scandal when I was four not fourteen. ALL OF THIS wasn’t therapy. It was not my responsbility to go assist this man, looking at my ex, when he took too many drugs. Fuck you. The zen master sybil was right. This was the problem. Angela, too, an empath, for real, like step aside, this woman is the real deal. It’s not that you feel everything, that’s not exactly it.

“Fuck you.”

She doesn’t even know she’s an empath, “what?” That would be her response. But just because you feel everything doesn’t mean you’re ACCURATE. Something to keep in mind. Too many feelings. Too many feelings not enough IN BETWEEN, questions, connection, yes. I have a Brazilian mother within me, and watch out, she could take you out most definitely with her magical whip.

And luckily I am Neapolitan, because they know, they’d help me, IN PUBLIC, you don’t even know, and TRUMP would watch, even, laughing, as we go APESHIT in PUBLIC — and kill HIM, you, doesn’t matter. We’ll drive to your house. If we must. This isn’t a problem to a Neapolitan. Fear of death, it’s not ancient, it’s modern. We want to revolt, break shit. That spirit or force at least helped me expell all this, reject it, revolt— on a matter of principle in this case. Like you’ve got to be joking.

I needed to expel all this, I really did. I definitely did not deserve all this. And of course, right, I stopped calling a blond, in this group, always a blond, lol, as a joke, because, you see, they all care for one another, if they get into an argument, if they don’t talk for a while — I got the picture. And it doesn’t apply to me. So fuck you.

When you break up, more or less, to my ex, it’s called — it’s over. Meaning, stop calling me. Coming to Paris, with drugs, WHY??????? Fishing for wives, when I do not live there. And then, I don’t know what to DO because I don’t LIVE THERE, and then I move back to bullshit. And the beauty of it? The beauty of it? I don’t give a fuck about your side. Share it with your therapist. Because, this is why, I worked out my issues with power. You see what I mean? Go fuck yourself. And now what? Taking a breath, once again, I came from a background. A sex scandal. I’m aware… now. And you? Why did you do what you did? So I used the f bomb a lot, but that was… the therapy that actually helped, what can I say? It sucks to have to say that to your own family, but that’s what I needed to do in my case — a giant fuck you to my father, my mother, Angelica, Nicole, that whole family, my cousins in JERSEY, especially this white bitch, no offense, and of course, my mother now and her family. And my cousins, but that’s a bit less, and pointed at two people. F you, F you, the ghost of Barbara Harris and I have work to do…

Luckily, I met an actress. You see. I know who you are. I know that an actress can haunt you, you know? I can say that on a comedy stage. It’s sort of true, it feels, like people know that. An actress can haunt you. It is in her power. I do not know for the males. But an actress can haunt you. And luckily, she did for I had material on her person… right? As we spent these four days together, and is that literally true? You know what I mean? This line has gotten really muddled. And I felt the public stage sort of makes that apparent. It’s a joke. But then, people believe in… energy, life after death — none of it is my problem.

Nonetheless, it’s true in a sense. (I’m laughing). So, if you have information about an actress, she may haunt you… and she may help you, if she sees you’re in trouble. So we got through it, we did, and now I am free to pursue what I’d like to, what she felt upon seeing me, that I might be an actress. She believed in me in that way after spending some time with me. She didn’t understand the writing… but then, I’m not bad, I could write my own stuff, she did. Harris did. That’s what they all did. So I’m behind an actress, you see, I fear not her power. I think that’s funny, actually. Just hiding. She is my shield. Just watch out.

Anyway jokes aside, it helps to just let this go… joke around a little bit since that was so terrible and unreal. That guru should not fancy himself a gifted psychologist, and why that would be insulting to him I don’t know, nor should he act like his philosophy might directly apply to someone he cannot relate to, even. Be real. That would be my Jungian advice to him. Enough. I wouldn’t be there at step two, for sure, though cutting me off at the cafe, and telling me “not that’s not it,” as someone else did to me once upon a time, would never fly. These men probably wouldn’t even want to hang out with me because I wouldn’t put up with even a pound of their bullshit. And that includes the Romantic professor of my past. Just an Arendtian understanding of things. And it’s not bad. Like I said, she really helped me make sense of all this. “So she meets a Romantic professor in the true sense…”

“A true Romantic.”

And I pursued a relationship with him, unreal to me. A friendship, but now, I’m like, why?

I would never do any of this again. I’m not redoing any of this, which is the point. I would have never gotten close to him. He’s my professor, cool, he has a mystique, persona, who cares? I’d been to Europe more times than he had by the time I was fourteen. Cool…continent. Sure. I’m from LA, which tells you “everything you need to know,” grow up. It was just a reflection of me… for sure. With the guru, that got scary. With some of these characters, that got frightening. Like if I were to see my ex, I would politely ask him to not approach me. “Portal channel and antenna traveling on multiple planes of existence? Please stay away from me.” Like that. Like these people didn’t even care if I lived or died, only that they insisted on their truth, and that’s really true. And the shaman might even agree. Who my ex doesn’t even talk to anymore… so. Thanks for the ride.

All this obsession with feeling, I’m telling you. I’m still working that out. It’s way too much. And it’s everywhere. Everyone I know, with my French friend, it’s un petit peu, it’s very small, is giving their feeling of something… based on what their picking up on a bit too soon… everyone since everyone wants to tell me how EVERYONE can relate, here, there, when some differences, some respect could be re-introduced. That’s what I would say “to everyone.” I do not do that. And I’m the most psychic of them all, apparently. My writer friend, he doesn’t do that. I know people who don’t do that.

That was definitely not a good idea. And it is clarifying to talk like this.

So— I could probably write a dissertation about what I went through, and perhaps one day I will. For the moment, it’s time to go about my day, and keep letting all this go. In the end, I can’t forgive myself, for ending up where I did, no? Forgive myself for “what I did?” Looking at all of it with new eyes, most certainly, still able to move in and out of who I was and who I am becoming… so I hope I worked out what I needed to, even if real life can feel hard, sometimes, but I’m working on that, sure, trying to find more ease, but that was a hard ride, through the unreal. But I’m happy I’m here, I did that without much assistance at all. I don’t have problems with states outside of some of that future thinking, which can stir me up, because I sometimes think about what I’d like to work on… comedy wise… or something… and that spins me up, where I think, sometimes, like that thinking is going to POKE reality in some direction… but it’s only a treadmill, so I have to stop, it’s getting better, I did not have mental problems, if that makes sense, not like that, it was these real people around me, obviously. I have to go into a rehearsal room. I think about it sometimes, but I gotta tell you, all that stuff was so confusing. I don’t know, if that’s going to help me… if you would… but having a positive mindset, sure, that’s gotta be helpful, and I don’t think that was my problem, though being too positive, that wasn’t always positive, obviously, thinking I can’t get hurt, that I can’t meet weirdos, even. Okay, I’m here, and I’ll think about how to realize my vision… and make it, sure, looking at Hannah Arendt, who doesn’t get the “big deal.”

Read books.

Try and meet people.

Find a boyfriend.

Work on a show. Find a production company? Stuff like that.

That was a real mess. But I guess my family was a real mess. That too. I still have to clear my body of these “governing principles” I’d call them… but for the most part, it keeps clearing. On that end, being in a very real place and talking with people has helped. Just a job.