I’m on page 81 of Oppenheimer, I’m not going to cram, I’m taking it in. I heard he employed first person, which is why I wanted to read it, as it seemed to be a departure from how scripts are normally written, and I didn’t know how to tackle a script. I’m not well-versed enough in scripts to understand how this reads, how a screenwriter reads first-person. I’m just taking it in. I said my time with Barbara Harris felt like a script, but I have to question “my feeling” as I have no real idea what that means. I thought about that as I just came out of a decade of EXTREME feelers. However, I’m trying to follow my instincts and consider what that might look like. “Frank Sinatra Had a Cold” of film, I’m calling it, but I’m just playing around. I wonder how the use of first person in Oppenheimer affected someone who reads scripts often.

I loved the descriptions, how he described all the images. It’s a fun read. Now I’m watching it, and I can see, though I have to double check, that the script was rearranged in post-production. I’m reading a script I found online, and I had to jump around to follow. I’m enjoying the script. I’m watching Murphy and seeing him as someone who became this character, but Harris is becoming someone else, not the role. She related to that, she felt like she had multiple personalities. I don’t know what that means. But she had lots of different sides to her, but that doesn’t seem to be what people meant. She was quick, for sure.

I can’t help but think about the guru as I watch this, as he worked in film. I’m trying to make peace with what happened when I decided to… try and make it in the world, as I was not interested in worldly pursuits, and the importance of identifying that choice I made also concerns why I was not interested in marriage, why I was not interested in becoming a Duchess, as the Romantic professor in my life, believed I could become… literally. I was not interested in money, even.

I never thought about gender, before, I refused — totally refused — to give any credibility to these facts. I refused. I never wanted to look at anyone as if I knew them, based on their gender, anything. I did NOT judge a book by its cover. Never. Did I have thoughts about… their psychology? Sure. The construction of their world? Sure. The shaman of this plant group I ended up in believes that I am a shaman, yes, that I could be a shaman, seriously, and that I can see into people’s souls. I refused to project my family, to be specific, into the world. I came to understand that I had to come into a seat of knowing…

The guru, for example, believed he was selfless, I guess… he thought I was an interesting person? With her own thoughts? But when I look back on that, I go, that person started projecting on me, day one. He wanted to be a guru, or help me, and he jumped on me right away. He thought I was “special,” and that I didn’t think I was…? I look at a picture of myself, and I go, uh oh, was I attractive and vulnerable? Only because “you’re special” sounds a little off. Not to say I’m not. I just didn’t have a problem… with my specialness, so I was confused as to why he was doing what he was doing, and I get caught up in a system of thought I didn’t need to at all. He said FAMILY was “my life idea,” which is vague. It doesn’t mean anything. I just happened to come from an experience that perpetuated a maladaptive pattern, that’s all. That was not my life idea. NOW I wish it had been. I wouldn’t have ended up getting involved with him if it had been. Our relationship was unnecessary.

Family, if you would, they tended to hurt me, disrespect me, even. With my adopted family now, I had to take a step back. That appeared very different on the other side of a real reckoning. I could now try and meet someone, a man, and have a normal relationship, to be frank, not like I haven’t had them, actually, but this past decade was so full of strange characters. The relationship I had with the guru was far from normal. “I’m always feeding you,” he said, “the theme is nourishment” in my life when I thought we were just having lunch? Why are you always “feeding me?” I was appalled. I know I need to get over it, but I got into a terrible relationship. I know that they happen. I’ll keep moving off the blog, I think, though I am wondering if I need the space and time to write like this because I took it down, and then, I reacted, so I thought I actually might want to give myself this space.

I’m supposed to be putting myself and my story out there, I guess, according to the guru, in order to help myself reach success. I’m feeling as though I’m still unraveling some of the logic I absorbed, to determine what it is I desire to do now. I just have no idea what that means. I don’t know what to say. After this past decade, what do I even say? I had to confront my demons? I had to confront my past? I don’t have money right now, which is depressing, obviously, but I’m looking for a job, more work, and I’m wondering, as I only moved into this apartment a month ago, if settling and landing somewhere has brought me stillness, finally, like I’m tired, actually, and I’m seeking to process a tough time. I’m relieved; a way of operating has come to a close, and I feel like I just got out of years, just years. I definitely feel like I’m getting out there, like I’m turning a page, but I sort of regret, and I don’t know what that means this evening, deciding to write at all, deciding to write about my childhood.

I’m trying to listen to my instincts, like, maybe my family story would do well on the comedy circuit, for example, or maybe I might find catharthis or connection in putting on a show, or getting into performing. I haven’t found a job that fulfills me, at all, I haven’t met someone I’d like to settle down with. I ended up hanging up with loners, people who don’t have romantic partners, even, and I missed that, I really did. These older men… I don’t have any issues with having friendships with older men, but that was a tad bit strange. I hardly know anyone right now, I mean, job wise, contacts. I’ve been writing for years, but it hasn’t worked. It could. I’m trying to give myself room to think about what I actually want to do… I like the idea of performing again, it’s more the starting over…

Honestly, it’s strange, these are strange claws: the future writes the past, reach out to your future audience, as the guru sent me over to his brother, as I was interested in exploring hypnotherapy, since I had never tried, but that’s not what that was. He gave me channeler tapes, even, which I didn’t clock. I his idea of establishing contact with your future audience, if I may give a piece of feedback, I wouldn’t suggest it. I have problems because of it. And I was — wrapped up in some stardom play with this guru who thought I was Lemony Snicket, like I didn’t believe in myself, who also had it all, who should be aligning myself with performers, I mean, Hollywood entertainers who work in an industry where they might be able to make millions. Not to say I couldn’t be Stephen King. “Poke on Timothy Chalamet,” the guru said, because believed in “poking on an idea,” that everyone had an IDEA, that’s what their life was ABOUT, it wasn’t about what they wanted to DO, that was a by-product of what they wanted to know, so Chalamet’s IDEA was “irresitible.” It’s humorous. Not to say I can’t make it, I was actually operating as if my childhood story could bring me success, that’s why I was writing… but all this extra STUFF messed with my head totally. “I was watching Lady Gaga,” he said, another time, “and you remind me of her in her unguarded moments,” and MAN, I needed to be more GUARDED. So I’m feeling an impetus to write, but I feel pulled by external forces that are not really there. All future talk. Don’t even try to suggest that they exist in some probable reality, it’s way too unreal. These two were SO UNREAL. I’m trying to be super transparent and I’m trying to get it out of my system. When I happened to get on the cover of Vogue Italia, “THESE ARE EFFECTS,” the guru said. Doesn’t this sound like a comedy? I was writing about my cousins in Italy, truly, and so I was “spinning up the reality,” and that’s why I got the cover. IF SOMETHING HAPPENS it’s because YOU WANT IT TO HAPPEN, which is problematic. IF SOMETHING DOESN’T HAPPEN it’s because YOU DIDN’T WANT IT TO.

And I always return to the start: I was just a girl at a cafe, writing a book, or trying to. And I got a guru.

“Let me give you a tip,” like Jesus, don’t take that tip, Maria. I was so fucked up, I was so unhappy, a mess, these past four years. He said, “meditate on this phrase, repeat it: state your name, location, time of day, and say, as outrageous as it seems, plenty of money comes to me…” he…apparently uses this phrase… I prefer: I want a BOX sent to my house, no return address, with 500k in it in cash. That’s what I want. There are no limitations to the self, according to the Seth books he gave me… though he wouldn’t admit it, publically. The world obviously is not ready, the world doesn’t get what’s possible, and maybe that’s true, actually, but in this regard, it sounds vague. NONE of this, none gave me any meaning in life. NOTHING MATTERED TO THIS GURU, it’s the matter, nothing was real. It didn’t MATTER how much the rent was. It didn’t MATTER. NOTHING MATTERED. Money wasn’t real, which can’t be true, that guy has too much money, acting like one can ideate 500k in a BOX —delivered to my house. I went in deep, I did, I really supported his so-called “teachings,” literally, how deranged, that he wanted to TEACH me “things,” AKA manifestation when it wasn’t my problem at all. Had no issue with it conceptually. “Thanks for letting me teach you things…” why are you teaching me? Why are you feeding me asshole? I am a thirty year old. He SHOVED FEEDING down my throat, suggesting indirectly even, I see you PSYCHOPATH, that I was not FED as a child. PSYCHIC, this guy, a PSYCHIC FEELER. I spent some years there meditating… wondering now, why I got so mixed up in all this UNREALITY. The definition of. He might have been a psychopath, actually, if he thinks that THEY FEED YOU THEY FEED YOU THEY FEED YOU as a piece of feedback about a fucking book draft is APPROPRIATE — he’s completely insane. He was. He might have projected a particular vibe as someone who “made it” in life, someone well-off, someone who presented himself to be an authority…regardless, I did not SEE this, and I cannot believe I FELL FOR IT. I wasn’t even searching for manifestation resources, I hardly went on social media, I wasn’t devoid of meaning, even, I wasn’t THAT person. I was someone too open. I was someone who came from a background. I was someone with power issues, this one. I wanted to support people, I wanted to be open to… different ways of thinking… HOLY IDIOT was the correct book title for OUR exchange. That was the first title I came up with in this joke of a mentorship — and it should have been the last.

HOLY IDIOT, Maria Mocerino, and James Baldwin would agree. I’m almost certain of it. Dr. J — strikes again. Just crazy people. Look, believe in what you want to believe, but I was told by this man that a FICTIONAL character was a PSYCHOLOGICAL DEVICE. The gaping hole my mouth became, hanging wide open, looking back at this horrific relationship. ME being made to FEEL like I was the ONLY one there? Like he’s not doing anything??? He’s just some painting in the Buddhist museum? Him REPEATING “I’m here,” as if he were training a dog? I was — once more, Baldwin? “Some chick at a cafe.” I know, I know I gotta let this go, because there’s nothing I can do except drive over to his house— women have, you know, they have, to give a man a piece of their mind — this sniveling rich asshole, and I do not talk like that, but this guy — he makes me wanna swing hard. What he did was outrageous. He lifted his arm in Beverly Hills like Jesus in the Caravaggio painting where he chooses St. Matthew as his disciple, “you do not have to manage the shift in reality…” so sprinkle in some plant people, a whole other crew, encouraging me to put myself at fault in my relationship with my father, “the man didn’t stand a chance,” when I was in a sex scandal, encouraging me to see my mother as GIFTED? Encouraging me to believe I am psychic, that my psychicness was my problem, in fact, though the GURU would call it an ASSET. I was too psychic to even manifest, like normal people. And I’m supposed to take this shit as a compliment? I grain away, because I evidently had a power problem. Fixed that, the past ten years disappear. And sometimes, can you believe it— I see this guru, still, in my head coming at me like I have no right to be upset, furious. “You were born to parents who were not there, that sounds divine to me…” at that point, I was on the phone, like, I never got the special talk, why was I so special? HOLY IDIOT, Maria. I never got THIS DESIRE — okay? To even be psychic, like, people seek to have magic powers. Just the absurdity that he made that comment about the feast of the immaculate conception, as I was writing about Christmas in Naples, when the holiday, the miracle of that feast day has nothing to do with JESUS. They were both there, idiot. HOLY IDIOT. That feast day is about sin. Mary was conceived by two parents, they were there, fornicated, and God lifed the SIN off her.

Finally, I snapped, I snapped at his brother.

“No more advice!!!” Jesus! These two.

So that’s the world today. Sorry, but I saw the dark side of manifestation. I began in a sex scandal, and I ended up here, and Hannah Arendt would have spoke about my life and the trajectory I took in relation to my family story being unreal. So, I’m sticking with her, a genius, okay, Hannah Arendt has no problem with her brilliance. None of these people wrote Life of the Mind. None of these people wrote political theories. None of these people wrote a sentence that helped someone like me, and she doesn’t even practice psychology, though she does.

Again, 500k in a box, delivered to my house. That’s what I seek currently, and to some on Instagram, I’m not requesting enough. So I find myself needing to recaliberate. The future stuff, channeling ANYTHING AT ALL, I cannot do it. “The energy of Tina Turner is available…” lol. Looking at this phone. And, looking at that beauty shot, “nice looking girl…” uh oh. I didn’t always look like that, but I decided to change the look, actually. Fuck you. The ghost of Barbara Harris… can stay. My friend said I was too nice.

I would like to succeed, sure, but that way of thinking harmed me. “Like can I succeed?????” I didn’t have this paranoia, this wasn’t my PROBLEM. I needed to confess even, because I’m hoping it will just simply take care of a compulsion I developed, an overly intellectual, mental, literally, approach that was future obsessed. Where something external, seemingly external, is driving me. I’m not entirely sure if the FEELING drives reality, like some SINGULAR RULE. I don’t want to sell myself short, make way for Prince Ali, Hollywood, because it’s time — no? For Lady Gaga meets Joyce Carol Oates to ARRIVE, blow EVERYONE AWAY. It wasn’t exactly my goal, but entertainment might be. I was in a sex scandal when I was four, got into some M. Night Shyamalan psychological thriller/comedy with a Hollywood type, like I do not believe it was sexual, but at this point…it’s like my experience with this man is the BOWLING BALL TO TAKE OUT — everybody. “Like, what even is that?” People feel manifestation is real, and please forgive me, but I’m traumatized. With that, it seems better to not even think about it.

Alright, I was feeling stuck today, after talking about movies and looking at a script. I’m going to spend some time, leaving grandoise thinking aside. I’m telling you, this guru. I’m going to find happiness in my life, again, I’m going to explore what I’d like to do now, what my gifts are, and I might let go of my tight grip on this blog, finally, as regardless of what happened, how much I hate that man, I have to move on.