I woke up today, like most days, taking deep breaths, and facing what I need to — I had a rude awakening, and this screenwriter, this Hollywood screenwriter — he didn’t understand who he messed with. He messed with a Neapolitan. And when you mess with a Neapolitan, they’re going to town square, and they are going to be very open about what happened. It’s just, I wouldn’t suggest, messing with a Neapolitan. Giving a Neapolitan channeled books and tapes — because they came from a sex scandal.
I had to get therapy to work out this guy. He totally ruined my life. And his little snotty routine, as a real snotty boy, in my opinion, that he was just “standing there,” is ridiculous. I came from a real background. I’m aware of that now. I would have never fallen for this guy’s SCI-FI routine. Tellng me to spend my IRA money because I can meditate more money into existence.
So, he was where I ended up, at the end of my life. I’m not the same. I was killed, by that relationship. Luckily, I have someone with credentials, who is able to help me reject this man where he stands. I can hardly afford my rent right now. And no, I did not want to be here, and why would you play a hand, regardless?!
His belief that “everything tht happens to you, is what you want…”
That inspired a sexual trauma specialist to say, “you mean rape?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay…”
One of my biggest problems was “the world,” coming from that story. Just because, the smallest adjustment would have made the biggest different which was: don’t talk about it. That’s not a story to be open about. I just never thought that someone — so unreal — could take advantage of my vulnerability. The first time I hung out with this gross fuck, he lifted his arm at me and pointed at me as if he were possessed.
“KNOWWWWWWWWWW, what do you wanna KNOWWWWWWWWWW….”
Never met this person. Just once. In a cafe.
“Life is not about what you wanna DO,” YES IT IS, “it’s about what you wanna KNOWWWWWWWWWWW….”
First time I ever hung out with this person. He acted as if he believed he were the wizard GANDALF in Lord of the Rings.
And then, second time, I’m on a computer? Talking about my mother with this sick fuck? Who got some weird hard on?
To the sexual trauma specialist, he looks very bad, he wondered if he could have taken advantage of me.
So I woke up today, on the other side of an entire journey that ended with this guy, and a goddamn psychedelic group, okay? Telling me I’m psychic. I’m looking at DUA LIPA, on Instagram, going, “you look fantastic, really,” and wondering, what the hell she would say to that. Imagine? Imagine?
So—at 40, I had to start over. I’m needing to emote, a bit, because I’m so angry at myself for having gotten involved in District 1 bullshit. This screenwriter — in his BMW — was from District 1, Hunger Games. Suggesting I wasn’t FED as a child? He went insane. Our relationship was insane. I looked back appalled. Why is he telling me “to spin up energy” over a goddamn book? I came from a background, yeah, I got in touch with that. What’s HIS excuse?
So here’s to starting over. I wish I never floated in artistic circles, because there are obviously worlds in worlds, like I’m aware that not everyone comes from the same CAMP. I met some ridiculously egotical men, specifically, and my desire to be a writer, brought me HERO’s JOURNEY crap.
So, think DUA LIPA, in Paris. Now, just insert me. A musician, plant facilitator, comes into my life… with drugs. “Medicines.” Like, Jesus Christ, I so did not need this guy. And he’s going to take me down a track… you see, as someone who came from a real background… I’m aware now. I’m here. Kicking myself. He’s going to disempower me. So did the slytherin, the drug addict in a nice hotel, that these people brought into my life, knowing that he’s crazy? That’s what my ex-friend said. In the end. Have the guts to tell this man to his face. And this screenwriter… the worst. A man who believes he can channel higher powers, literally. You see, at STEP ONE, this sexual trauma specialist said, “problem.”
“Why is this man bringing psychedelics to your house?”
He even admitted I wasn’t “brought into this work” correctly.
That was the end of my life, Book I, so in my thirties, I opened up my childhood, all these fairytale characters came into my life. And now, I’m struggling with the choices I made, like hanging out with these people —so I’m taking deep breaths, because I didn’t have a problem, like, this screenwriter was obsessed with problems. Absolutely obsessed. He needed to be kept on a leash, or he needed to go back to the page, and get out his fantasies that way. I was not a play thing. Offended, I’m beyond offended. “I’m always feeding you,” he says. “The theme here in nourishment.” When I thought, he had a recurring lunch date. And of course, he’s going to SAY ONLY THIS THROUGH MY DRAFT: they feed you they feed you they feed you. What was this man’s obsession with feeding me? I stand at open mics, with one objective, I assure you. Bring him down.
KNOWWWWWW what do you wanna KNOWWWWWWWW…
Hadn’t I been through enough? Or, was it not enough for him, this asshole? I’m telling you this guy. Sorry I didn’t GO through the Holocaust, this jerk. I couldn’t even, the audacity and arrogance of this man. Telling ME to get in touch with my feelings. Confessing his love to me over a lost DVD, after he psychoanalyzes me. His “teachings” okay, were poison.
And just until that point, I gotta say, I was pretty lucky.
But that past decade, put me through more pain and confusion than my own parents. And, for future reference, if someone has a child molester built into their story, okay? Don’t glaze over it. Bad move, screenwriter — too impulsive, like your father. And since he insulted me, my family, my experience, my womanhood, if not my personhood, I’m swinging. This man’s father slept with anyone who walked into an elevator. He should look at himself in the mirror.
I didn’t meet a man, you see, a nice normal guy — no drugs — I didn’t make any strides in my career, and looking back on that, the advice I got, it’s laughable. A touch too obsessed with “bending reality,” or my psychicness? What’s that supposed to do for me? I’m much better, thank you, not being psychic. And this sorry excuse for a plant medicine faciliator thinking he’s hot shit, the next “shaman.” He could go look at himself in the mirror, too. I would never emulate any of these people’s behavior. Again, me, I got myself straightened out. That was a “don’t go there,” from step one. Not two. One. Bye bye bye. N’Sync. Pop song. No thanks. And guess what? The sexual trauma specialist throwing up his hands, pooh-poohing his YEARS of schooling, PRACTICE, the important point, she doesn’t know if she was abused by her parents. You see? He’s trying to assess who in this mix of people even could have taken advantage of me…
Running in artistic circles, really, that was amazing. Now, it’s like, I just worked on this email that I’ll use to contact agents, as I’m seeking to perform again, figure out what the hell I want to DO, forget KNOW. The most useless worldview. What am I even good at? I started singing again too. One step at a time. You see, this cocky guy, and look, I was amazed and humbled that my gears brought me here. Some man, this screenwriter, and I’m looking back, going, what are you doing? Getting up, acting like there’s a “chalkboard” in your living room? He tried to “help me” pinpoint “my life idea…” when I hardly got started as a writer. I had no problem. Just opening up to the world here. If HE WERE ME, he would write FAMILY and circle it. Okay, bring in the authorities… “Maria came from a background… that needed to be dismantled. Her family patterning was maladaptive.” Not the subject of a MOVIE. I didn’t need to be PUSHED further INTO the patterning.
I was just trying to work OUT of it. Not INTO it. Like, this slytherin, this man I met, and enough, come on. I refuse to believe that this man is going to send assassins to my doorstep, be real. Truly speaking! People are afraid of this guy on that level. For real. People are afraid of this man, like he’s capable of sending assassins… to your doorstep.
I had to “tune in” with Obama here, like, “this is ridiculous!” I had to “tune in” with “the spies,” even, as a joke, “this is ridiculous.”
Anyway, this slytherin tells me “make less sense.” Imagine? “There’s no sense here.” Meaning, when I spoke about my childhood. And not ONE person, in this “therapy group” thought, “I’ll take SOME REAL TIME WITH YOU,” and “open this up.” Why? Well, the trauma specialist, walking through this WONDERLAND with me, taking notes, “couldn’t anyone suggest a trauma specialist?” None of these people are trauma specialists, though they’ve “helped all sorts of people,” they didn’t see me at all. Not at all. In the end, I’m telling this guy, that I don’t know if I was abused, if that was true, and he’s going ON about the degree of my psychicness? Too psychic to manfiest, which would sound ABSURD to Vishen from MindValley.
“Who the hell is this chick?!”
So I ended up in outer space, what can I tell you. And REALITY, came down real hard on me. And I’m taking deep breaths. I feel like such a different person who made decisions Hannah Arendt would be able to explain through the lens of : Maria could not appear in the world with a story like that. That angle actually helped me. So now, it’s like, do I even want to write? Was that my strongest card to play… looking at, practical guidance, like, what do you want to write ABOUT? Um, where’s the money?
This screenwriter was so taken with me, which I do not understand, as that was not love, so I refuse to hear any talk about this guy loving me, caring about me, or being attracted to me, because it’s gross. I could be DUA LIPA, he basically said, but in what capacity? He thought I was an entertainer? I felt KNOCKED away, okay? Was my GOAL in life to BE in BEL AIR? I’m sorry? Acting like my money ain’t real. That sucked.
Sure, sure, I made my decisions… I’m just saying, this is where I ended up.
With a screenwriter/channeler.
In a psychedelic therapy group, that’s even controversial.
Psychic.
Gotta go.
Sorry for being “pretty.”
Which was, look, I cannot even… go there.
I’m going to apply for jobs, I even applied at Starbucks, I don’t care right now. I was in a better place before ANY of these people came into my life. I couldn’t even believe, this plant medicine faciliator, telling me I’m a portal, channel, and antenna traveling on multiple planes of existence — for real — and that I got through my twenties through “sheer will.” If there was any thing that made me want to destroy your house, it’s that. That’s not true. I just, evidently, needed therapy, psychologist, because I ended up there, if that makes sense. I don’t think that I can’t make it, or something, that’s not my problem. I just had to start over, completely, as a person. I’m looking back, going, “yeah, I wouldn’t have made any of those decisions…” beginning, basically, at step one. I’m trying to reconnect with moments, but I’m mostly enjoying “my divorce.” I’m enjoying the divorce I filed. A clean, separation. Total separation. Don’t like you, even. At all. We’ll speak through lawyers. That sort of thing.
I will leave it at that, today.
“The future writes the past” stuff, as this screenwriter believes in channeling. That seriously hurt me. I still deal with ISSUES because of it. So that ended up being my most tumultuous battle—these channelers. From Beverly Hills. Astounding, it was astounding to me. And in this psychological drama, that’s the genre, you see, this screenwriter had a portrait on his wall… of a woman in the throes of despair. I mean, my mouth drops. That would be “the portrait.” She “had a quality,” he said. And, yeah, it was well-done, right? It was a remarkable painting, but it was a woman in the depths of despair. WHY that grabbed his attention. And now, put me in there. Not that person. Date two: “I can feel your pain,” he says. So, the sexual trauma specialist stepped in right there. “No he does not.” I was “a vulnerable person.” And the thing is, this screenwriter even said that. “You remind me of LADY GAGA in her more vulnerable moments.” “Right, which is WHY she only gets vulnerable in brief flashes.” So he took advantage of my vulnerability…which was… unfortunately for me, other people PAINTING over me. Now, I’m good, if you want to “argue” about “who it is I am…” or “what my story means…” that’s easy. “Bye bye bye.”
It’s very simple.
WHY you’re attached, I do not know.
So, rocky moments, I sort of accept, make peace, and keep steering out of “the mess,” yes, I put myself in. I’m not a mess, but I am instable, structurally. There’s a difference. I’m struggling to find work, my apartment is up for lease resigning, not so sure, if I look great. So maybe I’ll find someone to sublet from, again. But this is what I mean. My reentry into the US, after spending the worst years of my life abroad, has been structurally, a bit of a step by step. But I’m clear, centered. Not knowing WHY (I do) I was operating like that. I hate this screenwriter. He will always be “THE APEX” of a whole journey.
So now, I just have to deal with the heartache of all that, looking back at these gross men, like, I could have gotten married to someone who loved me, eek. I still can. I’m just saying. I’m no longer GEARED in that way. The degree to which I was “specialized” or spoken to as if “I were special,” that’s been a headfuck alone, all things considered. This screenwriter called me the Messiah. I mean, sure he was shady, slight of hand, manipulative. He put it like this: you were born to parents who were not there, this is his feedback over my draft, “sounds divine to me.” Look, dude. This shit.
Wanting to play GURU games. My friends tell me I sound like I was in a CULT.
Will go to an open mic later… and continue telling everyone I can about all this. It’s the only thing — I joke that I am Neapolitan. So, Paolo Sorrentino will understand me.
“A Neapolitan will go to all any any lengths to get to NETFLIX, in this case. Maria will, reach the point of death, to do so. It’s deeper than her.” She will, an army of one, attempt at all costs to rise to NETFLIX.” It’s just, the way it goes. “She does not fear death, in fact, in Naples, at least, my cousin? We will not RUN away, we will GO TOWARDS Vesuvius.”
You just, don’t understand. All of EUROPE will. “The Neapolitans…”
She will ATTEMPT at all costs to stage a block party in Beverly Hills. She does not care. Maria will confront YOU in public. She will ask you directly with a clippboard, if you raped her, or took advantage of her, and then, she will cross off that name. “You sure?” I will receive “performance points" from the Neapolitans. “No,” we’ll start pulling names from HATS.
A Neapolitan is revolting, celebrating, passing out food, defacing public property (joking). We’re dancing, singing, and revolting. It’s just too powerful, we’re volcano people. If you push that DEEP of a button, where this MYSTIC, which is how the Neapolitans will understand it, parading as “NOT A MYSTIC,” wraps up in otherworldly logic, no way. It’s just a no way. Not when you come from sex scandals. It’s “impossible,” in the words of my cousin ROSA. “NOH, NOH, MERI, you are in the right. RISE to NETFLIX.” I will try, forget the family, they will understand. Even if we don’t talk for 20 years. They will understand. I had BIGGER objectives to pursue. NETFLIX. And if I get there, if I pop up there, all of Naples will rise to their feet and cheer. “YOU DO NOT MESS with a NEAPOLITAN!”
(From California…)
This is my sole goal.
NETFLIX as a Neapolitan.
“You see? You see.”
My family would be proud. “She sneakily… reached immortality.”
We will revolt, cheer. We will cry. Break out into songs. Thank you. These are my cousins.
THEY believe, you see, that I am truly a NEAPOLITAN. Not American. I had to, as a Neapolitan, be born in the USA, for spiritual reasons, to go through the USA family inferno… and now, as Dante, I can reach immortality because of it. It was pretty straight forward to them. And there’s gotta be SOMEONE, some ACTOR, who wants to deliver this speech to me.
“His name in on EVERY piazza.”
I was laughing, because they told me I was, in FACT, DANTE amongst candlebras… and they got OFFENDED and aggressive because I was LAUGHING at DANTE. When, they didn’t give a shit, didn’t give me a chance to complete the sentence. I was laughing because they called me Dante. “AND? You got a problem with DANTE?” They rejected me. Threw me to the dogs.
So, it’s alright. At least I have a sense of humor.
It’s okay, things are tight, basically, this was my problem. Basics. I was operating illogically. I wasn’t thinking, I don’t know what to say. I’m like, oh, should I work in crisis response? Should I be a social worker? Everything is very different now.
I mean, my brush with these “great men,” made me want to STEER — action star — out ANY artistic pursuit, ANYTHING that touches “limos” as this screenwriter saw me “in a limo.” Come on. It’s not that, I wouldn’t like that, it’s more… come on.
And was repressed? As this screenwriter… of all people… was obsessed with, though he does not STATE it directly, what does that mean? Repressing…? His brother said, “you’re trying to find form for your feelings,” in the end. I think I was trying to do that in the beginning, it’s just, I felt somewhat BULLDOZED. When I lived in France, also amazing, I did not (with an accent) have these problem. No one really gave a shit, that’s Robin Williams, about my “famous” beginnings. So I avoided it, but again, I had basic issues to work out. So, that didn’t work out: papers, house, money. The most basic. Sure, I could “marry a Duke…” looking at this guy…”really?”
This is what he wanted me to do…
I look back, as a chick from JERSEY, even, as my family is from Jersey, confused.
And here comes Hannah Arendt… able to frame it: Maria could not appear. She might not have wanted to, either. Just because, now, I stand on the comedy stage, and it doesn’t necessarily SOUND LIKE it wasn’t TRUE, you see, about my father. And I had to WORK OUT all these people, like the screenwriter, who’s probably going to hang onto his money real tight, right? You see what I mean? How angry I was. I am. If MONEY grows on trees, why not give me some of YOURS?
A phony.
So I’m MAKING the point, in public. Like I give a shit about your money.
My cousins, would hold space, reverently for me right now — you do not mess with a Neapolitan. She’s going to blow.
This guy, he should think about that, there’s a difference between theory and practice.
Nice, The Neapolitans would give me “the high five…” or applause.
There’s a lifetime, that I could frame in a book, assisted by the work of Hannah Arendt… just because, this woman, Arendt, she really hit the nail on the head there. And sometimes, revisiting step one, as that was step one of her work, has its real use. So I’m working on an essay for the Hannah Arendt center, and working through my immediate problems, feeling like I’m here. Now.
I do not feel like I’m the BEST writer. I don’t seem to be a journalist. But that’s FINE, meaning, I can work on it, get better. I’m fine with all that. My problem right now is figuring out what I want to do, wanting to make it to NETFLIX, as a Neapolitan, and they will FLY, I assure you, if this moment happens. WE, not I, will put on A NICE SHOW FOR YOU.
Franco Franzese, my cugine, he will be the first… to provide us with a demonstration.
So here we go.
“Fame” can wait, will come— looking at this screenwriter, seeing “suitors” lining up… over this story, me, etc., when I want to wear a propeller hat on OPRAH. To make the point. So that’s it. I’m Cate Blanchett as Queen Elizabeth calling myself “the virgin queen.” That was a terrible move that rich guy made, that even rich people would… back me up on. If he were a psychologist, I might be able to get him unlicensed, as that’s what happened to Barbara Harris, actually. Lol.
She saw a therapist who got his licensed revoked, and she decided to follow the man to Scottsdale, she said.
No psychologist, on earth, would go, “yeah that sounds like a good idea…”
Giving the girl from a sex scandal…channeled books, psychedelics, when she doesn’t make sense…
I wasn’t that bad, I just needed to prioritize my problems, actually. That’s it.
In a world that knows everything, I am just humbled. I had no idea… really, what I was doing.
None of my friends in successful positions, Tony Award noms, wins, even, had to deal with this shit. Honestly.
This screenwriter, it’s like, amazing to me, because in this day and age, he’s practically a mythic step — to avoid.
Like, you’re not going to meet him, her, them, until you get through this part. You must return, literally, “the village,” where Barack OBAMA is. Okay? Think Barack Obama. What would HE say in these circumstances? Just insert Barack Obama, my suggestion, and think, what would HE say? Would he even be here? Hm, in my case? Nope. Easy.
That’s it.
I’m going to write on my newsletter more often, I just feel weird because I’m really at step one, sort of. And LOOK, I have no issue with going from step ONE to 20, like, I just didn’t NEED this complicated logic, that freaked me out, like, am I limiting what can “come in…” just please. I did not need that. So, you see? I still have flashes of this domineering guy, with beliefs that… again, he didn’t do this to my friends, who he knows, who were my age. He did this to me, because “I was special,” which sounds creepy. If I were THEM, closer to his sister, specifically, wouldn’t have happened. So, as a marker, if you’re a warm blooded person, at all, THINK, before you start acting UNREAL over a pretty woman. TO YOU. He thought I was attractive. I’m pretty sure. “You cannot disappoint me you have my looveeeeeeeeeee” over a goddamn DVD.