This morning, I rose early, having taken down my blog about 1,000 times now. As a person, I care not if I’m going through a moment of intense anger, on my own, as I always held strict boundaries, even dutifully, as to not putting my experiences onto someone. You see, in my case, I experienced a lifetime of projections, assumptions, conclusions made by the uneducated, the unwise, quite frankly. It’s almost like, my story triggered people… who didn’t know that they would be the ones the cops who request to leave. “We’ll take it from here.” That was Miracle Mile. As my mother, Dr. J, a Joker’s name, quite frankly, though JOY, what the “J” stands for evokes the point behind the villain, as she was one. Total disconnection from earth. With her eyes the color of the sky, they were mesmerizing, if not mythic. Her blind innocence. I learned a long time ago that innocence does not necessarily mean benevolence. Speaking of spiritual feeling I had in church, as a four year old. My mother fascinated me, fascinated me beyond my own connection to her. I was contemplating the impure/pure conundrum when I was four. My mother had a pure quality, her eyes were even pure. And that struck me, at four, as she was so impure, I got the point there, Dr. J. I referred to her as such, as did those who knew her. Dr. J, Dr. J, riddle me this, riddle me that… what’s up with the complex? These terms, or ideas, simply appeared to me, undeniable. So she was so impure, rushing into our Catholic Church every Sunday and accosting our priest, jolly Irish Father Jim, with her rapes, every Sunday. That’s according to an eye witness, my future mother, even, as this stupid, scandalous situation on Miracle Mile impacted me psychologically.. resulting in a transparent, unmissable maladaptive pattern. And look, if I can say anything about what it means to work out your problem, and in my case, it would be the world I would meet because I came from this story, meaning, step one: shut up. Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk about that. Do not be ridiculous, do not wrestle with the world, in this way. On this point, just make peace with it. People will not respond well. Enough. Don’t even listen to these people cue violins, like sure. Would you feel comfortable speaking in public about a story like that? No. There you go. I wish I had shut that door a long time ago. But duty, this ridiculous word. Because, I was lucky, you see, I didn’t go to foster care… I, presumably, didn’t come from an incestuous family, my mother just lied about my father — never anticipating that the lie would come into question — and I suspected that SHE, my mother, came from an incestuous family. Now, these totally abominable sentences aside, working out your problem…or working out of THAT pattern, of different families, of just complications, complications around that story, well that required a change. A very profound shift. And it required a strict, rejection even of what “the world” or my former world even told me. I received BAD therapy, for example. I’m going to be encouraged to continue living an ethereal existence without anyone who actually gave a shit, nor I’m writing a bit crudely, as I feel like I had to get stringent here. When you have to rise, in a crumbling architecture, a mother, as that was the essential step to take, because really become Terminator II mom, like you’ve got to be joking here…. look, the key was interesting, in that, this was all my fault, this was a goddamn mess, that I, as a mother, would have blasted all these people away… which I did. You are all jerks. And then, I took myself home and raised myself. “Now, here we go…” let’s just, grow up. Through this utter mess. My problems were my problems. I don’t know what to say, because my family life was a mess! Getting involved with other mothers… when this was unnecessary. Looking at these women, what the hell are you doing? Well, no one was there. DUH. Now get the hell out of my face. So I am my mother. And with all due respect, I believe I have earned the right to judge. These supposed, other “mothers” who did nothing for me, of use. It was a goddamn farce, careening through my life, and shaking my head… like WHAT is even happening?

Anyway, the point is, change is not the most comfortable…not when you have a prissy, jerk of a Hollywood screenwriter who got involved in your psychology… you see. As I still have to work him totally out, like a damned spot, I can’t quite rinse out. So, it was a bit Kill Bill in my head, to be totally honest, where I just had to eliminate most of what I had learned. Just cock-eyed. Like I’m psychic? Like I should build a career psychically? Are you mad? You see, coming from that background, I’m going to end up meeting totally unreal, fantastical characters claiming that I was psychic, but psychic to a point that I should be able to end up, in a Marvel movie, playing Professor X’s protegee, with Zendaya, obviously, Storm. Okay? That’s basically it. And my righthand superhuman IS an actress, and if you wonder why, let her blow you away. Okay? I know what classical power is. You want a “channeler” speak with her. Me? I’m in a bowler hat, as people claimed I was psychic to the point of needing a helmet, you see. Just like Professor X. But the “tech” has evolved, thus— the hat. That’s my destiny. Now. Somehow. So in any case, working out of these deep patterns, was, chaotic, because I did it on my own… where suddenly, you see, something that ruled my life, in a way, which was my stupid, sorry, family story, just didn’t exist anymore. That’s a shock. Just gone. A lifetime of…bizarre operation, gone. And I had to lose my money, of course, because, well, I could “meditate more into existence…” suggested to me, by some rich prick, this screenwriter, who, in reality, is not operating like that. This man had some mental illness, in that, he lost the line… between theory and practice. And if he wants to speak of “synchronicity,” that doesn’t support his case, that he was of sound health. I’m Dr. J’s daughter. So there you go… I tried so deeply to avoid my FATE, destiny, an idea that people do not understand. This is a path already written, and does it have to be, no, but will the world be able to SEE beyond expectations? No. They will not.

At eight, nine, I launched an undercover investigation into this situation… which I think will be the subject of my book… sitting here, a bit, stumped, because my desire to write a book about my childhood, my life, whatever, brought me weirdo men. Power players. Men that had no right to be there. Not to “toot” my own horn, here, as these men did nothing but toot, toot, toot… but I could dance circles around these men. How dare you? I didn’t want to have to be a blade, honestly, someone touchy, for sure. But that’s who I had to be around this story, a blade. You are not Aragon. I am. You cannot even handle a sword, now go home… to your monopoly games. Insane. It was just heartbreaking, because, uh, no offense, like I get “I” did it, meaning I made my decisions… what I’m saying IS: a screenwriter walked into my life, wanting to play psychologist, handing me psychic books… and a plant medicine facilitator walked into my life with…drugs! Now, psychedelic therapy is accepted, changed the perspective on drugs… what I am saying? My experience in this group did not change mine. It solidified a strong, no. And I can very cleanly break down why. Like, that did me nothing but harm. It was a useless period. Psychic. Honestly, as a woman, even, I was appalled by the unconscious gears here. Really. And I got Barbara Harris, “the ghost of,” as I can communicate with the dead, according to these people, which might add a dash of spice to my Professor X’s Protegee character… why not? The line between life and death is arbitrary, which is madness. This is what the screenwriter believes. You see, to me, “madness is not the deja la of death, according to Foucault, it’s the opposite. Death is real. Now what lies beyond here, go ahead. I have no attachment to what cannot be known… but death is real. And, um, I think it should be respected as such, because it might inspire respect for LIFE. Since this man did not respect my life. He did not. He disrespected me the second he met me. His father had impulsivity issues… even.

Anyway, so I’m better now, better with the new world order. I had to accept I was 40. That was not easy. I had to accept that I hadn’t really BUILT anything. And sure, with the STAR WARS lasers beginning to fire in my mind — shoo, shoo — the sound of them so real, even, I can really heard them fly in my mind, and isn’t that amazing, screenwriter? I can SEE and HEAR the lasers fire in my mind, since he got confused… I can get lucky, get contacted, any day, and I can get a book deal, movie deal, an offer, whatever. I am not against “how things can come in,” that was not my problem. I just don’t know, what the utility is, is simply operating as if… I were blocking THAT, by being realistic. You know? Why not, save up for a house, or save up, regardless… because more money, yeah, might invite more money, or, your attitude, yes, might change how you live, what you look for, absolutely. But telling me to meditate more money into existence… telling me to spend my IRA… because THIS BOOK, THIS STORY, could become Harry Potter… I mean, how ridiculous. My life began in a sex scandal… my mother was a walking sex scandal… that’s the sexual trauma specialist… shrugging over his notes…

“She’s accosting the priest,” and the accosting, that word, came direct from an eye witness, which clearly articulated “accost, yeah, the priest with her rapes…” like, why? What was this dysfunction? It impacted me, beyond the personal. And, quite honestly, I lacked an adult who could hold a child with that degree of depth, with that degree of intelligence, too, as I became obsessed with psychology. So, I think, I sat back to consider, now, sitting here without a career, who I really am. Just because, Betty Boop? Um, not really. My room might have been PINK, which is a funny color, for a rookie PI/psychologist studying sexual dysfunction, and studying “the case” of what happened to me, trying to understand human nature… pink. It’s funny. My eyes squinting through the pink blinds in my room, conducting psychological experiments… around the subject of lying. And of course, I’m still nine, so “no,” snapping at my father, “I do not want pasta this evening…” getting back to “my undercover investigation.”

So, I’m almost over my thrashing about, which happens from time to time, still, because, goddammit, I felt like I did a pretty good job, and in my thirties, I had to meet my doom. And the people I met were controversial, at the start, this is the point. Do not BLAME me when these were weirdos, known crazy people, with controversial beliefs. Enough. I did not need, as a woman, to play this goddamn role. It was THAT, you see, these so called EVOLVED men, that truly pissed me off. Like, Magneto? Bringing in X-Men again. This man could convince me, for sure, to join his side. These humans, this disgrace. Honestly. Telling me “I see things.” These psychonauts. Useless. Not unless I can GET to Marvel. Then, we’ve got “ooohh cool!!” That’s what I’m talking about. A real paycheck. The nerds loving the superpowers my character has. “The fairies,” sure. “The balls of light entering my field of visions…” can’t you picture me sitting there? “You cannot look at them directly, as the literature suggests.” Something like that. It would make Benedict Cumberbatch laugh, I think. As you…can see “fairies” or interdimensional beings… on some of these… substances…look. I could have skipped it. But, Olivier Sacks was a famous experimenter, heavy, and he was also a neurologist.

I am not a neurologist. Though, I wish I could speak to a neurologist about what I went through… though the sexual trauma specialist concerns himself with the neurobiology of CSA and SA. Our conversation serves as the inspiration for the TV show I’m working on… a few pages is below. And that’s something I’d actually like to produce… so we’ll see. I’m just turning my wheel here. Epically terrified. I’ll soon get a top hat, and assume my fantastical identity, as a comic, or something… as I owe the comedy stage a lot. Yesterday, I said, and it got a laugh, actually, “I’m just trying to exist, first, Jesus, I’ll get to jokes LATER…my mother wrapped me up in a SEX SCANDAL. Jesus.” And in a top hat, “I became professor x’s protegee… like YOU don’t get it, but every psychology department is rolling their eyes…” truly. “Are you a wizard?” Shrugging, “dunno, I know Amal Clooney is.” She is a wizard. She’s concocting potions, in her free time, with the Fantasia hat on. I am MICKEY, which fucked me, royally. I was cute, bad. Bad idea. The mop of curls = bad idea. Bad.

Anyway, that’s my address today. I have four auditions this week. I don’t have any job leads, unfortunately, because in the midst of ALL that FANTASY I got wrapped up in, I couldn’t get ONE piece of SOUND guidance… and I’m about to utter what has been uttered before, regardless, which is, you’re better off on your own. It’s YOUR job to figure out how LIFE works for you. That’s really the truth. And I don’t agree with the stupid screenwriter, that there is only ONE rule, like ONE ring to rule them all. It might not work, the same, and that’s what you gotta figure out. The truth about wisdom, in my opinion, is that, that’s what you learned. That’s what you cultivated, based on your experience, but the true wiseman knows…this is NOT necessarily a direct translation. It’s very important to understand that. So, what I know, is that, getting involved, without a license, without any experience with which to speak of, as if i could clip the fence, and actually get HEARD…. like, this District ONE fool is acting as if he’s from District SIX, when he cannot TRAIN a District SIX for the Hunger Games. Get this lunatic out of District SIX. That’s the screenwriter. Why is he behaving as he understand what district six is? And there, um, no one would disagree with me. Jesus Christ, this man thinks I’m from District 12, 11, whatever. Madman. So thank you. Sorry about the fence. I clipped it. You can afford to fix it. That man cost me A LOT. Haha, well played. Thank you. Gotta go. We’re like teachers and engineers, over there.

I understand my story was triggering. My personality was triggering. I did not need help. Patting YOU down, now. Like relax. Go help yourself. You are freaks and geeks. I gotta go. I have four auditions to do, and thank God they are authority figures, which I enjoy playing… so I hope I get one. But it feels good that I’m getting auditions, so we’ll see. I don’t GET the utility in flying off in some manifestation obsession. I don’t get it. I don’t get it because what’s the problem? Exactly? With making it happen? What’s the problem in remaining present? I have NO idea, if I’ll get an audition again… after this… because it hasn’t happened yet, so I have to keep solving problems, like money problems, when I didn’t have them before. So what? I might not have lived in BEL AIR, but was that necessary? Anyway, maybe I’ll get there, who knows? It’s just annoying, because most people have been building for 20 years… which is why I say, life is a constructive exercise. Ideally. You build over time. Sure, I mean, you can get big breaks, whatever.. so I hope I’ll get mine. As this has been, just, a most annoying journey.

I found a dating service, right? My friend introduced me to it. And to become a client, I need 50k, isn’t that amazing? I don’t KNOW anyone. One of these eyerolls —like, meditate the THING to come to you, when, um, “why not meet people? Why not… figure out WHO’s WHO? And how to make a network?” I mean, it’s so basic. So that’s what I’m doing now. So I’m reading, right now, just, trying to figure out what a book is… but I continue to hope that I worked out what I needed to, and even if this is a terrible tight moment, that I’ll move through it, and be able to figure out what might bring me the stuff that makes life worth living, I think, which is a touch beyond money… looking at these “evolved people…” like, companionship, respect, mastery, love, a house…” people make money in all sorts of ways… you know what I mean? People make money in all sorts of ways…

So, I found these WISEmen to be very unwise. So I wouldn’t listen to them. But of course, working with someone, in that way, meaning, as a psychologist, whatever, takes ACTUAL training and experience. And it’s rare, for a person, to admit — when they are NOT in their wheelhouse. So sometimes, I contemplate whether or not I should go in that direction, I mean, psychology, except it takes ten years… and that’s not what I wanted to do. I wanted to be an actor, I wanted to be in entertainment. So I’m taking deep breaths, and giving it a real go. And I’ll see how the next few years go. According to these MEN, however, with how AMAZING my psychic gifts were, HOW SPECIAL I WAS, in ALL CAPS, okay? You’d think, getting to the OSCARS would be a synch! Easy peasy. No issues there. I can even spontaneously appear… already there… having done the films, having um, garnered the support I needed, right? And with a respectful applause, right? I can, you know, say onstage that I finally navigated through the Truman Show… and arrived in real life… someone who is IN a movie, in real life, not in the heads of those… who… want to have supermagic powers.

So we’ll see. I should, tapping my temples, with my fingers, should be able to… navigate, as a baby pink yoda, with the ghost of Barbara Harris, my little pink yoda twin, draw my hands apart, a ninja, and become an actor. I find writing hard, but I’m working on a couple of things, for the moment, and reading… and I’ll see where I end up.

But that was deep. That was deep. I was not prepared for the shock of no longer being in my former world. Of, suddenly, needing to sit down, as my head was spinning… like, it didn’t HAVE to be there. But it was. I just mean, you can work out your problems… that’s just, a moment, if you get there, that can take some time… I really really hated the wisemen… by the way. I would have much preferred, Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting. And he would understand me. I hated being a target of so called teachers. Go away. So I’m still working some of that out, but it gets easier… but it really wasn’t that pleasant. People speak of working through “intergenerational problems” as if the world suddenly feels… lighter. Not exactly. not when you got, like, uh, did my father abuse me? Seriously? These cartoons? Not when you know the system can really FUCK you, hear me, and blame you for it. Sure, my experience was mostly personal, and psychological, as in, there’s always reform, needed, somewhere. You know? Even in how we approach… like, uh, people with problems… or whatever. I just, wasn’t the problem, in this case. I was not the problem. Hand. Palm. Yoda. Yoda is… with her yoda twin, Barbara Harris, hand in hand, walking around the reservoir in Central Park… taking a minute… no longer supernatural… but MAYBE I’ll be able to BLOW Hugh Grant away…

With bursting onto the Hollywood scene, at 40, shooting Star Wars guns, shoo shoo shoo, with the ghost of Barbara Harris, a kind of Tina Turner? Who no one…even knew existed… anything is possible. I will appear in a Victoria’s Secret lingerie get up, looking FABULOUS at “my age,” as this would be the true sign of victory. Right? Waving at you… practically naked. Taking Oscars, seriously… “thank you.” Thank you for providing me “safety…” thank you.