So the investigation I conducted a nine at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club is finally getting there

I’m just in outline, but it’s finally coming together:

Scene: “She said rape,” my mother, and so, Angelica pointed, electricity shooting out of her finger. “Do you know what I’m going to do?” She said on that fateful day, at the BH Tennis Club. I arrive at the age of nine, coming out of this situation, intending to study it not as theory but as a situation that actually happened. “I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do…”

Scene: I’m watching her kids fight on the day she launches “the nice game” we’re going to play for my father. But I’m not going to go there yet. I’m just watching them change states, losing sight of what they are doing, as my mother, and this situation, opened the world at a precise angle. It was psychology, structure. Things can happen that throws us into another state. Angelica threw open the doors. I gasped, wow, I was four, how did she know? Her timing was always so perfect. (She heard.) That’s a four year old.

“In my room NOW.”

“What did…?”

“Now.”

(Maybe I’ll go into the game, the launch, we’ll see.)

Scene:. Now, we’re in the vehicle. Angelica is driving over to my house, so I’ll use the vehicle to talk about psychological structure. She could have never have seen this coming, though she KNEW it existed in the world out there… and that’s psychological. This sounded like a fairytale to people, so it was otherworldly… and this quality that surrounded this story fascinated me. I’m studying the psychology of this.

Scene: An analysis of player one, player two. This was Angelica Leibowitz coming over to my house. She’s player 1. We all have strengths and weaknesses.

That’s a sneak preview of my outline. I really dove into the game, and I’m giving my analysis the space it deserves, I think. I found it difficult breaking out of the literal snapshots I had, which was taking up so much space on the page. So now, I’m not sure about all the details, but I want the dance to make sense, through this, this situation, psychologically. We’re going to have to dance, sometimes. So we’ll break out, where we’ll need to — slide in, real cool. Spin around. As we danced through the years, baby. But in this shattered universe, she reflected so much truth, that’s the idea. So it becomes a different exercise, sometimes. And I think it will make sense that way.

Scene: She’s coming, for me, and we’re going to enter a fairytale. My mother.

So I think I’ve worked it out, structurally, I just don’t know how it ends exactly, because, I want my mother to land as a villain, a villain for today, but I also feel like I have to give you a clear snapshot of who she is. I got the ping from this mag I’m trying to get into, like, they got a piece that was a series of vignettes. I don’t know how to structure this exactly. But I’ll figure that out. I don’t get the sense like they would penalize me because I figured out a condensed way to do it.

The outline format helped me break out of the snapshots, because I had to get to the point, so I could follow along, my logic, and it sort of seems like it’s a better idea, to write more like that.

I feel so positive about it, today, finally, because it was a real wrestle, and I even found a way, I think, to bring in these opponents of mine —between the LINES— like, here he comes, opponent 65. I couldn’t even GET to my goddamn house! People shutting me DOWN, at step one. But Serena Williams, you see, she’s also here. Please, just send a ball in their direction flying hard and fast, let them feel the power you have, that looks like sunday in the park from their TV screens. They are DELUSIONAL. I couldn’t even get there, you know, just because of the way people responded to this story. And I’ll bring in, taking responsibility for self, too. But I am no longer playing certain games. Serena Williams? She will not play with you, if you do not BELONG at the USA OPEN. Do not be ridiculous. If you belong in the STANDS, if you play tennis as a HOBBY, she doesn’t CARE. She isn’t going to play with you. Okay? Now, that’s crazy, if I were to STEP onto court, acting like an idiot, trying to play with Serena Williams.

This is the point: we took care of those people in my mind. I’ll be here, standing next to Serena Williams, as you walk out onto the court, trying to address me. I’m laughing. But at least, I figured it out, like I can do this as an analysis. I can speak about my break down of sorts, or just coming to WAKE UP to all this, and it’s just not going to look good, you see. I’ll get there. Like was it true about my father? That’s the point. I think I have it basically worked it, and I’m started to feel elated, just proud of myself. I’m thinking Hannah Arendt, in that, she would have understood me. I studied this. I studied this structurally. This scandal. Just opponent 75, there, that MALE. Taking a deep breath. No? Holy moly. But I still want to make it dramatic, thrilling, because it was a drama. And that ends up being, in this case, extremely human. And she’s going to understand that, that’s really my interest. The human being. And you can’t really divorce our love of drama, or something. I still have to figure out these details.

I see a bright future ahead of me, and that’s relieving. You know? I’m trying to trust that. And I think, I’ll skip ahead, because if I’m right, if I have something special to contribute, even, what I learned personally? You’ll always always kill Jesus. Always. Like, there are many many special people out there, and they can be killed. So, just to let you know. That can happen. There is unfairness. I don’t know what to say about the future, these weird pockets I fell into, like, it as a navigational point, only because the idea is unstable, but I hope I’m right. I hope that this will go very well. It was a battle, but I just have stuck with it, and I think I finally cracked through… I just don’t want to get too ahead of myself, because I’ve gone through HIGHS and LOWS, and the future is part of it. I don’t need to tell you about THE GLASS, or the ELASTIC BANDS on the sun loungers. THE SNAPSHOT, like presenting you a photograph. SEE? This is what happened. I found that to be tough, because I’m a visual person. Where someone who reads books is going to want… something else. You know what I mean? I was thinking I wasn’t going to be able to write a short, basically. I’m not going into the whole thing.

That’s it, I’m off. I’m going to keep with my outline for a minute because I don’t know what the end is. I don’t know what to do with the dance, exactly, yet, only that, it’s always there. I break out formally, because I reach points in this analysis, where I sort of have to… and I hope the party, the celebration, the lambada, what it has to teach us, even about what the divine is, will be clear. Simply. I’m not exactly the type of person who likes spinning out too far. I like staying contained, so I like dance because there’s the concept of center. So I’m just not that type of person. And why I had to meet this guy, opponent 75… Serena Williams. She’s not hesitating. You’re in the wrong place. You see? It’s true though. Don’t WALK out onto a court with Serena Williams… if you do not belong there. (I have to laugh, because there is truth in that statement.) Do not be ridiculous. Feeling like this guy wanted me to lose it. This guy. And now, no one is going to know if my father was a child molester. Now, pointing to the GATE with the racket — get the fuck off my court. Serena Williams can deliver a ball too fast. YOU KNOW THAT. Which is WHY you STAY OUTSIDE. You see? These clowns… pouring onto this court. Like, Serena Williams, this is NOT THE GAME SHE PLAYS. She’s not getting involved. That’s for sure. If “this guy,” comes on the court, she’s going to say, “I believe you are in the wrong place.” Amazing. Just amazing. In its own way. Just what this story provoked.

Sorry. I had to laugh. And, so, I’m off to finish it, as I just have to get this out of my system, I have to move this along, but FINALLY, you know? Just trying to get there, to a clear idea of what it is. And how to approach it. I mean sentences. Like how it moves internally. The outline just helped me get rid of stuff I don’t need.

Moving my "Starting over" blog over here

Everyday my relationship with the guru dissipates though the ridiculous nature of it, which I don’t know what to do with, reading Modern Love, going, I have no clue how I would even synthesize what this was, even, so my major dilemma in life was coming from a story that triggered helpers. Weird attachments. That’s a book title, maybe, instead of fierce. It was so weird.

I just read how this woman found a better therapist in AI than in real life in Modern Love. I just downloaded a book to read that didn’t sound like it had a “hanger” in the guru’s words, but rather a string of her experiences…Year of the Water Horse. I wasn’t that OFF, in terms of my approach, I just didn’t know what writing was. What can I say? I’m not sure if it was a matter of GETTING IN TOUCH WITH MY FEELINGS, in ALL CAPS, but just reading around. But I definitely, now, am in touch with the problem this story brought me as an attractive person? I can’t totally penetrate that, but my personality caused me problems, but in a public space, I might be called inspirational, I really don’t know how to frame it, but THAT was a heartbreaking problem to have. This guru, right? He’s going to find me remarkable enough to grace me with his presence, that we know, but he doesn’t have the GUTS, and it required none, to tell me he sincerely appreciated who I was as a person. Or else? Was I just there to fulfill his desire to help someone? Not get a job, but manifest their life? Wow. And, I JUST arrived in LA. There wasn’t any problem, and this man was obsessed with problems. The problem was — living with my adopted sister to BEGIN WITH.

This, looking back at this disgusting man, wasn’t something to CUE VIOLINS over, dude. This was a — stop acting like this. Get a job. Get your own place. This isn’t HARD. No spending that money. I wish my father had put it off until 40. The whole amount. She can’t, under any circumstances outside of an emergency, use this money until she’s 40. But in my father’s mind, by 35, I should have a career by then. Not the case. And 500k, sorry, that’s a solid nestegg to receive at 26, you understand. I had loans to pay off, sure, but I can’t even deal with myself, honestly, just the way I was operating, but AGAIN, I am a MOTHER now, someone who gives a SHIT. I’m not GOING ANYWHERE BECAUSE I AM ANGRY. I’m MOVING CLOSER TO YOU. ANGER. YEAH. What Wthe fuck is in this closet? Who the fuck is this person? Who are you emailing? UP in your business. That was the Zen Master Sybil’s point, the only psychologist I worked for that did me any good.

That’s your problem, you said. “You do not CARE,” and she SHOWED ME the rage in it. It’s just red energy. And the thing is, unfortunately, people can get attached to YOUR problems because it distracts them from THEIRS. Watch out. Learn how to put on a FACE, yes.

What sucks is, looks fade, unless you’re Amanda Seyfried who looks so beautiful at 40, she’s a radiant goddess, she really is, of vulnerability, groundedness, and simple charm. Looking at her, all I thought was, God, I wish I never opened my mouth. I wish I never opened my mouth. A strong line. “Do you have a story?” Nope. Nothing to see here. (Deal with it privately.) Do not BOND over this. Trap. It’s a trap.

Now, I see how I could use my experiences and direct them into a role — because, taking a deep breath, I didn’t care that much, you guys! En revanche, as we say in French, I didn’t care THAT MUCH ABOUT MY STUPID FAMILY STORY. But I could USE the experience to make a contribution in the world. Why did it feel as though I was the ONLY person who ever read a BOOK, or ever TALKED to anyone? People come from BACKGROUNDS, sure. But—weird attachments.

In any case, who cares? We only have one life. Forget life is LONG. Right now, it feels like, “wow, that was a long time I didn’t have my shit together.” Jesus Christ, if you saw a picture of my mother — I’ll post it, you’d grain away, “holy shit.” SHE, my father, I mean, I can’t with this man, was an IMPOSSIBLE fucking task to work out. This woman was degree of fucked up. And I see myself in this subliminal space, as I’m editing, rewriting, so I don’t think I’ve gotten there yet, but I desscribed the psychic period, my thirties, as the corridor in Penn Station when you enter from 7th ave — yeah, I mean it’s NEW sure— on the way to the A C E line where teenagers rehearse their dance routines. (I’ve thought about it.) Right now, I feel like a waste of space, time, a waste of time and space. That was self indulgent and a disgusting display of wealth, even, on all accounts. We just picked a corner, set up a boombox, and experimented on a grounbreaking pas de deux… useless. But it’s a corridor in the station, sure, like I could stop there and hang out on my way to the A C E line. But why? It was a stop I have trouble moving past, but I do, I keep doing it, because I look back… and of course I see the whole PATH of it, as a mother now, and maybe I’ll never be one for real, thinking of Ann Lee, but I had to become one. It was imperative. Okay, clearing my throat, there might be 1 billion stories in the world, but not for my kid. You know? So here we are, and I want to feel a sense of purpose.

I love to dance, how funny, I’ll keep moving, you know, I’ll keep figuring out where I belong… but even that word, enough. It’s not belonging. It’s like, what I want to do… because right now, yes, it hurts sometimes looking at Amanda Seyfried—she’s my age, she’s had a stellar career, she puts her kids to bed, and I don’t know if I want kids, in fact, I don’t know, but it’s definitely a possiblity. It’s another one of these YOU BUILD OVER TIME. It’s not just about a career. So who knows, maybe I’ll take up a spot in PENN STATION and dance around… I don’t know, work on routines. On Saturdays. My friend LIZ would come, my darling friend, and with her particularly innocent gaze, she’d point and say, “hey, you’re not bad.” She’s a real friend. I found that, one of those. I see her often, right now, at least, and there are no complexes, she’s not a so-called “alpha female,” which drives me CRAZY as a phrase. I hate hierarchy, I prefer respect. One of these concepts that’s…disappeared. And so, thus, I am someone who doesn’t like to RELATE, I believe in differences. Respecting those. I’m an Arendtian. Especially after my goddamn experience of being fucking psychic. I imagined her… turning the page there, taking a deep breath.

“Oh no…” she’s already worried, looking at the cover of THAT book called “my thirties.” She might skip to the end, “did she make it out?” So now, will she defy all odds and rise a star entertainer in her forties? Will she… make the impossible happen with this guru in this corridor singing “impossible things are happening everyday…” from Cinderella. And I’m dancing, dancing, to hip hop, like, I’m not exactly that person. I’m grooving. You know? I’m Casper, that was my nickname at school. I might wear a hat, type deal. I’m an Alice in Wonderland character, my friends at THAT school, would understand. “You gotta get a hat…” I bought mirrored furniture, started to, as a means of making a space for my mother’s love of mirrors, aesthetically. I thought, alright, I’m embracing the fairytale, a bit. I have Tina Turner, this light, beaming at me… whatever that means.

And now, guess what? Not psychic. I’m not psychic anymore. I do not “see things,” which is funny, even if I saw “real imagery,” if you would. It’s just, what exactly was the point of this psychicness? From my perspective? Self-importance. I’m sure Ann Lee really stopped the storm, that she was able to predict the future. I don’t know what to say, you know? I didn’t want to be this person. I’m not on a mission from God, type deal. I just, ugh, found this all self-indulgent. I had to hang on, I did, through this film, “the god of film,” as a joke, was chill. I just have to laugh, at that. I am with “the ancient concepts.” Please.

If anything it freaked me out, more so than anything else, which I had to wrestle with, like, yesterday in the theater, I dropped my head. Maria, you’re not PICKING UP ON ANYTHING! You’re watching a movie that’s stimulating you, Jesus. But that, I dashed that out, quickly. It’s barely a thought, a thing. It’s a strict no. Let’s see, I posted something on social media, and my friend’s response sort of freaked me out. Going to SAG screenings isn’t exactly the sign of things LOOKING UP. Or me doing a Columbia SHORT isn’t exactly THAT AMAZING. She texted ME RIGHT THERE AND THEN when I posted the story…and I don’t know what that means, because it didn’t feel supportive, actually. And I was working 24 hours….. you see, so no, I wasn’t going to respond right away, and now, she hasn’t responded, which might not mean anything, it’s just, I find texting to be… a nightmare for me, so I’m letting go of all attachment… there is no problem. That’s the new baseline. Enough.

The texting aside, you see, I had to wrestle with myself — for real, like you’re not PSYCHIC. And like, yeah, casting out the demons, sure, to use this imagery, I, in a holy fire, roared at these fucking men who would INSIST that I was. Get the fuck out of my head. Cast Away, starring Tom Hanks. For the love of Christ. How did I get here? But Seyfried retained a youthful spirit, in a graceful posture, so I’ve had some struggles with my youthful spirit, my feeling like I’m 17, since I feel as though I just got here as a person. I’m over whether I was abused as a four year old because no one gives a shit. There you go, there I am, speaking to myself a few years back. I assure you, everyone cared about your stupid fucking family story for shits and giggles. Weird attachments. But when it gets real, no one is going to give a shit. Zero. No one gives a shit about child abuse.

And there, I feel like the Joker’s daughter. I would be so there for my friend, it would be, night and day, and why? Why? My mother, right? I saw so much truth in her, in what she reflected. But I am a rare person who came from particular circumstances. And now I see myself on Riverside park, because it has the air of a neighborhood for a superhero… I don’t know what to say about what I heard in these psychedelic journies… like, I saw a couple of women who came to understand that they had been abused… which made me tremble. “It can become your superpower…” so, firstly, why do AMERICANS speak like this? Next, the sexual trauma specialist simply used the word: empowerment.

I didn’t exactly get illuminated, if you would, but it definitely freaked me out. Spirit guides? What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t want to be here. The line between life and death is arbitrary, and I have to slap my hand, at myself, you father is simply coming to MIND. Stop. Don’t get tense and worried. Let these idiots go off on their tangents. The channeling thing was awful, like another energy was in my body. I hated it, and I had to seriously seriously work it OUT — out. In a restaurant, now. In my mind. Where I work. Sitting on a bench. OUT.

Look at me, bask in my giftedness, which I didn’t really play, to be honest, I suppose I investigated a little bit, though, what to say about hinges, in the mind, where — these plant people, to insult them, even, as they said I could be a faciliator ? I had THAT gift? Whatever that means. Looking at myself, people, it was obvious that I wasn’t a candidate. It’s interesting what you see, though, or what I saw, or could see…like I saw a woman’s schizoprehnia… the images that came to mind… uh oh. That was scary. She hadn’t told anyone that she had a psychic break… recently… and I couldn’t really read the imagery… at first, only go, I can’t even look at these symbols… need to get away. And then, she came for me… I had to wrestle with this woman, because the facilitator was out to lunch. Just states. She was fine the next day, by the way, but that was a scary moment I had. But I saw it, I guess, that she had schizoprehnia, something. A psychic break…right away. I had experiences like that. I could pick up, sure, I mean, who cares?

It’s funny, because my experiences in that realm make me draw a strict line — I will not go there.

I had my moments. I was asked by the Russians, this Russian underground family I made in Paris, to help a Ukranian refugee through a terrifying hallucination he had, as it turned out, I was supposed “gifted” in this realm. (I can’t help by laugh.) When we first took off on this terrifying journey he took to leave the train station, you understand, he wasn’t aware of how tense he was, terrified, he lost all his brothers, and he gets to Paris, and he slams into “the devil.” No worries, the devil? Flick flick flick, like a cigarette. Like I give a shit about the devil, this figure isn’t scary. Enough. Bombs are. Men with guns. I can hold that for someone. But sure, we can work out the devil, as he couldn’t even wrap his mind around that. Now, I tried to simply, at first, to slow him down… “where did you come from?” He can’t GO THERE, you see, which was fine, but he’s going to GO THERE, the devil, once he felt I wasn’t going to judge him or recoil because he mentioned “the devil.” FLICK FLICK FLICK. This puny figure next to GUNS, man. I can’t stand this symbol, I told him, I cannot STAND this symbol. Everyone gets scared. I just HATE that figure. ENOUGH. (Fire crackling.) I didn’t get upset, obviously, I kept my state extremely calm, neutral, more so than anything else. Total neutral. But, because I saw imagery from time to time that ended up having a real application, I decided to try and put intention behind it by setting up a container…a visualization experiment. I was wondering if anything relevant might pop up. So, I walked to the train station, I had been there before, I set up the space in my mind and — there he was… across the train station. NOW, honestly, I would have asked, “did you have time to pack a bag?” I didn’t see a bag. Stuff like that. I found him, in my imagination, in a state of total shock. A deer in headlights. I stopped him, “too fast,” as he was in a state, obviously! In a state of terror and panic. He might not KNOW, you see. “Hold. Where did you come from?”

“What did that matter?”

Well.

And then, I got a moving image, you see, of a green landscape out a train window… I remember it, even now, so sensationally, the green, the dark red cabin, and no, it doesn’t have to be literal, and without thinking, it just looked different, you see, so I said, “you had a passage someplace else?” Curiously, I wasn’t even thinking. He snapped his head at me, “how did you know?” “Nevermind, it’s not important.” I’ve had moments like that. More than one, but who cares? People love these sorts of stories. And I’m not the person who’s GOING OFF the first thing I see, feel, nope. Time. Like I give a shit about images coming to mind. Give a shit. It was a good war story, and right now, I’m thinking I’ll tell a more SWEEPING book… so all these chapters in my life will just be that, and the running THREAD through it, that would be obvious. It was a good “war story…” and, what do you do, when — you see someone tortured? You see? The TEMPTATIONS. I interrupted him, cut the chase:

“Let me guess, there were temptations?”

His eyes bulged. “How did you know?”

“The Bible.”

“The devil is real?”

“No, but he exists in a way,” I do not understand WHY psychology has to be A JAPANESE FAN DANCE full of mystery. Step by step. He can’t shake the reality of it because guess what? It was real. What he experienced, Jesus, this topic drives me nuts. I was amazed by the script of it. By the book, this stupid figure, I hate the devil. “A broken record,” I told him in the beginning, so annoyed. He had his moments, where he cracked, just a little, I mean, almost laughed—good. But that was a hard shell to crack, and you got to do it gently. But here we went…into the temptations. I was watching his body, his emotional experience. It reminded me of Tim o’Brien where he described war as love, terror, everything. It wasn’t so much love, but that was a complicated experience. Obviously. And in this case, he got SUCKED in… so he’s wrought, confused, he wanted so badly for some button to be pushed, of course he did. Who wouldn’t want a million dollars man? To fall from the sky? But there’s EVIL in it, right? Lots of feelings CONTAINED in that encounter. He freaks out, right? And as he pulls away, gets CLOSER TO THE DOOR, which is the only thing I see, we can wade a bit, but we’re going to come back, so we just have to get out that door… and if you put yourself in HIS shoes, that had to be the worst cross he ever made in his life. So, he tries to break away, and that stimulates the hallucination to demonstrate the full scope of his POWERS. He pins people down at the station, in a state of agony and death, grusome, terrifying, he didn’t want ANYONE TO DIE! And, I’m just a container. Now here, in terms of my experiment, I don’t even remember him by the fire… as we were really by a fire in the woods, in the middle of Paris, though really the outskirts. I only see him at the station in my mind. Whatever. But we made it out… we did. Out the door. And I won’t talk about my feelings personally, because they aren’t the point. I only hold a space, for him, even respectfully.

This is not something I can relate to. I can sit and contend with how the images or experiences communicated the agony of war, the bloodbath on the floor, the turmoil, how he can’t quite get out of the door… in a state of shock, his mind was blown. It didn’t make him crazy.

I ended up in this situation, funny enough, where I was asked to do this, because this Russian woman saw me “as a true clown.” This was my job, you know? In the shamanic sense. I was the person to go to if you’ve been through madness, I will get you out, (I’m laughing), like I give a shit about my feelings. You see? I came from particular circumstances. So sure, I suppose I could work with people? I don’t know what to say about the PSYCHICNESS. Maybe someone else would have simply asked the question, “did you have a passage somewhere else?” As a question that popped up. You know? Or, they would have DESCRIBED their feelings, through this, I don’t know. I wanted to be there as fully as I could for this man, that was my only intention. I even called it an honor to be here. Okay? We’re going to get through THIS leg, just the devil, and if we need to wrestle with him, for a moment, that’s fine. I reframed it, in the end, like, “he’s not bad," you know…

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s not bad… not if you don’t believe in that binary…” like, he was struggling, personally, with the temptations. You’re not at fault, you’re not bad. He’s not BAD, again, FLICK. I cannot STAND the devil. The Year I was Invaded by the Russians is a good script, I think, and I could easily transpose that scene, because the WANT from both characters is describable… there’s a beginning, change, end. So I might try that first. The Year I was Invaded by the Russians.

Always the same routine, with this guy, the SAME routine. It’s boring. And hopefully, you’ll start laughing… enough! (Later, with her? I cannot stand the devil.) I’m with the Native Americans, you see, in Anne Lee, shifting my eyes: here come the Christians… these lunatics. Their obsessions with the SUMMER SOLISTICE. The eclipse, you see? The Native Americans looking at these man’s drawings. A little, “crazy.” Sex is evil, etc etc etc. Around the world, dancing in this field, around the world… I’m dancing to that song in the middle of this field.

I’m on the side of Seyfried, in that, she was so graceful about it and yet so moved that a woman was a religious leader. Totally, high five, you nailed that shit. You DID IT. I’m like a basketball player— pointing at YOU, like you did that, ooooo, one for the team. There’s nothing but LOVE and cheer coming from me. I’m just watching movies right now, because I don’t know what a dramatic build is, but — I wonder what a screenwriter would say about the build of that movie? Like, is that APEX satisfying? Like the burning building — the BULIDING was effective because it was a real fucking fire. But again, biopic, right? I’m trying to learn. But obviously, there are possibilities. I guess the APEX of the Russians, as they slipped in right before Putin did. Gasp, in a restaurant called love, almost as if a reversal of Master and Margarita —like, oh my God, it’s true, you people are like that, thinking about Dave Chappelle saying it…”A Navajo?”

“Wow,” his delivery. “I studied you in social studies.”

I might try and work on that today, actually, as I need to feel like I’m moving ahead, a bit. And who knows, I keep looking out there to the field of actresses, like, who could play my mother? I didn’t ask a question, but I would have asked, was that doable for you, did you find that hard? I just didn’t want to put her on the spot. I mean, playing that sort of character. I feel like that’s a private question. But I was curious… if she found it hard, or she had a strict process. My mother, at times, she worries me for that reason, but again, I’m just thinking LOGIC, that makes sense. There’s no logic there, really, but I might be able to… problem solve, find the art in it. But, like, the actor said, another one, who she so respected, it was clear. He commended her for not falling prey to getting OVERCOME, if you would, beyond necessary. THIS IS DR. J though. She’s overcome for sure.

That was a truly truly insane woman. Look at this picture.

A Joker.

Now cue the soundtrack. Looking at the world in relation to her.

She gave you away to save you from herself. Right, she LIED about her husband being a child molester, wrapped up some MOTHER up in this madness. (And there, I see Chappelle, I do, nodding, like, I sort of said that… ) but these people are telling me that to make themselves feel better. NO, she didn’t GIVE ME AWAY. She wrapped me up in a little sex scandal.

I don’t know… someone that fucked up, that wounds you beyond the personal, to be honest, at all these assholes. Talking to me about all mothers being crazy, do not insult me. It’s a bad photo, but that’s it. That’s basically it. In terms of feeling my feelings, I don’t know, thinking about this goddamn guru — this Hollywood screenwriter? Barking up my tree? — I could picture fighting for people’s lives! You know? One of THOSE? Like get the fuck out of my way, picturing myself in some movie, someone who can’t…cool it, maybe, in a police station. “You care too much.” Stop. And of course, the line would be, of course it would: you don’t care ENOUGH. Leaving. Fuck this place.

Now, I picture Robin Williams’ face coming over that bench, in Good Will Hunting, with that smile. What would he recite?

Looking at a refugee who saw the DEVIL? Sure. I’ll, get you out. I get that drive, just thinking about Anne Lee, her passion. She went through so much, so much loss, that was gruesome, I couldn’t even look. Please! I had to laugh at myself, unable to GET THROUGH THIS PICTURE. I remembered my cousin Angela, beginning to laugh, because I was writhing on her couch, unable to STAND Legends of the FALL. “I can’t do this!!” “It’s just a movie, Meri.” “I know,” standing away from the TV. I had to face away. Turning around, not wanting to see this progression! I had a similar experience with Dawson’s Creek but for different reasons.

“TOO MANY MISUNDERSTANDINGS!”

I suppose I had to laugh, you know, my mother was so cruel, she was so messed up. I’m more so angry at who I met, and how they dared to speak to me. THAT’s who she is. Crazy upon sight. You’re in the WRONG MOVIE. At the police station nightly, and like, no one is doing anything, and I’m FOUR, not fourteen. Like, in my investigation, my undercover investigation that I can’t quite structure, not knowing what to do, but I’m going to keep reading and figuring it out. Angelica and I had to STAY on the FIRST interaction with this woman for quite some time. “So you turned to her…” alerted by me. “HERE! TAKE HER!” Wee!!! And the sexual trauma specialist, you see, is worried, not BACKPEDALING, like “no, it doesn’t mean anything…” to him, it did. He’s trying to support me, like, “from beginning to end this is troubling.” Stop. He wasn’t exactly CUING VIOLINS on my ass. Some sappy song. THOUGH, shrug, who knows? Through the years! When everything went wrong… together we were strong… I picture Jim Carrey, a lot, as I move through this time…he would GET IT, he would HIT with a little invisible mallet, the chord. How heartwarming. Child molesters. Heartwarming tale, Dr. J. Sentimental.

Like I give a shit at this point, I mean, this woman is going to die, and so will her little escort. In any case, thank you to the “god of film,” to bring in my Neapolitan roots, for assisting me on my journey to process deep wounds… I guess, you know? Couldn’t be vulnerable. The NFL coach within me is saying, “nope, not in a dress, lady.” Watching these MEATY MEN RUN and SLAM into things. There’s a real world, too, you know. My heart was so broken, really, by the psychic stuff, um, just where I ended up, contending with my own vulnerability. Alright, I’m going to read, because that’s all I have to do, and I will try writing a scene between this refugee and I, and I’ll post it. Get that done.

I don’t know what to say about the psychicness, I could have skipped it. It felt masterbatory if I’m being totally honest. Now, if there are real psychics out there, I am your biggest fan, actually. I am not against. In my case, I’m staying out of it. I’m not getting involved, with a bow. I do not believe in hierarchy. I’m laughing. In the movie right? I am zero, no one. I was so turned off by all this greatness, if you would. And I have nothing to show for it, you understand. So I’m back, found, here. I have a sword, a bow, a crossbow even — approach me if you dare. This guy, truly, he told me I was TOO PSYCHIC, imagine?

Nothing but KIDS wanting to be Pollock — dipping brushes in and throwing paint around… too psychic to manifest. Utterly crazy, and that’s my mother, you understand. Wanting to drive to her house, break her shit, with Tom Cruise, someone like this playing a secret spy that I fall in love with immediately. Jerry Maguire. There’s your elevator pitch. He’s going to have to calm me down, unable to contain his laughter, his love for me, Jesus. “Listen bitch…” hearing me go off, “telling some GIRL at the Continental Hotel in Paris, France, that he’s a secret spy?” Looking at HIM. “Absurd.” He’s laughing at how I crack eggs, calling this woman INSANE. At HOW I crack eggs, specifically. How I make eggs.

I say that because this producer I met, suggested, maybe “you go home because your mother is about to die…” like in A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints. I went back to my humble abode, like, um, that’s never happening. I don’t know if she handled me inappropriately sexually, you see, um, we’re in a different (picturing the spy not ABLE to stop laughing in shock) picture. You see? So, that aside, putting it “over there…” sliding that “over there…” like Jm Carrey is going to understand why I am comedic, in my approach. Look, scratching my brow, that took three weeks that crack, conceptually. Now, I can picture 13 movies. But the first? If this were for real? It’s Jerry Maguire. I’m going to the Pentagon, wherever I need to, and I’m GETTING A REAL SPY. Immediately. And we’re going to fall in love so completely, it’s going to be hilarious… picturing this guy, looking at them.

He’s a real spy, smiling, I hope you don’t mind. “Sit down.”

“Imagine?” Sitting in front of him. “At the CONTINENTAL HOTEL,” and I have said these words to Obama’s picture. “In Paris France. He tells me he used to work for the government,” air quotes on “the” government, and I can’t make it through this monologue. “And she goes, SHUSH, rubbing her finges together, double life…” And, look, to him, the spy who loved me, “he’s climbing mountains…” vague, with a fantastical hand, Italian, “searching for Osama Bin Laden…” We’re going to get married, you see. “Was he a child rapist, woman?”

Imagine? This was my family. “WERE YOU? A child abuser? WOMAN?” Truly. “Angelita,” fuck Angelica Leibowitz, a name so close to Angelita Leiberman, it’s like, hm, you might as well just keep the name. “She didn’t know how YOU HANDLED ME.” Okay? Ridiculous. “So you want to SEE ME?” That would be EARTH SHATTERING conceptually, because she never even CALLED me in my life, practically. I don’t know what this madwoman went YAPPING ON ABOUT, but the SPY has access to your PHONE RECORDS bitch. FBI, they are BEHIND ME as an organization.

So, that’s for real. But of course, I could come up with other ideas. Even a international spy family AKA Royal Tanenbaums with Cate Blanchett kicking my ass, and Jordan Woods Robinson my hilarious brother. That works. Just some crazy family that’s dealing with some internal problem.

So, you know, I don’t know if I was wrong, actually, in my approach, I just needed to work out the emotional…it’s different now. I hear, see, read about mothers left and right. She was a total disgrace. I don’t care about mentally ill. Like, that’s some cop out, okay? What? Why did you act like that? And I would wrestle the devil, wouldn’t I? To get a human being back, if you catch my drift. Like I gave a shit, in the sense, about the personal. It was all personal. So, I’ll think about it, keep thinking about it, and you know, people have their interests. Natalie Portman went and studied psychology… I just mean what my life is, what it looks like.

But, I keep landing, I do, in entertainment. Like that’s where I’d like to be… more of a speaker, than writer, though I gotta figure it out. I gotta figure out how to make LIFE WORK. How does it WORK in my case? I have no idea. And look, everyone LOVES to give ADVICE. THE JOB is to FIGURE THAT OUT. For yourself. What I know? Despite my feelings, which are a bit touch and go, right now, personally, I’m DOING IT ANYWAY. That’s quite a picture. Heartbreaking. Yes. And I found her, oh my God, to be the toughest make up, genetics, sure, to work out. But I’m here now. That’s it. I accept that… I kinda just have to do what I couldn’t do back then, and just keep on figuring out HOW life works for me now that the basics… are aligned.

You are going to want a HOUSE. You are going to want MONEY in the bank. You are going to want a purpose. I’m still working out, the “oh life is this tricky entreprise” where “you make the same mistakes…” I’m exhausted.

So that thought this morning. I’m going to keep reading… I’m going to keep figuring out the book in the back of my mind, momentarily, as I try to put together A STORY. This undercover investigation, or the miracle mile story… and I need to think income, job, and keep steering. I have to get back to these open mics. I’m going back into the rehearsal room next week.

Someone swiped my dresser — I left it for a half hour, dunno, in the lobby, thinking I was in a safe building? Tacked messages everywhere. I drove to Jersey for it, I got two. It’s NYC, I know. Hopefully, they’ll put it back. But making peace with mirrors. I feel like it’s one of those, “aw, yeah, I like mirrored dressers, actually…” I could picture people saying that, “love a mirrored dresser, sure…” not so much the walls, Dr. J, but the dresser is good. I needed a real piece of furniture. I’ll get more, but I needed to throw down a block, and the person in my building who took my dresser, maybe thinking it was up for grabs? Just put it back. I wish I put a note on it, I did, so it’s fine.

Alright, enough. I’m off to LOVE this day with Tina Turner… my light in dark places. We don’t need another HERO. We don’t need to know the waaaaayyy home.