That chrome bar

I had a refreshing dream last night, as my dreamscape over the past few years after my event was, at times, only nightmarish. I had an interesting one early on, on the spiritual end of the spectrum. I walked out of a house in the middle of nowhere — and a turkey vulture was perched on the fence waiting for me. That’s it.

I looked it up because it was so specific, and I read that vultures were guide animals. They lead you between life and death, between realms, so to speak, so it was almost as if he, she, was taking me back…they came to fetch me.

I’d never had a dream with a vulture before. The spiritual interpretation behind its eating of dead flesh was: cleansing. No waste. That was one of the gentlest of the dreams I had. Sometimes, I had to take sick days after these dreams.

I had an interaction with one of my friends over email yesterday — I had to excuse myself because not knowing if that was a lie about my father threw me into turmoil and confusion so how people around me reacted didn’t help me orient myself. She ended up reaching out asking me “whatever is going on,” and I lost my cool, like I do not want to repeat myself. I wrote her a note, because she stopped following my newsletter, and I didn’t want to leave it like that. She said she’s been there for me, and yes, totally, that wasn’t my point. How people reacted to THAT, that was confusing, as she didn’t even mention it, other than acknowledging I’ve been through a lot.

I said, I don’t know if I’m misinterpreting, but she stated quite clearly that she believes I went through a psychosis, and what I’m saying, is that, I do not know. So I just excused myself, because finally, I had one friend who was able to simply have a conversation with me about it. She didn’t go, “oh okay.” She sat down with me, which is what I needed. I needed a HAND.

So if she’s wondering what’s going on with me, don’t hesitate. That’s what’s going on with me, not like I can’t talk about other things, but with new friends it’s easier because we don’t have history. I don’t feel the presence of an old story. She said, “I’m around if you want to chat.” Well, right now, I’m not really in that mood. I still need to sort out a basic question. Even this morning, I had to toss and turn around her disbelief, you see. If SHE believes me, not, it’s not so much that, it was a LIE in the past, and now I don’t know. And in my case, it’s driving me NUTS that I have to deal with disbelief.

When I come into contact with these friends, who aren’t hearing what I’m saying, I end up going through more turmoil. I said to another friend who straight up shut me down the second I started vocalizing, I need to hear myself think. I can’t talk to people like that, it’s too confusing. I need time, a clear head, as I sort this out for myself. I do not need opinions from people who don’t even know the full story. It’s a bit of a physical ordeal… I mean what I say. I went through agony… I don’t know. That’s why I cannot talk right now. “We’ll talk on the other side…” it’s a big “no.” Being with people who have no opinion, no attachment, nothing, that’s easier.

So I had a pleasing dream last night, I was in a fantasy world, where I was in an exotic land, Thailand, on a luxury cruise liner sailing above the world… Jason Momoa was there…speaking of “the celebrities” treating me with respect. I ended up somewhere very beautiful, aesthetic, art. The house I was at, though there were some treacherous females, but nothing that threatening, was utterly gorgeous with a lake out front with boats. I would come here to hang out and write for a week or so, I thought. That was pleasant. It was artistic, cultural.

I woke up, rocked around whether it’s true or not true, to just place my two feet on the ground once again. I do not KNOW. Okay? Please. I had to go through some of my experiences that I don’t know what to do with, and neither does a professional, like, he isn’t telling me anything, he’s just listening. He’s saying in time, I might be able to reach a conclusion, but that’s not when you punch someone down. Let’s take this gently… sailing across the universe in Thailand. Maybe a period piece. Jason Momoa. Shaking my head because I think the real Jason Momoa would be blowing up for me right now.

“WHY THE HELL are people doing this to YOU?”

Truly, as I’ve said, as a joke, I’ve needed the support of “the celebrities” through this, especially since a Hollywood screenwriter just HAD to come into the play, right???? Absurd! So, you know, I appreciated his appearance in my dream. I am not attached to WHO, I’m only seeking spiritual support from “the celebrities.”

What can I say? I didn’t have any support or acknowledgment of THAT, that GLARING question that I have. Speaking of that chrome bar. Like, yes, she called me, checked in, what I’m saying is, I needed a HAND, because I would have gotten to this man sooner… that sort of thing. I found a specialist in sexual trauma. It’s fine, now. Just to say, THAT didn’t help. But then, people don’t know what to do, and I do not KNOW what to say about “other people” thinking they’ve been raped in mental health events, and neither did THE SPECIALIST, you see. But I came from THAT story. I’m asking to be heard.

That chrome bar.

I’m moving through this story. I decided to concentrate on getting it done, because I can’t stand this anymore. So I’m sitting with many notecards, not knowing what the end is, but the genre of psychological dramedy helped me to expand my sense of scope, how I was approaching it.

Right now, soon into Dr. J’s introduction, I introduce the lie, that she lied about my father, but isn’t it already a lie? Wouldn’t incest, cringing, yes, because it’s disgusting…wouldn’t that require lying? Or, even abuse, as Amy Griffin wrote, “if you tell anyone I’ll kill you.”

So I go through her stories, her theatrics, even the spectacles we put on for my father (wait what?) That’s fine, the “wait what?” Just because that’s what it was like. The spectacle of it, she didn’t want to send me to foster care, where I would have been at a higher likelihood of being abused, even again.

“What did you think?” Turning to her, at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club — the jacuzzi.

“Did she have sex?” I can’t help but laugh, because upon meeting my mother, she was unusually joyful. I’ll go into her personality, her sexual dysfunction. And it’s all about that chrome bar into the pool — she was too bright. Was it that dark? Always the tennis match supporting my analysis. Was I looking at incest, Dr. J? In short, my aunt and uncle drove to her family’s house in Pennsylvania… and I asked them, “first impression?”

“Creepy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” his wife chimed, from Queens. “Had to leave the next day, too creepy.”

That’s what I’m expecting in this case — so I’m seeing truth in her.

In short, it’s what Margaret Atwood said in the NYTimes recently, “very very likely we’re all going to get molested…in our youths.” Is it that bright a problem? She reflected the truth, that was my working hypothesis, and the Catholic Church abused a billion dollars worth of children. Dr. J is running into church every Sunday to accost our priest with her rapes… an eye witness on speed dial. I already have her on tape. I’m this person. I’m Dr. J’s daughter.

Maybe I’ll put this scene here: I’m stepping out of the bathroom at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club, a great location, in dirty sneakers. You’d think that a man raping anyone let alone HIS child would be an automatic goodbye? That’s not a “I need time,” that’s a Dave Chappelle reference once again. “You just move…” you don’t need to think about it, whether or not you want to be peed on…it’s time to get HELP.

But it might not be like that? Dr. J?

Later I came to find out that families typically pretend like it didn’t happen, thinking about her DISNEY routine of twirling, “oooooh isn’t this AMAZING???” Was it like that? I’m looking at the game. “What does this do inside a family? Is it DISNEY Dr. J?” I was in awe. Even reading about Alice Munro’s daughter… thinking about the game… the girl’s brother confesses to their father that it happened to her, his sister, because he can’t hold it in. The father then responds strangely. “Let’s not tell her…” He didn’t want to be blamed for ruining her marriage. Okay, this isn’t a DISNEY movie. This is a crime.

Does it have a strange effect? Sure, I guess, what? I’m taking out a GUN, more so throwing chairs, breaking shit. Again, the violence, I mean, are you going to defend child abuse? Come on man. Do not be ridiculous. I’m breaking shit if I need to. It’s not a heist, movie, exactly. It’s not a life or death situation. It’s child abuse. Wake up. Where’s reality in all this? Insane. Insane. Insane. I was reading about a woman who was abused by her grandfather, for years. She felt as if her grandmother knew, as he would leave their bedroom, right? Crazy. “It happened to me, too, no worries.” Uh huh.

That’s what I mean. That’s what I’m seeing in Dr. J. Is sex not serious? Looking at children? Like, this is NOT the time.

That works, that’s clearer.

For a while she called every day. She hasn’t launched that accusation yet, but what is this game? Why is she doing this? Her sister used to call the Mickey Mouse phone from time to time acting like she was DYING… no hello. I would, reflexes on point, RUN for help. Casually, stacking papers, waving her hand, she was over it. Her sister’s husband, in and out of jail or prison, don’t remember this detail, beat her to death from time to time which is when she’d call her. My mother’s psyche was brutal. And my age, FOUR, didn’t seem to DAWN on her, which concerned me, truly. I had to conclude, or at least consider that she was raped younger than my age, even? Did anyone KNOW what a four year old is?

But of course, here, the twist, was it true, Dr. J? All her talk. In my room, looking at the only mirror left, which was one of her symbols. Reflecting the truth is one thing, but in reality, stepping out of the mirror, was this true? I wanted to destroy her particularly because I was considering child abuse, sexual abuse, for real. How dare you.

So I’ll go into my psychological experiment on lying… and then, we know where we’re going— which is my interview with Fat Alan over rum cake, one of Dr. J’s so-called “lovers.” She was asking for it, classic, uh huh, which was true in her case, to draw a real distincton between wearing a dress and throwing yourself onto every man like a wet rag.

But why did he do it? Again? And he said it like an innocent man, like he had no choice.

Uh huh.

And then, in the end, of course, “you turned out to be a good kid, surprisingly,” and the way he said it, sincerely, even, made me laugh. So, okay? The whole thing is going to fall on me, the innocent one. What a strange logic, but it was too easy to ignore.

So the WHOLE thing is going to FALL on me. And the question I had was, expanding my investigation to consider criminality, that we make our criminals? You know, classic question. “How do we become who we are?” So Dr. J might be taught, in an unlawful system, even if it’s internal, to become a piece of shit. Wasn’t that right? I was a piece of shit? And all I have to do is say that, just CAST a ten year old. That’s it.

What a joke. It was almost too easy. These were idiots. Sorry, the game, you know, it got to me. You can’t expect an adult to be the bigger person.

I’ll use the scene where she’s running into the house to ignore me and fawn all over Angelica’s daughter, which she believes she’s doing because IT IS TRUE, as she believed it was true. Angelica slips in, “and you were jealous…” astounding. That chrome bar.

Let Dave Chappelle say it better than I could. “Hmmm…”

“Not really.”

I needed him.

Just “no no,” just saying “no no.”

That’s a lock the car doors situation, not a “come closer.” Sure, she was my mother, but at that point, “honey,” I’m not on that page. I’m not on a normal page. In fact, I was scared, because I felt like I didn’t fall prey here, but I could understand how this might screw a person up. Yeah, at four, five.

“Why would I desire my mother’s attention?” BE REAL. “Call 911,” that’s where I was at, personally. Not JEALOUS of some INNOCENT GIRL getting fawned all over, just having to receive this, feel bad about this? Apologize? I was disgusted.

And do I need to defend my point of view? Not to Judge Judy. One of “the celebrities” that came to my assistance through this, on the psycho spiritual plane. I saw Judge Judy appear, and I thought, man, this episode would have been a magnum opus. She would have incinerated my parents.

But she’s going to INSIST that I was jealous, and I couldn’t help but reflect, gasping, could I be told that I WANTED this? You’d think, the more extreme, the person would SEE themselves, like there’s a limit. That might not be the case. As she said, “don’t you think that would mess up dynamics?”

Was anyone SEEING the situation clearly at all?

And from what I read, even in Alice Munro’s daughter’s case, she gets the pain, you see. The wrong person gets blamed, understood. She said, “look,” right? Very very likely she was molested herself, we couldn’t factor that out because it’s too common, so that’s why she acted like an arse. Uh huh, so it’s a crime that we’ll perpetuate, we’re going to keep hurting children, because we went through it ourselves? Are you hearing that?

Dr. J was everywhere. Amazing.

I just never thought, wait, was this true? In the end? I understand he would be diagnosed with a disease, I just don’t know if that’s supposed to soothe me… especially, “wait what?” She didn’t know how my mother handled me… okay. And here they come, my so-called friends in swimsuits, pushing me down, sticking soft sweet drinks in my face like this is NICE. I’m not in the mood to sip on beverages!

I’m just trying to get to the next step, that’s it. “I’m sorry?”

“UNRELIABLE NARRATORS.”

“What did you say?”

Okay, you see? Something about taking her breast out… and people wondered WHY I laughed. I heard Dave Chappelle once again laying it out… Michael Jackson’s ranch. “There were pony rides, clowns, cake, cheer, kid shit…and somehow, in the middle of all this, someone brought out some pills…?” Just trying to understand it.

I’ll see what happens, as I don’t know where I’m going yet, how to end it, but it’s shaping up better, it’s more interesting than recounting a fairytale in my opinion, though I like that, too, meaning, the situation itself. Once Upon a Time on Miracle Mile…

I could, in the book, invent some journalist, as that type of mind aided me in tackling it. Miracle Mile. I imagined that a journalist would begin by going to the natural history museum. Turning around these installations. There’s an enchanted quality about it, strangely. Just reflecting on our nature. It was spelled out.

I’m trying to use the club more, milk the location, and figure out how to integrate the conclusions I’m drawing about the problem… which was our nature, our relationship to our nature. That’s what I am seeing in Dr. J.

My first field of study was “pure regards.” At four, I was fascinated by the impure/pure relationship. I knew what rape was, at four, conceptually. I was confused. Like, Dr. J had a pure quality, which struck me because she was so impure, and I got sex was impure, but I was pure, so how was it impure? If you don’t have sex within the confines of marriage, it stains the child. Maybe not so much anymore, but it persists. I’m seeing a problem in our relationship to our nature, simply.

It’s like, a friend of mine recently spoke of wanting to “ascend.” It’s always the same. This earthly existence is unholy, and it’s quite tired. You’d think the future was “blue and green,” not exactly life on the moon. A return to sacredness. Oprah playing Mother Earth. Something like this. A return to the garden, type deal.

Anyway, Dr. J symbolized a total disconnection from Earth, her eyes as blue as the sky. In the hospital, I thought, “are you joking? Was this true?” But I saw a villain… I had this deep moment where I made peace with her villainhood. And I thought, I might be able to bring a wickedly good villain into existence, and why not? That’s how I got through that night. It wouldn’t be tomorrow, but maybe I could get there.

“The celebrities,” I laugh, I only heard golf claps. “Like wow, that’s a good idea…”

“Bring a villain into existence, no? Make it good.”

My teachers at theater school, they would be equally into it. Nice. Nice idea.

She’s the Joker next generation. The Joker today wouldn’t have a scratch on her. She’s surrounded by cameras — dazzling. Joy, her name was Joy. No darkness. It would be funny how she said it in her killer suit, with a visibly attractive figure. “Not necessary.” She’s saying, “this is yours, this is mine…”

I don’t know what that means yet, but you could put TikTok hearts around her, she floated in an ageless hue for a while. And if you think about cosmetics, and look, I don’t care, the phrase “picture perfect grotesque” works as an idea. That’s Dr. J. Now, she’s a bit Dorian Gray. Her looks faded. She looks…twisted.

She’s not disfigured.

I’ll keep organizing this thought wise. I just thought it was a solid idea, a girl investigator, you could picture the story developing… like it would be a character that one might follow in a series.

I’m glad I didn’t give up on the investigation, even if it’s taking me a minute to figure out. It’s a great location and premise, unexpected. And my friends, interestingly enough, are reflecting the same ideas here… I am NOT saying anything conclusive.

I just thought, given my story, given all the talk of me being ungrounded for the entirety of my life, how I never made sense, etc etc etc etc etc etc., that I would at least be given the benefit of the doubt. Just that I don’t know. And it was amazing to me, because when I said it was a lie, I mostly got, “was it?”

That’s Dave Chappelle.

But when I asked that question, it couldn’t be, almost as if the LIE allowed the idea of it to exist, interestingly enough. I’ll just leave it at that, because I feel queasy.

I love that my room is pink, I think that’s funny. I am a pink lady, and I’d shift my eyes over to Hannah Arendt on that one because I think it’s funny. I was pink, an unusual color for someone so cunning. You just wouldn’t know it. I’m just trying to understand her. This woman with an obsession with being a genius — when she’s more like an idiot. Would you call some woman in a car suddenly moving backwards, like BRAD PITT has to make a sudden MOVE, like WHO the fuck is this? You call that smart? An accident waiting to happen? I was shocked, looking back, at how everyone fell for that one, “the genius routine.” I tried to be generous towards her, a woman who was terrible to me, in considering she might have been gifted.

But the GLARING POINT WAS: she wrapped me up in a sex scandal. Sure, I said “she LIED that he was a child molester,” but that POINT was erased. I did it too. It’s not that. No one caught that. There’s nothing SMART about that. She was a total lunatic.

This screenwriter turning to me in Beverly Hills, imagine? “She was smart.”

I have to hold myself, sometimes. “No no.”

The troubled genius routine — this sentimental obsession with it. I keep Hannah Arendt in mind, a “celebrity,” because I didn’t get the impression that she had PROBLEMS… because she was a genius. You know? Not like she’s a mathematician, I understand, there are geniuses whose gifts comes with complications, I just don’t know if she’s that person.

If I were to put my mother in “a beautiful mind,” as she could look about the air as if she saw triangles in it, she would look like the buffoon of it. Regarding the triangles in the air… an accountant. It doesn’t work, she’s a bad actress. I don’t know, maybe she was SO SMART IT WAS CRAZY…as that’s what she… acted like. I’m just not so sure.

I was way too generous towards that woman.

Anyway, I’m off to try and get THIS out there, I’m so over my personal life.

But I’m fine, I keep moving through these moments… mostly letting it go… I’ve come to accept, also, that I don’t really want to talk about it, I just expected a different response, and then I get angry, because, I went through a crisis over this, and because of it, I have to deal with people’s relationship to mental health. I just don’t have time. I just, here, Tom Cruise appears, laughing, and it helps, it does. Like, this man is sending me one of his cakes every year, on my birthday. I’m almost certain of it.

Anyway, “the celebrities” as an idea —stays, I think it’s funny.

Jesus, I went through such an ordeal, and this screenwriter, yikes, he made such a faux pas, it’s amazing. He made a faux pas. So I made it through that, Leonardo di Caprio thinks I’m a hero of some kind, and I’m comfortable with leaning into that.

Sorry, I can’t stop laughing at “the celebrities…” supporting me spiritually through this moment. So, it’s alright, I didn’t HAVE to go through something so severe, but I wasn’t aware of what I was doing… and luckily, this specialist, I can tell him about the whole event, because it was complex. He’s meeting me on that one.

Like, yes, you could have been involved with a psychopath, and you were opening up your story at the same time, he follows. He gets I don’t know. He’s not pretending like I’m trying to say anything conclusive.

I just went, okay, I can’t expect anyone to treat that as real, as if I said something serious. It’s a…just don’t go there. I don’t want to, actually, but I don’t want to have to come up against people who are treating me like that’s not what’s going on… you know, stop. Please don’t make me ACT like my mother, in a sense, wee, everything’s rosey, I’m not exactly there yet. But I’m getting better if anyone gives a shit.

I guess I am wrong. It’s not true. I don’t know. I hope so. I just don’t know what to say about what I went through. So I’ll leave it at that. And my friends drove me NUTS, because I’m getting the impression from the celebrities on the psychospiritual plane that THEY don’t know. From what they are HEARING, they do not KNOW. They do not understand why people are ACTING like this — ACTING like they know BEFORE they hear the STORY. It is driving Van der Beek crazy on the psychospiritual plane.

And it’s not just WHO I am mentioning, it’s WHO is requesting to remain anonymous. They are there, we’re having a private conversation.

Anyway, I’m laughing at “the celebrities” joke, like I reached for “the celebrities” on the “psycho spiritual plane,” as I became the most psychic person in the universe, if you can even believe that plot twist. So I could, theoretically, according to the SETH BOOK, reach out to “the celebrities” as an IDEA for assistance.

Right now, it’s making ME laugh, making a Dave Chappelle reference. I needed people people fucking care about, I needed people who could SILENCE a room, people who have this magical effect, (haha), of stunning people. “Ooooo it’s a celebrity.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

People DO THIS. The SECOND I started speaking, I got NOTHING but psychics. I need these people to go away. Experts. Meaning makers. “The celebrity” is not doing this to me. This I know. A celebrity is confused. A celebrity knows what a sex scandal is, as they’ve all been in one… by this point.

“Is it true?” Imagine? Me asking this. “You see?”

So I’m off to write a great story, I hope.