The cats of Istanbul, it begins here, but feel weird putting that picture up because of where I ended up. I could probably start the cats of Istanbul Instagram account and it would the most successful thing…I’ve ever done to date. There are so many cats in Istanbul. You have no idea. It’s like a cartoon waiting to happen sort of All Dogs Go to Heaven. We have a small collection of cats that live with us at the digital nomad hotel. This morning, one of the guys passing through American and I think Russian too was reading Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. It’s “bleak,” he said, laughing.
I’m doing quite well this morning. Yesterday was fine. I don’t really deal with negative voices anymore. I suppose there was a period where I didn’t really know that I had them…when I started to move forward in my life. Oh. Where the hell did I learn this? What use is this? But I suppose that’s somewhat normal? That’s a passing phase.
With some of these dreams, I have different kinds of dreams, so I haven’t known what to do with some because I also processed a lot in my dreams. I did experiment with my dreams for a moment in time for the purposes of therapy, to evaluate this for myself. I very much believe in that.
I just thought, maybe I’ll go get a massage, it’s so inexpensive comparatively speaking that I’ve been able to take care of myself in a different way. I think it’s all going really well for me so I think some of these dreams might be rather positive even though I might not understand them.
I just took it easy, tried to do some basics. I bought myself a dress because I don’t really have any clothes right now and I was sort of known for my clothes, too, which doesn’t bother me. Shedding that skin. It’s sort of fun, now, to look around, take my time. What do I want to wear?
It was very very much Dr. J’s thing. Clothes.
On my Tik Tok, I’ll start posting Dr. J videos tomorrow.
I got excited because I feel better doing my own thing, talking about my story and the questions I struggled with in the end that brought me to a new beginning…I never felt better. I feel more relieved than anything else. Free.
I didn’t sleep that well but in a good way because I got a very strong download that I should start a podcast, so I was almost running it in my head all night. A couple of my digital nomad mates suggested it a couple of weeks ago. They liked my voice, too, so I’ll start that pretty soon because I felt so much energy last night and this morning. I’m pretty tired but energetic today. I think that’s a good sign. I walked and talked in my head…very turned on, excited, flowing.
I just want to get one thing going like I’m bouncing that ball…just because I felt a bit chaotic about how to do this. I started with TikTok, just one platform that makes sense, so I can plan that out, figure out what that system is, and then, I’ll probably post some more videos on YouTube. And I’ll move onto a podcast pretty soon. My book is my main thing: Christmas in Naples is a Sport. It’s just, Once Upon a Time on Miracle Mile is sort of the foundation. So I can diffuse videos about that.
I’ll be now putting all that party, food, my innocent cousins within that…and just taking it from there. Me singing again. That was the thrust of Christmas in Naples. They didn’t stop singing to me. And that feels like what it wants to be, too.
Miracle Mile—I came from quite a strange beginning.
The basic story hasn’t changed but it has changed. I have.
I always communicated the basics of it. I’ll break that down since I sort of had to.
And my take, I think, is interesting in investigating what the truth is.
Basically speaking, a woman wouldn’t lie about child molestation. But, on the other hand, why would someone do that? Are people necessarily going to take appropriate action steps? No. Reflections reflections, my mother’s office of mirrors…an IRS expert, Mad Hatter with her collection of tea cup sets. It was weird even farcical.
You’ll have to understand this Brazilian mother who came into the play…from the position that this is what she believed.
I’ll talk about that on a podcast, it’s a good place to start.
Then my father gets diagnosed with Parkinson’s though it turned out to be Alzheimer’s and didn’t tell anyone. No one. I noticed, trust me. These years were repressed. I’ll just let that float.
At nine, ten, I “investigated” this…as they say, show don’t tell. All I had to do was sit there. I was thinking about madness and civilization as well as criminality and civilization at the time. How do you become that? My mother.
Well, I’m already destined to become her. I’m being taught unhealthy ideas through the lens of truth. Well, normally, or “the truth is.” Right. That’s Once Upon a Time on Miracle Mile. Innocent people, people, might not understand that. How we perpetuate narratives…true stories.
I conducted some experiments on lying; these were particularly hard to integrate but I was truly infuriated, enraged, confused. And my father was already sick. I had no idea what to do with these four years.
But belief, disbelief; that’s a whole subject in itself. I mean, the sign read Miracle Mile. What people believe in, in what context, how one manipulates—shapes—what they are hearing, understanding. It’s natural, even.
I can be very open about it and consider what brought me to a fuller, wholer sense of wellness and what might not work even just taking myself as an example since I had to make changes in my life. I guess I don’t have the classic signs of success yet but then, I wouldn’t say that. I’m just getting things going. I would say the opposite like there are steps but I’ve never been more in the field of realizing myself. Luckily, I had some savings, so.
It’s just, um, well, how would one feel getting on a mic: so, I’m given away like this, she says he’s a child molester, and I might get some questions. I can navigate this territory and also some of the experiences I had that might be a stretch to believe but then, apparently not.
Dr. J was a hypochondriac, an addict, sex, too, I think, pathological liar (?) etc. etc. etc. Victim, too. Was she lying? Did this happen to her “once upon a time?” Rape. Child rape. Okay, that’s the term. That’s what she said. And one could understand my rage in all directions. What did her lies reveal about the truth? What was true in them? These were my questions. It’s a little easier investigating the situation that way. That hurt on so many levels.
There are, in my opinion, lies that are very very true. Meaning, they are lies, just lies, and yet they are real and true. That’s very true. I was thinking about the Native Americans, actually, remembering the corrections at the National History Museum. “Whoops.” My Aunt Jane and I even fought about that, if I remember correctly. “Savages.” That’s a whole history of lying to the degree of making sculptures.
It’s just not true. And one might feel a tug, because yo’’re connected to a real true framework even if it’s just not true. Well, well? Who were the savages?
Who’s the liar?
Even thinking about my mother’s costume, haute couture, what appearances might suggest. How we assign civilized behavior even, things like that.
Now, I’m going into Dr. J villain…cracking a dazzling smile. That seemed to be someone who was quite shattered, and perhaps at baseline, she might have had a different approach to reality, might have come into an ill scenario, maybe poverty, toom, which is why I launched my undercover investigation without all my teeth. Just because she was a child, once.
It’s already on me. Ah, truth? Exactly. I was not even five, ten.
How fascinating.
I guess everyone who writes about their story has to believe that it will connect in some way, that an audience will find it appealing. I’m alright with that now, also. There’s a lot I can do with it. Is it weird sort of feeling into the performance of that? Sometimes. Because it was. It’s one thing when you’re consciously provoking lines and you know you’re doing it. But it was what it was.
She fascinated so many. Brilliant, genius, prodigy, etc., drug addict, can’t keep her shirt on. On some level, she might have gotten lit up from her success, it’s just, “her first client was typically about to go to jail,” excuse me? Thirty years later?
I knew at four, which is funny, that the bulk of her clientele were criminals.
Right? What was this?
Cruising over to the IRS in a limo. I guess people do? I have never seen someone more involved with the IRS. Going to the IRS now, waving her wrist like a flimsy hanky. Really? Maybe. She was apparently a Supreme Court lawyer? Help me, please. I’m fine with the whole spectacle falling down, finding truth in it, etc. That’s not my problem.
Once again, once upon a time…on Miracle Mile.
She was saved, literally, by a mystery man because she was a genius.
It’s usually when people go—no…
She’s one of those larger-than-life buxom wild cards.
I’ll leave it there for now.
I’m just trying to get some of this energy out, which helps, and I’ll move to my book now and keep on plugging in videos. I would rather figure that out and maybe start a podcast, actually, and let my newsletter live around that. Talking feels a little easier for me right now. And I’m finishing my book. I’ll get to essays, all that, I guess. It’s just, I came into a new phase rather recently, so.
Once Upon a Time in Miracle Mile, like, I’m starting to understand how I can maybe approach that. One thing at a time.
It was so real, the grass so green, like ink on paper. The reality and unreality of it.
The rainbows have to do with the effect of the crystal chandelier in the foyer. I studied them. The lambada was the song of that house along with the constant soundtrack of love songs. I left to “The Power of Love.” Imagine? And then, in the backyard, the sprinklers: rainbows. An illusion, very real, even beautiful, there’s something about that, all the colors of the rainbow that even feels right in terms of how I tried to find the good in it. The pot of gold, I don’t know. Prism.
And now, I’m in such a different place, that reopening that…even going back and investigating that…makes me a touch queasy right now but that’s alright. I know people can change their story. I launched an undercover investigation and asked the same questions over and over again. The questions I asked as a kid were one thing along with the ones I didn’t that an adult might ask.
No, no, how do you know that? Ripping open my boxes, just please, looking for pictures of these couple of times I was sent home with these people? Angry….was nothing real?
You’ll want to laugh, I know. I’ll try and do it. It’s buffoon.
She laughed in my face, even. This is what I mean.
Hysterical.
She had to perform Dr. J to give a real impression of her. So did I. Some of that was vulgar. I tended not to, because she wasn’t readily believed. That would require real work. Even her physicality was…marionette-ish, prodigal, slutty though girlish, at times, clutching her hands tight, tight smile. A prodigy on the piano and organ, by the way. Or, she played. She was so “unreal.”
Again, everyone is human, so I think it’s somewhat understandable just given what this woman got herself into, really. I suppose I was so young that she didn’t want to ask me direct questions? Why would a woman lie? With this sort of situation, I could write a book about that…just filling in…talking to experts about “a child molester” even. At least, with some cops in my mind, they are on my side in not trusting any of it. Right, “do you know what a child molester is, Ma’am?” Seen one before? Know one personally?
1 out of 5 girls gets molested, no? 1 out of 9 boys? That’s not a small problem.
It’s one of those…it’s very infuriating. And then, you can look at Lord Byron even as someone compared him to Epstein, I read that, and see sexual misconduct. So, there are weird stories…weird shit. I couldn’t even stomach this documentary. Lots of questions around the truth when it comes to sexual misconduct, also. Lots of it. So, this, in some fashion, isn’t a new tale.
Anyway, thanks for reading. I’m going to get to work.