At the classic cozy diner uptown where the hit tv show Seinfeld shot with red booths, a photograph of the iconic cast on the wall, along with a painting of Kramer, one of the most memorable character in TV history. Not packed but full, Columbia students come here and neighborhood folk. I feel silly, as I’m in a student project, wishing I never pursued an artistic path at all, having never really gone into one, except writing. I feel better in that arena, worse, I’m just trying to find what I’m genuinely good at, or what’s going to work. I feel like writing brought me the weirdest men…like I took an unfortunate turn I still struggle with. I’m taking it step by step. Is this what I’d like to do? Perform? I want to finish this story, at least. I just suffer in the moment because I didn’t think about LIFE. These men I got involved with, they were characters, loners, very much not in tune with what a normal person might desire. They were elitist, which isn’t a critique, per se, but I am not elitist. They were focused on success, status, their wisdom, even, like they were obsessed with their geniuses. And now, I suffer, as a woman, for the moment, being 39, not having much, not at this point, having gotten sucked down roads that made a mockery of my past. Like, who cares about a book, a writing career? Just because, I wish I met someone like me, meaning, someone who came from a similar background. “Look, I gotta be honest…” people don’t typically respond well to this type of background. Obviously.
Now, I wish I went into law, psychology, just another avenue completely. Not to say that assholes or grandoise types don’t exist in other arenas, I don’t know, I mean, “hot shots,” or "Fletchers,” but for the moment, I’m riding through turbulence, on and off, as if I were on a plane. And I’m not definitely not in the first class. I’ll keep doing these student projects, I’ll keep exercising the craft, acting, and I’ll keep feeling into whether or not there’s a real path here. I don’t know anybody. I think I’m trying to prioritize getting this story done, because I’m hoping I’ll get into EPIC, but I don’t know if I will…
Had another rough night, though, last night, heavy turbulence because working on this EPIC short or working anything related to my childhood, again, I’m not giving up, I just wish I had another job, my savings, a house, as I regret ever listening to these men who wanted to show their peacock feathers to me to my detriment. I didn’t need to do this. I keep hoping, really, above all, that I’ll be able to say at the end of my life that I met my person. Not so much the one, I guess, I don’t know if I’m fairytale like, but the plant people sort of dashed this idea of “the one,” when there are people out there that…have met their person. Above all, that’s what I want. And I look back on my thirties, at these men, and I think, I could have just dated some men… and left you…by the wayside. I had my gears, stuff to work out, and I always get back to the conclusion that, I couldn’t do what I’m doing now, so there’s nothing else for me to say. He’s out there…
But whoosh, man, while I was working on this EPIC short yesterday, while working on the small writing jobs I have, really really thinking about my portfolio, you see, which is one of these stupidly basic switches I needed to make, not “meditate” if that makes sense. I’m reading the NYTimes coverage of the Epstein files, as maybe I’d like to cover scandals… like, this guru telling me my life idea was “family,” was the most useless comment, given I had maladaptive patterning, and it really didn’t interest me. If I had become a family systems psychologist or something, and I could make a strong PITCH, argument, as to why people should work with me, that would be one thing, but that’s not my career path right now. I do want to feel now, as I didn’t in the past, like there’s success, because of my SKILLS, GIFTS, in something I do. And the utter heartbreak of being taking for a useless ride by DICKS. Before I even did anything.
But now, clapping like Angelica Leibowitz would, I’m hoping that I’ll be able to move quickly, now that I’m approaching the jobs that I have with a portfolio in mind, thinking about pieces to go in there. And I like the writing job I have with SevenPonds, because at least, I can turn that into a real piece of writing. I have an editor. But more so than that, it’s the type of things I’m covering. I could see myself moving into Culture… or opinion-based writing, I feel as though I’M being positive, I just can’t help that I’m not happy about where I am at, personally, at this precise moment. And I don’t know what to say about having kids, I think, for the moment, I just sort of put my hands in prayer… that I’ll feel that sense of ORDER that comes with finding success, like “everything came together…” that’s what I’m hoping.
I can’t speak to my friend circle, just the heartbreak of not inspiring real friendship at all, not around what I’ve told them. Just because the profundity of the shift I went through, I can’t describe that, with this question hanging which can sometimes be torturous, which is whether or not there was sexual abuse in my family, and the sexual trauma specialist said, simply, there was, already. I’ll leave that at that. He’s not getting “competitive,” and I gotta roll my eyes at that, like, there’s a broad scope there. Utterly awful, this subject.
I keep digressing.
So yesterday, I got triggered, while I was just working on this EPIC piece, like, I was also covering death news, so I’ll draw a comparison. So I was covering AI ghosts, “grief tech,” where families can make an avatar of their family member to talk to… and one coverage, NYtimes, the son, watching one of these avatars spoke of the strange emotional experience, where he felt like it was so real to then get pulled out of that, and not knowing what to do, and I was looking up information about whether or not these ghost avatars are just going to trap people in a terrible loop, which might end up taking care of their appeal, like, people will just put them away.
But that’s sort of the experience I’m having with this terrible logic I absorbed from this guru. I can’t always spot it, like, “stop.” The “future” gets triggered as I write along with the gurus obsession with fame, success, but on a movie star level. There’s a similar loss of reality, where that FUTURE, in his mind, is real, sure, it’s not “the image,” but the “feeling” you want, it’s just, I don’t know what to say about his every day experience, but that’s a God-awful way of living. He was obsessed with “spinning up energy,” when why would you do that? Like you’re not a sorcerer. ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE. THERE’S REALITY IN WHICH YOU ARE ALREADY IN THAT PUBLICATION. A nightmare. Especially because NONE of this was my problem. I didn’t need to be “the chosen one,” it was creepy.
So, I had another one of these chaotic comedowns after I worked on this story, a minute, as — maybe the guru is addicted to drugs, type deal, but in a strange way, because, sure, I suppose I hope I become a speaker? I can’t quite wrap my head around all this, as his understanding of me and my story was — so off. Really off. Am I going to be on Oprah? I mean, that would be an honor, sure, talking about my experiences or learning, that would be a satisfying conclusion to the real nightmare I went through, feeling a sense of support for the lack of, I got. But the thing is, I struggle with that in my head, as it’s taken me years to work out the guru, literally. And I think about these grief avatars, needing to just kick this out completely. So confused.
I did this student film project last night at Tom’s Diner, and I had to sit in a corner, because the future had been triggered in my mind… to a degree, and now, I hate this, I hate it so much. And I’ll start to feel LOST, in the present, and I’ll FEEL, you see, the GURU’s slimey emotional delivery of lines, in my heart, a manipulator, and suddenly, I’m picking up BURRATA and prosciutto — NOW, not later. I need this, only this, as that’s my only comfort food. There’s ONLY burrata and prosciutto and green olives and a lambrusco, something. I’m pretty moderate, but I have to get a grip… it’s very very seductive, spinning up “some successful future…” when, at the outset, I had NO PROBLEM with it. That wasn’t my problem. BUT NOW it is. Future hopes, future outcomes, Jesus. Flashbacks. (Not warm nights.) Almost left behind. Let’s hope. It’s a perculier rabbit hole.
And I think, when I look back on these men, I feel so disgusted with myself because it was so masterbatory. Now, sure, I hold myself up, I am an authority, I am in a seat of power, now that I wrestled with myself, a self who hated power, “sure,” who hated “hierarchy,” sure, and even more annoyingly, “wanted to uplift others,” even DICKS. In the end. Uh huh. It’s one of these moments I picture OBAMA backing me up in some NICE kitchen, (lol), like, “all of that sounds a bit problematic.” I want to explode, but OBAMA makes me feel calm, “easy there.” I now see or feel like I have, I suppose access to my wisdom, but also the awareness to stick to my guns, so to speak, which was, in my case, telling a lot of MEN, in particular, to fuck off. I couldn’t BE different, though I came from “a different background.”
And on their end, it was so obvious, “you are not God’s gift,” dude, “stay out of it.” Eek, this guru is like an acid flashback, where, I have to sit down, and start expulsing his slimy WORDS from my heart. He SPOKE with SUCH a heavy hand, he could, it was invasive, even, it just gives me the creeps. I wish he never came into my life, and I can’t yet look back and change that, like, everything that happened was supposed to happen, when in my case, I don’t know what to do with one of those phrases… like would you say that to someone who was raped? For example. I think more so than anything else, there are certain issues that require the system to take responsbility. And I think when it comes to gender, it might be on the MALE end to take responsibility. Women uphold these dynamics as well, but since I was working on this EPIC essay, my sweet kid investigation of the sex scandal, I didn’t know what to do with the gender problem.
“Some men just want holes,” right? As to why anyone would sleep with Dr. J, which I asked Angelica Leibowitz, it was terrifying… in her case, it was terrifying. Why? Why would ANYONE sleep with her? And that was Angelica’s response. “Some men, they just need a hole.” Ouch, yikes. That one was a — skin against gravel, motorcycle accident. Rough. “The opposite of tender,” and there’s Dave Chappelle once again, uplifting me. Supporting me.
So, I still have relapses, strange relapses. I’m reading the New York Times, now, right? Is that where I’d like to direct my focus? Would I like covering (it’s so simple it’s stupid) scandals? Would I like to spend some time reading and really thinking about where I’d like to end up? I like some of the writing I do, so I’m trying to water those seeds. I think, I’m trying to think, okay, “a year from now I’d like…” because the immediate can still sting, as I move between accepting where I’m at and not selling myself short. I’m going to sing with another pianist next week, which I’m excited about, and I’m going to hang up with this new neighborhood friend, which is potentially someone I might have a relationship with, as well as someone who has connections in the neighborhood, so maybe I could get a gig one night, I mean, I’m trying to get at MY first, just ONE. I gotta keep that moving…
And of course, I have to film my short series… I was watching these students, blinking as my mind went hayhire, the FUTURE! IT’S REAL!! Suddenly, in a chorus, BRADLEY COOPER’s name is flashing. Wild imaginings. And I’m just doing my best to FOCUS on my BIG TOE. Moving my BIG TOE. Okay. I don’t know what to say about a kid in foster care, or someone who came from…a remarkable past, like I’m reading about the daughter of a New Yorker writer, a fabulous woman, but for real, who had an affair with her husband’s best friend, and his wife was also their best friend, it was a remarkable past… not riddled with looney abusive figures, in a sense, but it’s JUST so weird, having had these trauma-obsessed people coming at me or SUCCESS focused people coming at me about THAT story in particular, not even ME, not even — “you have an interesting point of view.” Didn’t hear that. I heard, “ in the 15th century, you would have been the one to speak to ANIMALS…” which is ridiculous. I was Professor X’s protegee. Picture the upclose shot, a woman in deep turmoil, “wow, she really did it,” Bradley Cooper will say, “unable to LIVE in the world,” due to her so-called psychic gifts. She’s unable to LOOK at a peppy puppy. She can’t — her empathetic gifts… and Professor X, the chair turning, and maybe it’s Bradley Cooper, as it’s sort of a joke right now, beginning to say, “you see things…”
You see what I mean? Just the horrific decade I went through? Wanting to play, now, right? If X-Men ever comes back — just write me in—I’ll go on some transformative journey, where I’m basically in rags, an utterly mess, and Professor X will give me the space and support to take my rightful place as his next in line. For the TYPE of psychic I was to these people was along his lines. Where “the helmet” gets a T TECH update, hilarious, and I get just a hat with purple electric swirls. A bowler hat. I’m not in a sexy outfit. I’m your “virgin queen” type of deal, chilling over here. Wolverwine, he’s my soft place to fall, hilarious! Jesus CHRIST! I am plagued by the FUTURE, you can see how that could be cool, all the probable realities, outcomes, moments where I must intervene — like pushing someone out of harm’s way, like showing up like one of these “illuminated” people. Professor X, he’s pouring me a tea… something to calm down. It depends, it depends on WHICH side gets to me first. And how they will play…
Anyway, this useless road I went down, I could, maybe, do a monologue, or figure out something to do with it, as it impacted me to the point of needing therapy or an outlet or movie soundtracks, as I listen to them, a lot, now, and they make me laugh… as I picture myself — beginning to MASTER the gift… rapid fire fast. Something cool. I suppose, sometimes, as I went through a totally UNREAL phase, where the FUTURE was an X-MEN idea, where I might give some monologue… about the future plaguing me, “too many people…” too many bad memories… feelings… you can picture it, “wow, it’s so real for her…” Bradley Cooper will say. “You can really see her crushed heart.” I’m laughing. I’m just joking, I had to! I had to JOKE. It was all a joke.
So I ended up having a bad night where I had to collapse in bed because my head was spinning, my feelings were triggered, not knowing where to land, because none of these imaginings are real, and the whole idea that, “you’re trying to generate a feeling” which is going to DRIVE reality, it was a waterfall of — get out of me. I did not want these attachments… and they keep going away, and it’s not that I DON’T WANT things to work out, I just didn’t have a PROBLEM… looking at this ridiculous plant person’s text about me being a “portal, channel, and antenna traveling on multiple planes of existence…” like, “I got through my youth through sheer will,” but now, I can’t. Imagine? Nothing but power players. Where I say “no,” and they say “yes,” about shit like this. Can you picture “the bleedthrough” from “different times…” like, swirling between the 15th century and present moment in X-Men? “All time is present.” Standing firm. It’s like the SETH Books, as these gurus were obsessed with them, they were interesting as a potential source for a new Marvel character. One of these, “coooool,” but not for real.
I get you can BEND time, bring the future into the present, I’m just… trying to take it step by step here. I didn’t need that, condense time, I’m trying, I want to inspire a MARVEL character, I do, that is one of my goals… in a coat and a bowler hat. Right? Funny. “Cool outfit.” I live in London, something. You know.
I cried in this corner, under Kramer’s portrait. I just tried to notice what they use as equipiment, I’m just going to use my IPhone. They write a short script every week or two, which I might just try and replicate, thinking about good scripts, what makes a good scene.
I’m not like that, I don’t like fantasy, I don’t like jacking off. I did go through just a CRAZY loss, and I still feel that way, in my personal life. Like, uh, I had to get a GRIP, like, I’m just a PERSON, dammit, on a BOAT in Istanbul. Fuck the future, fuck psychicness, fuck my SPECIALNESS—in particular, it was a death trap! Specialness! Over a sex scandal? Because of a personality trait? I am totally confused.
I was —at my wit’s end, enraged that I even humored this. Imagine? It sounds as if I got out of a CULT.
(Marvel, marvel, this is my — goal, the Joker’s Daughter, Professor X’s protegee, something… picturing hearing some girl giving this voice over!!!! And she’s going to become the one, or something, you know, some superhero…)
I’ll keep going, but I had another one of these rough nights after spending a day moving through THIS story, in particular, which confuses me, because it’s about a terrible situation I was in… or one of these awesome — in the true sense of the word — situations where, it might spawn a really interesting drama, even a fantasy flick, whatever!
Hopefully, it will be good, hopefully it will land somewhere, and all that, but the ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE THE FUTURE WRITES THE PAST YOU’RE ALREADY IN THE PUBLICATION YOU ARE SPINNING IT UP — all this shit, you can fucking TAKE it, this fucking guru, excuse my language. (!) I hated this guru, I really did. His pompous airs.
So once again, I hope to look back and keep reframing these…somewhat hilarious adverse experiences I had… when I started in a sex scandal? You see what I mean? And I’m psychic? Professor X’s protegee, for real. I’m IN the movie, already, you see, in real life. So I get angry, very angry, when I just want to COMPLETE a SIMPLE EXERICSE of writing a story. NOT PROJECTING to the FUTURE POINT WHERE IT IS COMPLETE AND IT’S THE PROBABLE REALITY, picturing tuning my psychic compass, a prop, sure, to THAT POINT in the future, (and it could be a cool monologue, winds picking up) where it’s THE MOST SUCCESSFUL VERSION. AHHHHHHHH. WHY ARE YOU CREATING THE REALITY IN WHICH…
A MESS.
And it spins me up in a particular way, and I didn’t NEED anything that triggered MY MOTHER, you understand. Terrible. FANTASY.
I have to look around, so I live in a small room, I have x, y, z, you see the come down? When, yeah, now, I’m like, I want to buy a house, sure, goals are good to have, I’d like to BUILD, forget GROWTH a minute. Life is a real exercise of building… I can’t SPEAK to ALL THAT IS POSSIBLE…imagine? Holy shit. So, this is where I’m at. I work in a restaurant this weekend, and I need a day job, and I’ll be working in a restaurant regardless, because I need to secure my present, future, sure. Not to say that I can’t make it big, all that, it’s just you build over time… and I have to DEAL with where I am at right now. Having lost REAL money, having gotten caught up in useless corners…because? I think, in general, as a woman, beware of getting stripped of your power, remember these words: beware.
So I joked around, I woke up feeling grounded again, and I’ll keep accepting how life is just life. I’m fine, I just hate that I have to deal with this shit on top of this story, if that makes sense. Now, I’m like, okay, portfolio pieces, think where you want to end up, think. I don’t give a shit about BEING CLEVER in this totally weird sci-fi way. WHY, why would that person do that? You know? Go play ZELDA, for real. Yes, the VIDEO GAME. And sometimes, I go, is it because this person had feelings for me? As that’s what it sounds like, which is disturbing. I’m talking about this guru, in particular. A fictional character, he said, was a psychological device.
Once again, I’m leaving it at that. Needing to… take deep breaths… because I am not communicating with anyone right now, like I have no idea if anyone is even reading this… forget the future audience routine… and I think, there are people who went out on dates, got a job, moved up in the world, in a sense, and just… took it step by step. And I still am shaking off these channeler tapes, for real, okay? It’s really really not fun. So I’ll keep shaking it off. It’s what I mean, in the beginning, I said, I sort of wish I never took an artistic path… because if I were… in another arena, it wouldn’t have come with all this STUFF, not in that same way. And then, I feel sick, to my stomach, truly, considering that my parents were ill, at least. I didn’t want all this crazy bullshit.
So let’s see, beginning to FOR REAL turn on the spaceship, (with the Ghost of Barbara Harris), if I can MAKE IT, right? “Hang on,” looking back, “it’s going to be a BUMPY ride,” but I’m down, I’m grabbing hold of this COOL looking wheel… pushing UP the lever, picking up speed, the spaceship vibrating, generating ENERGY before we BLAST off, final switches on, and I give one of these memorable “woo!” lines — as he take off. I’m the NAVIGATOR. Turning round Voyager 1 about to BUST through some BACK WALL that isn’t REALLY THERE into the REAL MOVIE arena… the Oscar stage. WOW! I came FROM a movie… and now, I am here… wow.
“I’m the real deal,” not knowing what to do with it, “the ghost of an actress my X-MEN right hand…because an actress can haunt you…and if you’re lucky, she might just help you…” and there, I’ll do a slow motion move… with the skills I have from going to Lecoq. We’ll see, Julian Spooner and I, the “FLASHBACK of FLASHBACKS” we crafted in a WWII melodrama we came up with. I’ll play an seven year old in a red beanie convincingly, as a French actor hoists me up, too easily, as I’m very small, and I’ll hang onto him, as a seven year old, as we move through “A forest.”
I’ll say “Maman,” mother, lost.
That was crazy, a journey full of nothing but misunderstandings, or “Dawson’s Creek,” a TV show I could never watch, sorry, just too many misunderstandings, too real, but of course, all these goddamn characters, in the end, having perfected “the nod,” right? Are going to UNDERSTAND in the end… and I’m going to LOOK at the ONE person… who stuck by me, who isn’t really there, in my case, and go — I gotta go. This is the love interest. That was not there.
And here, you see, since I’m thinking LIVE performance, I seek some kind of validation, as I almost didn’t survive my FRIENDS, just the lack of support, feeling as though I might be wrong, about how people responded to the worst ordeal of my life, and not knowing what to do with that part. Because, most likely, these people will disappear, you see, as that’s what they keep doing… and I suppose I keep shrugging, like, I suppose that’s for the best. I don’t have real friends. I have people you go out with when they or you are in town. Or, I didn’t quite build a life, if that makes sense. I can now, but that would be the missing piece. A private life, where people might radiate, if that makes sense… there are inner and outer planets… I am the center of the universe, mine, so it’s, one guy said, not PEOPLE, though a few people did say this… that I have “the adopted issues?” Um, I’m not sure if that was useful in my case.
The point was, “you were not adopted.” This caused confusion. Not to say it’s not true, in a sense, but think about it. My parents were ill, that we know. Not FUCKED UP, you see, as that’s VAGUE, but ILL. SICK. And it took my life thus far to GET THERE. With no one, before this sexual trauma specialist, cracking OPEN the actual story. Forget psychicness, imagine? The sexual trauma specialist throwing a goddamn NOTE at the goddamn SCREEN. But no no no no, all these gurus and psychics, no no no no, my friends, no no no no, before I can even explain, shutting me down, “no no no no,” impossible, no no no no, that it wasn’t a LIE. About my parents being abusive, when there’s a sexual trauma specialist, following someone who’s waking up to what happened. “And then, this happened…”
He’s nodding. He’s following me. “You were really in this situation…” regardless. He’s NOT cuing VIOLINS. That’s for ANOTHER arena.
So this period is tense, where I’m now seeking to be understood. And I can’t decide whether I’m supposed to NOT care, you see, like who gives a shit, right? Hehe, let’s play FRIENDS, even. Ignore me, sure. Don’t follow up with me. Don’t even think about what I’m actually going through at all, ACTING like I’m NOT TELLING THE TRUTH, when I already came from that story. My friends drove me nuts. And I’m going, maybe I am not getting something… So I’ve just let them go. Like my adopted family… like bye. I don’t know why, I needed ANOTHER family, you see what I mean? GO and MAKE ONE.
Now I have a better sense of things…