Future thinking is my last cognitive battle — the left overs of the past decade. Maybe I was impressionable. I don’t know how to describe that. I don’t know what to say about the psychedelics I took either though in LA I didn’t really go that often, maybe a couple of times. It wasn’t the time to fill me with ideology. I didn’t need to take off on some esoteric spin that a couple of loners in Beverly Hills theorized over, in a cocoon of total safety. IS IT LITERALLY TRUE? I didn’t need controversy. I came to find, no. Does the future write the past? I don’t care.
Unfortunately, if I do something, sometimes, though it gets better, like go to a rehearsal in some Columbia building to perform a scene, yesterday, that stimulated my mind again with “future logic” and goals of “success.” Very uncomfortable. It puts pressure on my heart, literally. I felt the guru in my heart, it’s so weird, but our relationship was so weird, so I went through another terror. Now it’s easy to just stamp it out, like it’s just a lingering, “not me,” stamp stamp. Get out. That’s what I mean, it gets easier to keep cycling that guy out of my heart, but when it happens it feels so invasive, it can spin up all the “shit” he taught me, which he PUT in a birthday card. In writing.
I wanted to sing afterwards, though I was tired, and I could barely sing yesterday because of the future logic again driving the show. The guru communicated he firm belief in the factual truth that the future—the future, which is an unstable idea—WRITES the past. It’s a good line, but it’s not a navigational tool. Sure, I would like to be on a TV show, I guess, and I’m getting to know this landscape to evaluate what show, what kind of show, that I’d like to end up on, but I don’t know if visualizing and meditating on this show, so-to-speak, is necessary. It’s like the “imagine the completed book” and download that information. That was unsound advice coming from a man who wrote, literally, LINE by LINE, he said. One step at a time. So this caused me incredible distress. I had to stop singing, I had to lay down, as I had gotten stimulated. I’m telling you, the “channel your audience” was a terrible idea. These Da Ben tapes this guru’s brother gave me — I didn’t exactly realize he was giving ME channeler tapes. Even the shaman, yes, the shaman in this group I got involved with would go—hmmmmm. Not so sure there. Maria is not the person to give channeler tapes to. That’s not the person to trigger. And, looking at him, I’m not the person to tell — on drugs, come on, that I am psychic. That ruined my life.
But I entered this universe…
Besides, if I was THAT psychic to these people, truly speaking, WHY would you give me…tapes like that? Remember, these men in Beverly Hills too, they more or less divinated, as they were psychic as well, that’s how they acted, that I was psychic. How I ended up here, I do not know, because I would say, no not really though I suppose I had some interesting experiences — are those ones that I should attach to? I hated all that, as I don’t dislike life, real life, and I’m not looking for a way out, I’m not looking to be an X-MEN in real life, which is basically what these people told me. I was practically an X-Men. It’s getting better. I’m getting back to a clear state of mind when I type. I have relapses of sorts, or I get triggered… and because it’s getting better, when it spins, it’s harrowing.
Wow, I was just trying to write a book, start writing, I really didn’t need these problems. It’s taken me years… to find my way back to myself. I did not seek a teacher, I did not want to be this man’s pupil…in the studies of consciousness. I really don’t understand why he felt I was “special” enough to grace me with his pompous attitudes.
I feel much better this morning.
I’m not sure what to say about the so-called “heart openers” I took over the years, or if it would be possible that there was just TOO MUCH, this guru was OPENING me up, why would I discuss my childhood with this man, really? Without ANY return from me, that was not a balanced relationship. You don’t act like a psychologist outside of a proper container. Right? My cousins too. It was too much. It was not my job to open up to the world, for the world, go open up if you want. I unfortunately needed to draw very clear lines. Like, “I do not know this person.” So WHY is this person ACTING in the way that he is? The guru was ridiculously inappropriate, and I have fears sometimes, just because I don’t know if I was abused sexually—somewhere. The guru doesn’t look that SAFE. He looks unsafe. I get frightened — he tends to trigger terror. I wished he spared me his expertise, if you will. How he thought that was going to help me… I mean, I am a real person. You don’t treat me like a toy, you don’t treat me like I COULD BE SOMEONE, you don’t shape me like some piece of clay… as I had to do so much separating — that’s not ME, that’s HIS IDEA of me. “You’re special and I intend to keep my perspective” over a lost DVD. AM I SPECIAL? WHY??? What the fuck did I do? Was it my personality? My intelligence? WHAT?
Again, it’s all about Good Will Hunting. The scene when the professor visits Williams at his bar. He asks the bartender questions. And this would be where the guru would say, “I had a feeling about her.” Uh huh, Williams? With his sandwich, which he’s excited about, a nice detail, he would nod and go, “hey,” whatever his name is. And you don’t see him, you just hear his voice. “Yeah?”
“Ever have a feeling about someone?”
Pause.
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“My future wife.”
It would SO be that, you see. Williams would probably look this guru in the eye. “What exactly is your interest in this woman?” Williams is, looking through shit, looking at me coming into his office all bright and cheery — no, “we gotta talk.”
“You’re not getting something.”
“It’s not your fault.”
And just like the psychic stuff, do I need to ARGUE with MEN over WHO IT IS THAT I AM and WHAT I AM CAPABLE OF? I mean, I do not FEEL PSYCHIC.
Again, the BRITISH voice or at least someone who can DO a British accent which is all that is required, helped me remain extremely strict about it. Enough! If I were British, no one would dare interrupt me. If I were an UPSET British person? It would be the end for you, American. Why not play on STUPID archetypes and assumptions? Send in a pissed off Brit. I am an intelligent POSH person. I come from LONDONTOWN, even, okay? Is that transparent enough? That an accent gives a very different impression of a person, as the British accent is “the smart accent.” Perhaps I com efrom wealth, even.
Jokes aside, I truly needed relief. I felt like I had to defend MY perspective on MYSELF. The psychic period was ridiculous. Looking at the slytherin, even, “LOOK MAN I was in a sex scandal, do NOT talk to me about ABANDONMENT. You sound like you are in Kindergarten.” I wanted the COPS.
So the psychic shit, that played on my mind and my entire sensational body. If I’m feeling something, why? You see? It was triggering. And I had just a childhood to work out, no offense, and like, this so-called psychologist I started seeing with an extremely nice art collection, no one, truly, could direct me to specialist? I look back and I’m totally shocked at this woman. WHY, if I cannot afford my own PLACE, are you taking my money? HELLO? And I have to mention this.
My relationship to the guru was a M. Night Shyamalan film — a psychological thriller. He had a painting in his house, which wow, in the film version of that story, that would explain it all. It was a portrait of a remarkably distressed woman. She was in the throes of despair. He said “she had a quality.” Or, this painting had a quality. THAT’s the opening, isn’t it? It would have to be… in the movie. His artwork became central in my analysis of him as he believes, maybe still, that I am Carl Jung, as this man knows of no one else, except Eric Berne, you know. This painting was everything. I suppose it was “well done.” This was his mind, no?
I’ll never forget the day I stepped out of my adopted family… He watched me as if I were a TV show that amused him. It disturbs me now. His cleaning lady was puttering about, she had given him an orchid. Just that painting of the woman with dark circles under her eye, in a storm. Interesting choice. I never felt that kind of pain in my heart. I never felt as if I had betrayed my own heart, that I would be so blind to someone who was — not benign. He was… a terrible influence. Telling me I wasn’t fed as a baby or something, or trying to NURTURE me, when, I do not know what to say. Were YOU nurtured? Over nurtured? WHY ARE YOU NURTURING ME? Why are you drawing all these assumptions about me when this relationship was already unhealthy? There was nothing sound about it. Be real.
If this was… love? This is not love.
I feel much better now that I worked out the psychic problem, which is the only NOTE I strike, rage, anger. That part is settled, finished. Fuck off. Now I just have this final piece… around the future writing the past, and the future audience wanting me to “get there.” Whatever this useless thought game was. I still feel this compulsion to write these blog posts, but that will take care of itself, as becoming a writer seemed to be… the wrong decision. It destroyed my life. And, just to think, I came from a sex scandal, and this sexual trauma specialist heard the whole story, whereas these people never did, and he’s just making a space for me… because I went through hell and back with fucktards, excuse me, turning me into some sappy girl movie (with supernatural gifts). That sucked, it really did. I wasn’t even a GOOD movie. I suppose I could turn it into one. I wasn’t hearing “you are a gifted writer…” you see? You see the difference? I didn’t have to DO anything…worthy of note.
Joyce Carol Oates? I’m imagining her at Princeton… looking at me as I enter the room as if I were a piece of interesting meat, and telling me, upon sight, she can TELL based on what I look like, that I am a writer — the next great American writer. The text, the prose, the HOW — who cares? She doesn’t need to READ anything to know and she intends to KEEP her perspective as I flounder. I want her to repeat the lines that were told to me: what is the central energetic frequency of this material? I want her to lead mindset workshops where she’s drawing a book on a timeline—the future, and I want her to really describe downloading future information. I couldn’t get a simple piece of advice, couldn’t draw the simpliest conclusion, which was, read books, figure out what you like, and don’t rush that, and figure out what you would like to write. There was a touch too much delusion in my understanding of the story as if — well, the guru, I don’t know what branch he was on, but I was already on that branch, meaning he didn’t illuminate anything. It’s not about family, it’s about a story that necessitated calling social services.
I was in a sex scandal. My mother didn’t give me away. That’s not what the topic sentence was. She paid a woman to protect me for some years because she accused my father of being a threat to me, and they both, my parents, acted guilty. Leave the absurd dementia aisde, a moment. It was as if no one was actually listening to me, or could. And this psychologist, this woman, she might say, I was quite pretty, but that sounds ridiculous…looking at actresses? Models? I mean, be real.
Now, looking at the people who got involved — were you the right person to get involved? Are you trained, equipped to handle something like that? The short answer has always been no. You’re not. My relationship to my cousins… I mean, looking back on it, what did this guru think? Living in a dreamworld that does not exist. Did he think they were going to react WELL? NO ONE EVER DID.
The point was I was disrespected at step one. Then guru disrespected me. My cousins disrespected me. the ZEN MASTER SYBIL just urged me to stay… before this horrific decade unfolded. As I said, I keep clearing up. My mind is clearer. I had to grieve and grieve and wince back in horror at these brothers, I’m sorry, that was a horror show. What the fuck is this man’s brother doing talking to ME on the phone? What the fuck do you know about THAT? Like, he told me that some crazy lady calls him, uh huh, remembering his brother’s painting. THINK. So. It was all so stimulating and addictive, their ideology. It was all addiction. There’s something seductive about living in the future in that way, or making pictures, or stirring up FEELINGS as a means of “driving reality into existence.” I mean, how complicated is that? So I was overactive, being told I’m repressed? By a lunatic?
What exactly am I repressing? Sexual abuse? He thought, this fucking lunatic, that I was supressing neglect? Imagine? THEY FEED YOU THEY NOURISH YOU — he kept saying this during our obscene and ridiculous so-called mentorship. He acted like a computer. Utterly absurd, and no offense, I could imagine BIGGER screenwriters and directors than HIM treating me with more respect than that, I mean, if they were like, interested in helping someone? Or, interested in helping me develop a story? Be real. I imagined BIGGER NAMES — not doing what he did. Have you ever been in a bad relationship? Where you go, wait, I’m sorry, this isn’t me, because I know what appropriateness is?
So the act of God, really, now that, I think it was an act of God — divine intervention, because, I was unfortunately built to assume all blame. A terrible thing my parents did to me. A terrible thing my families did to me. In Istanbul, I ended up getting swept away to a production office, totally amazing. I was sitting there in front of a producer, and I happened to show up in his office one day. I told him that story, feeling as though I really wanted to be here, and he didn’t get attached… he just shrugged that he was emotionally invested and we should try it. Why not? I didn’t get attached. Right? I didn’t even expect him to do anything. He handed me a movie bible, requested that I study it, and I threw bible after bible at him, three in total, over a three week period. Was that so hard? He wasn’t making a BIG TO DO ABOUT WHO HE WAS THAT HE WAS INTERESTED IN MY STORY NOR IS HE TRYING TO GET INVOLVED IN A BOOK, that’s not what he does. He doesn’t know anything about books. I’m telling you. We became friends… we didn’t move forward with the movie, but I wasn’t attached. He stayed on the other side of a line.
That didn’t go anywhere, but that guy was a normal person who was self-aware. He’s not trying to help me. So sometimes with that guy, it’s like, why wouldn’t you just make a phone call if you’re so convinced that I am the MOST special artist on earth? You know? I could have ventured out into the world and found that person, maybe. My story brought me so many problems that I didn’t understand. This guru, he pointed at me like a lunatic day one, shaking his finger at me, “life is not about what you wanna knooooooowwwwwwwwww…” he acted like a total lunatic.
I hate the psychics for this reason, not all, people like him feel like they have a right to INVADE your space with their psychic leanings. Do you feel everything? Now, I have a sword. “I do not give a shit.” I see that man again I’m going to chew him out, it’s the part I have to keep letting go, because there’s nothing I can do, I don’t know what to do, but I hate him.
Anyway, I keep settling into the present, I keep reading books, I keep thinking about what book I might like to write… and right now I’m thinking something more like Forrest Gump, that goes through my whole life up until my mid thirties… and maybe I’ll start with the film people, I don’t know. I wasn’t a simpleton, I had a personality trait that caused me problems, and apparently I was TOO GIFTED but at what? We do not know. I usually don’t like stories that are self-referential, but people said “this story sounded like something you’d see on TV,” like, shut up. YOU sound stupid. So many real stories land on TV.
So I sat on this line between screen and real life, so I thought it might work as a hinge that… allows me to move… through my life. I just don’t know about the last section, who I go confront, something, we’ll see. And sure, I can look at myself, Jesus Christ, I did so much of it, but when you’re acting like a lunatic at step one, what am I supposed to say other than — an abysmal “noooo…” to myself. It’s like I don’t even need to say much else. But I did go through the whole arc of it with these producers. And they were in a foreign country, which is so funny.
I’m still working on this EPIC piece though I am not writing this week, other than on my blog, just because I don’t really want to continue, even. I haven’t reached any kind of success. I didn’t want to talk about my family like that, I thought it was a good story, but now it’s a sex scandal, you understand, so what exactly am I trying to say? I didn’t want to wallow in this. It had happened at that point like 26 years in the past by the time the guru waved his dick in my face. That’s a long time. Not yesterday. I might not have been repressed, exactly, and the sexual trauma specialist was like, “who is this guy???” He was so annoyed. “Like you needed that?”
The guru said, so strangely, “you’re probably going to be going through experiences” to hang up the phone. I mean, “what does he mean?” I mean, this sexual trauma specialist helping me unnpack this, “who is this guy?”
That was sick. That man was sick.
Anyway, I wish I didn’t have to go through something so dark, I wish I had the capacity to see clearly, and you know, no one reading that story on Miracle Mile is going to tell me that it looks benign. Thie guru’s brother tells me that having characters in your head is a GIFT some form of synethesia? Are you insane?
But then, the sexual trauma specialist said, “it was always…weird, right? Always like that.” Crazy people.
So a new day. I feel clearer. I’m going to keep not writing. I have to keep evacuating ALL future thinking, all “reaching out” to people reading this, okay? This man, this guru man, ruined my life. I was in a CAFE. I did not SEEK to get manipulated by some “hotshot.” It’s THAT life perspective that scares me the most, because he could rape someone. After all, “whatever happens to you is what you want…” that’s scary. Very very scary. And he wouldn’t even be able to admit it. So why not rape me? You know? I would want it right? Utterly terrifying.
I need to keep washing away any kind of internalized external drivers… so I can just try and go after what I want. I get scared sometimes. I still have to run tests to ensure I don’t have cysts, as I went through so much PAIN in areas of my body, and not one of these IDIOTS could suggest a PHYSICIAN. Encouraging me to travel after I got out of a hospital. I mean, the stupidity of it, how unreal I was. So I went through utter agony. I did not want to. And you must understand the lunacy, of having to think that — I could be told that I wanted to be abused as a child? You can go fuck yourself. It makes me want to pull a Kill Bill. Smash your windows.
So I have a reading today. I have to keep trying to find better work. I don’t want to be a writer, I don’t think. I’ll keep working it out. If anything, I wish I went to film school so I could make my own work. I’m not going back to school at forty, but I’ll work on my first small video series about being an in-call psychic in sweats and fur. I get calls no matter where I am, you see, that’s how I work, how I USE the present moment, for it speaks, to do my work, which is in service to you. The ghostof Barbara Harris is my guide, if you must know. In the criterion collection, I will begin to ouija board her selection of DVDs. I might be at the supermarket…searching for flour… right? I might be at the hardware store. IN LINE, “yup.” I’ll try that soon. I might have been struck to watch dogs at the dog run… call. Huh. Taking it in. I do not know, is this person hiding something? Alright, let me prepare… watching a tail wag.
I really really really didn’t care THAT much about my family story. I’ll keep working on this EPIC piece, but overall, I’m just learning how to take a step back and think about it globally — I just find myself in a precarious spot for the moment, because I didn’t need to BE A WRITER, you know what I mean? I just don’t know what happened to me, really. I could have gotten a job, a regular job, but again, I didn’t go after performing, and it really held me back in life. NOT just admitting that’s what I wanted to do. Stop being a child about it. I had angsts. So NOW, I feel better, even if I have to… be the mother in the room. That’s alright.
It was a simple conclusion. Were my parents just ill? Were they… one of these? I cannot even look at their picture. You know? I just woke up through this, and it didn’t look that good, okay? And it sucked to realize I was that young. I don’t know if you ever wantedto RIP someone’s face off, but in this case it was my parents. What the fuck is going on here? Angelica Leibowitz was like a Bowser that I had to defeat, okay? Especially with talk of not knowing how my MOTHER handled me, just please. So I don’t know what to say about being A WISEMAN, but I had to become a fucking pissed parent. And so, I don’t know. I go through a whole range of — it’s not, can’t be, but, who am I even looking at? As it’s basically sick. I’ll keep working out that part. And WHY the guru comes to mind there, look, this guy, in particular, has literally zero experience or knowledge. And I’m not literally talking to him, but he acts as though he’s the sexual trauma specialist, a man who gives lectures at HARVARD, who has worked INSIDE mental health institutions. As if I give a shit about that guy’s opinion. I have to EXPEL this person from my mind.
A simple conclusion, one that came with a roller coaster ride through a bunch of shit I didn’t need, though someone might say, you went through what you had to? It’s more the questions it raises about the lunatics called my parents. I came from a background, I keep saying that, and though everyone claimed to know that, even engaged with me because of it, they didn’t get that it was real. I came from a background. Not the person to play games with. I‘m good NOW.
If he was in love with me, as he confessed, he really made me wonder if my father had abused me when I was a child. A baby, even, since this GURU not only called ME a baby to then confess his romatic love for me as my father later but he kept SAYING a four year old is a baby, when it’s not exactly a baby. It’s a very small child. It was all so disturbing. If he was “just doing that” an exercise? At that point, the sexual truama specialist crumpled his NOTE — and threw it at the screen.
“Absurd.”
“This is absurd.”
It sounds like a psychological thriller — that painting utterly extraordinary. And of course, step one, I simply remark it, a lovely person, I think, you know? Is that WRONG for me to say, that I was a lovely person? Not perfect, but a friendly person? Just beginning to tap away on a computer.
“That’s a striking painting…”
I suppose I admired it’s psychological state, how skillfully it was painted, and then, now, I’m graining back, “whoa,” hoping one day I might make some break you know and be able to spawn a motion picture. It’s all about that painting. I was fascinated, I suppose, on the other side, I can connect to the young girl who studied this scandal… clinically. So, this guru seemed to communicate — and he was so withheld — that when he thought about me, I would call. From my experience, I opened up so much, and with my cousins I experienced something similar, where, when Franco was thinking about me, I could feel that, and he would reach out to me.
I was out of bounds.
Now it’s like, X, thanks. But the guru doesn’t use the word psychic. He’s not totally convinced. however, “He knows I’m sensitive in that way.” It’s not that crazy unusual to — “oh, I was just thinking about you,” that’s a common sentence. I felt — unhinged, I wasn’t meant to be opened up like that, and I couldn’t really even grasp the MAIN QUESTION which is, “what happened?” Nothing but sappy shit.
The most chilling memory was how the guru said “I’m here,” as if I were a dog, as if he were training a dog. I had no idea why he was saying any of this. “I’m HERE.” Like a dog. He said it as if I were a dog. I don’t know if your past has to be in your present, but I can’t even reflect on it. It was JUST a touch too crazy. Did he have split personality disorder? Truly. Just because I was blown away. “I’m HERE.”
What was he trying to communicate?
So in the Forrest Gump version of my story… curly hair is like a box of chocolates in that you never know what you’re gonna get… I wouldn’t suggest it. Not if you came from a sex scandal. Get rid of the curls — immediately. Now I’m trying to get to “superwoman,” long hair because why not? This is how people actually spoke of me. I’m going to end up in a relationship with THIS GUY. And maybe in a longer trajectory, it will be effective, heartbreaking, and I keep trying to keep a positive outlook about my forties. It’s not the easiest time for a single woman. Just being at this brink and not having anything. Only these ridiculous stories.
Even this guru telling me that a fictional characer in my draft was a “really good psychological device…” It’s like are you a six year old? Deranged? It most certainly appeared like that at STEP ONE. It’s just, WHY am I taking another step? Well, I came from a background…just reading about Epstein, the girls. They all came from “unfortunate backgrounds,” though I never felt like that. But they were vulnerable. And there, I would have to deal with people’s disbelief. AND ALSO at the same time, if I acknowledged what it was a real background, I could be faced with the opposite… I couldn’t WIN. Not with this story. Yuo know? Look, I’m a lethal weapon, man. Ready to play TERMINATOR. F the Austrian.
This guru is making the BIGGEST deal of it to tell me indirectly I’m repressed, to then tell me “this isn’t the Holocaust,” when I look back on what I wrote, and I’m hardly expressing my feelings at all. He has a problem with women he finds attractive, I believe. He’s like a shitty boy who’s mean to the girl he likes. But like, um, to a frightening degree. I will exclude any talk of “good times.” Of a movie ticket bought when this son of a bitch has millions of dollars, no? If he cares so much about abuse? Why not donate asshole? Why not go to foster care and tell these kids that they are divinely inspired…
Wanting to rip this person to shreds in a British accent.
I have to laugh. I just have to.
I’ll work on just trying to envision where I’d like to be and think about the steps. I saw Playbill callings on the Columbia walls for plays, one woman shows, I’m not there yet, but there are plenty of opportunities. I have to figure out a performance piece for a museum or something, as I’ll try performance, I’ll try Dr. J. I might need to get contacts, blue contacts, but I can be a character in a space. So I’m going to try a bunch of things… and I keep slowly letting writing go… because I don’t want to give up… but I’d rather… let it go… and I’ll keep working on the EPIC piece.
I’ll keep structuring that out from afar.
I’ll keep thinking about a book…
I just still feel tender.
I keep letting go… but not wanting to give up exactly…
Every few months, I tend to call this specialist, which always helps, but I can’t talk about that all the time. So I’ll leave it at that. Will turn 40 this month. I don’t feel bad about it, I just wish I weren’t in the position I was in, where I feel like I still have to work out this guru out of my heart, keep separating. No, that’s not me. That was him. I don’t want future strings pulling me… I most certaintly do not want to see “people” reading as I type, sing, act… It’s getting better. But that was a real battle. Remembering sitting on a ferry…and just trying to be a regular person? Imagining Magneto appearing floating… just a person. I’m sorry I did not deserve that shit, I’m not even famous.
If THEY live in a theoretical universe, good on them. Do not TALK about it as if it were literally true. Do not hand out channeler tapes. Or is it not really real? You know what I mean? Is it SUPPOSED to have a real effect on me or not? This fucking man telling me in the 15th century I would have been the one to speak to animals — shall I pick up a gold gilded hand mirror to complete the image? This asshole. He told me this was a compliment. How would he feel if I called him QUASIMODO? Or the wizard in FANTASIA? It’s a compliment. I told the guru though that he would make a really good Death, isn’t that stunning? He would make a really good Death, the character, he would be a good inspiration for that character. He found that amusing.
People come from all sorts of stories, life journies. Now, I would like a really nice entrance way with a nice round table and a vase of flowers — I would like a proper home, you know? Someone nice sitting there, a nice guy, normal guy, one that I love, one that isn’t turning me into an X-MEN. Right? Maybe a vacation or two. Plans for an extension. The hottub. The better bathtub. There are better dreams… a happy ending. I’d like a happy ending… one without weirdos.
I don’t know what to do with that… like what graphic do I make on Instagram? what I learned about life thus far: “do NOT go in there,” Jim Carrey, “WOO!” Walking away practically eaten alive. But he continues. I feel a little like that. DO NOT. I feel like I could achieve that level of TRUTH and INTENSITY. I could try. That’s a really good moment. He’s such a good actor. He’s one of my favorites. I’m watching myself now so I can pick up on who I remind myself of, and I see that I really like him, so I’ll keep figuring that out. That makes me happy… so I think I’ll just concentrate on what makes me happy. And I’ll figure out the rest.
I hope things will turn around… now that I worked out what I needed to in a sexy little red riding hood outfit, right? Because that was also the problem? I do not know. I’ve come out of the forest. A dark place. In sexy red riding hood outfit. Whoops. With a basket. “I was just trying to get to grandma…” running away… sure sure, lots of hands, turning around, sure sure, it was all my fault, responsiblity, bowing, bowing, sure sure, got the picture, you were totally innocent, I was not… boobs. I gotta go. And I’m running towards the carriage where GUMBY is, my cousin, who’s cracking up in a state of disbelief. And from there, the horses lift off their hind legs and — plummet through the English countryside. Away.