So I think I'm going to see Bugonia

I might concentrate on psychological genres a moment, as I really went through enough of them. You know, when it comes to the relationship I had with the Hollywood screenwriter, a man who was a New Age person sort of disgused as not one. He’s giving me “the Seth Books,” telling me to forget “the costume,” which is already problematic, because “the content is right…” and I don’t know if he were to, not to say I went to foster care, hand that book out to “people from divine births” as he told me, literally speaking, that my birth was divine because I was born to parents who were not there. He wasn’t not speaking figuratively. Danger. Fast forward to the end of my life, “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…” crushed, I got crushed. “Meditate on the time of day, your location, and repeat, plenty of money comes to me,” while I am in a shithole. And he’s going to say, “why are you doing that to yourself,” when his brother told me the same thing. When they were young, he took his hand, and this was told to me as if it were wise, and he started punching him with it, “why are you hurting yourself….” No, why are YOU hurting your own brother with HIS hand? And yet, what would his brother do, lie for his brother? Protect his assailant? You see what I’m saying? THAT’s who I got involved with. Not a benign character. An “evolved” meditator. It was the dark side of manifestation, the dark side of — using your mind as if it were a piece of tech that you could access to make magic feats happen. Not to say that, “you know, I happened to fall into some perfect line of logic where I showed up, and this happened, and then…” I just don’t know the utlity of getting obsessed with how things unfold in some META way.

That guy has dangerous beliefs, dangerous especially to me, someone who came from a complicated background, which I have the right to say. I have the right to say that what happened to me was unacceptable. He acts as though he’s not making decisions, like taking his brother’s hand and hitting him with it and blaming him? Disturbing. There might be something I can do with that relationship. That descent into madness, despair, where she doesn’t even know if she was abused, but based on… Jesus, I look back, and I can’t even believe it was possible. “They FEED YOU…” and picture Emma Stone, calling him, continuing to play his game, that “I wasn’t fed…?” And he doesn’t SEE his hand. Shoving that down my throat. Over a book draft! He evidently, based on his LEADING statements, believed I wasn’t fed or cared for properly, when I gave no indication of it. Sure, probably, I guess, but what in hell told him that vaguely suggesting this was a GOOD IDEA?

I can’t STOP talking about this asshole.

I used not be able to watch these types of movies, and now, I just might find solace in them. So I’m going to go see it. He was not a well man. He was fucked up, really fucked up. That was abusive. That was an ABUSE of power. And it almost killed me, this relationship. So—my anger is cosmic. I suppose that will dull in time. I don’t know how to begin putting that relationship in formal words, because, once again, he doesn’t SEE himself. YOU YOU YOU — when YOU started it. Meaning HIM. My heart, literally speaking, was in a state of agony for years. My literal heart. He hurt me worse than my own parents… and that’s with the potential sexual abuse in it. His “helping me” routine, unnecessary, a waste of time and space. And I’m going to keep talking about it, because that was insane. “The theme here in nourishment,” imagine? That’s what he said. When I said that I had met a guy—right???? — a chef. We were supposedly just friends, right? Though, um, someone had to talk to me as if I were a traumatized individual, which wasn’t fun, “that’s not a friend.” And my “I don’t know” persona was a coping mechanism, understandable. Don’t ACT, coming from my background, that I DON’T KNOW how people can treat you, but I think about the Epstein girls, and my heart goes out to them, because confronting my vulnerability and the pain of having been misused and abused by my parents… made me almost want to end my life. That I—yes, was vulnerable, yes. For real. I’m being so honest. What is the point of living? Now, I’m not being totally serious, but I have had my moments, for sure.

So yeah, I mention that I’m dating someone…? A chef, and isn’t it funny, I’ve dated ONE chef, before, people speak hyperbolically. I wouldn’t call it a theme, I would say, I love Food. Like, many many magazines exist about food and beverage! People love FOOD, restaurants, DRINKS. And this guru, in Beverly Hills, amazing, just amazing, he stops. Hands behind his back, guru-like, a teacher who has never taught anyone. “The theme here is nourishment.” And I’m acting like wondrous, what do you mean? You see, he’s manipulating my innocence… whether or not he UNDERSTOOD what HE WAS DOING to this degree of depth, is not my problem.

“I don’t know,” he said, brows raised………. trailing off…..as if he did know… he just couldn’t tell me. “I’m always feeding you…” he said, when, finally, when I got support around this lunatic, someone informed me. “Why the hell is this man speaking to you like this?!” I thought we had a recurring lunch date? “Feeding me?” Disgusting. It was disgusting that he enjoyed this. “I’m always feeding you…” a woman he remarked was vulnerable. Unbelievable. And he took advantage of that. I let him, sure, asshole. A classic male asshole. With superior feeling senses… a psychic, yes, though he KNOWS he can’t say that, he can’t be open about that. A smart man. Strange. Very strange. That was a mentally ill person, meaning, that person had issues—a personality disorder. ETHICS. What he did was unethical. He presented himself as a big shot writer with genius capacities if not supernatural.

So I’m going to see Bugonia, I’m going to cry, probably, and I’ll watch movies like that, that involve psychological journies. The boy in Whiplash practically dies… because he also admires this prodigal figure, the jazz conductor, and he gets caught… me, I felt as though I got caught up in a JAZZ orchestra yes, like, why does he think this? I’m not even in my desired arena? You see? He’s telling me I’m SPECIAL, while belittling me at the same time though HE believes that he is HOLDING ME UP, though I do not NEED this PRESSURE. He projected on me in such a way that would inspire an orchestra, and I — keep going back. Amazing. I mean, most of the people I know, once again, I’ve tried to talk to about this, they don’t even know what to say — AGAIN. Like, why do people do this to you?

Like, my friend is a Tony nominee, my other friend has been photographed by Annie Leibovitz, my other friend is a Tony Award winner. They did not have to deal with this shit, people exercising their power, because they were…talented? Which was not the deal here. I was SPECIAL. Do you understand how manipulative that is? I was special? How? So I deserved to be psycho analyzed over a lost DVD? I deserved to be insulted by some disgustingly, truly, emotional man shaking his hand at me on the street. “You cannot disappoint me,” over a LOST DVD, “you have my looovveeee…” I looked back on this relationship, like, BLOWN AWAY. He did this because I was special. HE TOLD ME, picture him taking his own brother’s hand, “that I WAS SPECIAL,” he then held me up after confusing me, “and he intended to keep his perspective…” what the hell was that? Script analysis. As if I didn’t KNOW I was special, over an I TANYA DVD? No way. That’s the type of behavior that friends are — intervening, no. Get the fuck away from that guy. Not HE, not HIM, not get away from her. ME, “why the fuck are you here, Maria?”

You see, I needed this person. “You’re not SEEING THIS…” it almost killed me. He doesn’t care, which was so like my mother, just her illness, her true insanity. And my father? Who knows, at this point… he was an abusive person… he’s going to in a sense take your own hand and HIT you with it. YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT, you see, and in the “about” section of the movie, if you would, it’s ABOUT the age of disconnection. Someone who has no clue what a relationship is, and who is going to derive some sick pleasure… is HELPING a girl to the point of killing her.

“It’s a really good psychological device,” this fictional character in my draft. A man who hated me, in fact. But he’s going to BE RIGHT THERE EXACTLY WHEN I CALL NO MATTER THE TIME. HE’S GOING TO — GET OFF THE PHONE QUICKLY when I call. He’s going to weirdly psychically say, suggest, that “he was thinking about me…” when I called. He’s not going to SAY anything, really, but then, when he does talk, it’s going to be weird. Nightmare. Satan. He told me a fictional character in my draft was a “really good psychological device.” And HOW was that supposed to help me, at all? His brother was a bit looney, as well. Giving me channeler tapes. This guru, he’s ABOUT THE ENERGY. Cra—aa—zy. Imagine? The comedy? This man turned to me in Beverly Hills.

“What’s the central energetic frequency of this material…” about something I was writing. You’re “spinning it up,” the energy, “can you handle it?” I mean, truly speaking, what is he doing? I was panicking, I mean. YOU CAN REACH greatness through a book draft? When I was, literally, at step one someone who had never, not in my entire life, exhibited any… behavior like this, ever. Ever.

It’s NOT because I was repressed, asshole, as this man only inspires this sort of language. He disturbed me. I came from a background. Anyway, another day where I — can’t even believe this man, really. The first night I hung out with him, I tried to pay for my drink, as I wasn’t sure WHAT exactly had interested him about me… he didn’t ask me out on a date, or anything. And he said, I’m living in my sister’s attic, no, loft, and that he was better off than me. I wasn’t unfortunate.

He got triggered by my background, by me, as a vulnerable, feeling person. Someone who was remarkably vulnerable, someone remarkably kind, unaware, too, and he chose to become a guru… wanting to help me… though I did not need HELP. He did. He needed help. Psychological help. What he did was wrong. It was not okay at all. And that straight up ruined my life. SURE I DID IT, his obsession with ME being the ONE. He should look at that, and try on not being a weirdo. He was a total weirdo with a nice car.

Now, I remember once, I don’t even know how we got here, but “he gets laid,” he told me, as if he “goes out and gets laid…” from time to time…and I’m like, is that the way you speak to a LADY? I look back at this guy, and I go, I have no idea how I didn’t see what an ogre he was. A true ogre. Like, “good for you?”

Seeing an old friend today

I might just cry. What a terrible decade this has been. I still struggle with these men I met, these older men. This screenwriter in particular, I just look back and say, why? Why would you act like that? I didn’t need to be destroyed, as a person, as he acted as if he could see through me, that he had a better sense of where I came from than I did. It was god awful. And I get wrapped up in this person, unable to see straight. It was a decade of many ends, the end of me. And I grieve, I do, my birthday is coming up, all this, sorry, “jacking off” and “talk of bending reality” when I wish I didn’t spend the money I had, so I felt enabled to my doom. And there’s nothing I can do about it. He can just get away with it, and he has money, so he had nothing to lose. That’s hard. I didn’t need to be psychic, I didn’t have any problems with becoming a writer— he should have minded his own business, quite frankly. Hopefully, seeing an old friend with help me find myself again… because I wish I could take it all back. You can believe in bending reality, all this stuff, or manifesting, I don’t know. I didn’t have a problem with it. You shouldn’t go acting like a psychologist if you’re not! And now, yes, I wouldn’t let someone WALK all over me, and turn weekly lunch dates into some creepy “I’m feeding you” routine… but I struggle with where I am at, I do. I have moments where his memory feels like such slime, and I’m confronting my sheer normalcy. Forget the X-Men, I’m so psychic, routine that he even subscribed to, I was a PRETTY woman. And that’s how he treated me. I was just a nice-looking young woman who came from a bit of a past, and I’ve been shut down now by practically everyone I know… on that one. I am single, too, you know, and I’m just having an emotive moment this morning as the thought of seeing my old friend… has given me permission to feel.

I have trouble moving on, feeling like my life has any purpose, wishing I never became any kind of artist, as that brought me weird men who wanted to play games with me — for my benefit, imagine? And they painted pictures and projected all this special bullshit onto me, that…how was that supposed to help me? So I just feel wretched this morning, totally heartbroken. Heartbroken, across the board. I really went through a rude awakening…I didn’t see this cluster of otherworldly logic, like I am psychic, I can download the book from the future… and I honestly find this exercise really hard. And adopting the perspective, one of the guru’s phrases, that “I’m making this hard for myself on a META level,” look, I’m just looking at notecards, taking my time, wishing I hadn’t dedicated my entire life to this exercise. Because I’m getting jumped on by men, in particular, before I can even produce anything. It’s that the guru felt like he had a right to insert himself in my private affairs. That royally ruined me. I was ruined. And I start weeping again, not understanding WHY he did what he did. Like, a, I would have never have taken that course of action that he did, and if I were him on the other end of the line, later on, there’s no way…. there’s no way… I would have ever have just sat there on the phone. It’s as if he wanted to destroy me… he was not benign. That was the most terrible relationship I was ever in.

And why? Why would he get involved in my life? But this person is just going to get away with it… I lost everything. So that hurts. That story only hurt me. Like go away, can’t you find someone on Craiglist to “teach?” And now, now that I’m a little older, I’m weeping, because it’s like, “oh okay, I was a pretty woman?” That’s why you did that? Like I can’t help what I look like. I thought there was the seeds of something in that terrible situation I was in, but it brought me more pain and insanity, I mean, just the weirdest people, than it was worth. I wish I became a lawyer, or thought about directing that experience elsewhere. And I just want to meet someone who actually loves me, normally, who wants to date, normally, who would never turn me into a “pupil…” I mean, why would you do that to someone? That was not friendly. At all. That was not a friend. That was an ogre.

And I am pretty much past the horrific logic I absorbed from this person, where I’m just here, again, in the present moment. No problems. No problems with the future. No problems, please. And I think, wow, terrible things happen to perfectly nice people… I just mean, you can get into terrible relationships, get crushed, spit out, and no one cares. I mean, not knowing if I was abused somewhere, that’s been a earthshattering revelation, no one hears me. I’ll get another job soon, I just didn’t need to be in this position, and it was actually super simple. Don’t spend the money you have. Forget being able to wave a magic wand… and make money appear out of thin air. What’s the point of living like that? And I look at this person in my mind, like, I CAME FROM A BACKGROUND. A REAL ONE. So don’t give me some ROUTINE as some so-called psychology expert. This person was, on that level, off. I did not deserve that. I struggle to let that go because he was so inappropriate at the start, first night, and I didn’t see it… and I started going down a road that totally ruined me… and it feels as though it was BECAUSE this man was attracted to me, I don’t know, I just don’t know why he would do that to some RANDOM girl.

My mind was a mess.

I have to go back to work, but I didn’t think I would ever feel this way, I never thought I could. You shouldn’t say “feeling your feelings” to someone like that. He said all sorts of vague things to me. I was a well-adjusted person, though I had problems, clearly, I didn’t see HIM, but I wasn’t in need of being manipulated out of existence, or turned into a Lifetime movie meets the Hero’s Journey. I keep writing these lines, hoping to reach someone, or alert someone he knows…we know. I wrote his sister, I wrote my old head of school, I doubt they check their messages, and honestly, I can’t even talk about it. I wrote my friend that introduced me to him, I can’t even talk to her. It was a heartbreaking insult, he insulted me. His brother told me that I was psychic within 20 minutes of meeting me… for no reason!

I do not subscribe. I do not agree.

So I have to move on… I do… I just suffer, still, that I feel so ordinary, even, like there’s nothing that special about me. I mean, in the real. Not like I can’t go “be special,” it’s just, what does that even mean? You know? I wish I just saw myself as pretty, but it’s beyond that, a woman. And, um, there are men… who…you gotta watch out for… they don’t care that you’re a person. That’s not what they are seeing, and that one, coming from the background that I did, that one was hard. You can’t get too starry-eyed, as to why is this man acting like this? It’s time to leave. Anyway, I keep hoping, I do, a classic, I don’t even want to be told that hope isn’t… the best way to manifest because x, y, z. I mean, I can’t keep up with this shit.

I’m hoping I can turn this around. I would like to be able to retire. I’d like to be able to share my life with someone. That’s basically it. Deep breath. Back to work.

At a 40th birthday celebration

Hands gripped firmly around the handles of my citibike, I pedaled through Central Park, in the dark, at an unnatural speed as I took an electric bike. I was on my way, coming to a dramatic halt, sneak on the pavement, to my friend’s 40th birthday…as Professor X’s protegee.

I’m about to turn 40. It’s not the easiest birthday for me because of how terrible my thirties were, I lost everything, and I am not at all anywhere I’d like to be. And now, luckily, I no longer have the guru in my system of thought at all — meaning he no longer controls my thought processes, as his voice took over. He imposed his belief system onto me as if it were absolutely true. And he should be smart enough to know that his belief system would spark intrigue, outrage, and debate.

I feel like I am back, at least, to a time and body before he came into my life unnecessarily. His beliefs ruined me. But at least, I’m past this absurd idea that I wanted this, or something, as he believed that everything that happens to you is what you want. It was so scary. I did not want this. I did not want some irresponsible man projecting all over me. Or, acting wise… there was nothing wise about his actions.

So, my friend, rented out the top floor of a small bar, and there was a gathering of people, and I don’t know if I ever even threw myself a birthday party like that. And why? I don’t know. I don’t know so much now, though now, I don’t know what to do, because I didn’t exactly build a life for myself, and I’m not that proud of my existence, I mean, if I attracted this? Talk of psychicness, just so foolish. I lost everything so some guy could jack off, essentially, just that relationship was so stupid, pointless, like, I ended up watching Reese Witherspoon last night telling people to SAVE their money, not that “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…”

I have no idea what to do for my birthday, my 40th, because it’s not a milestone at all, but one of these — I got sent back to the beginning with less than I had 10 years ago. I hardly have any friends, even, because I didn’t exactly build a life anywhere, like, sure, I can invite people to a bar, and maybe I will, I don’t know, but I ended up listening to “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…” you see, and I have nothing right now. It’s not that pleasant. Nothing MATTERS. It doesn’t MATTER. That relationship crushed me, coming from the background that I did, like on top of just trying to be a well-adjusted, open person, not to say I was perfect, I’m going to have to deal with some dick in Beverly Hills with fantasies of being a talented psychologist. So that crushed me. Like, why would you be irresponsible with me? He knew nothing about my background, nothing, and yes, it does matter.

I’m not feeling that celebratory. I feel like I learned like, fame and money aren’t necessarily going to bring your happiness without having acquired either. I had money, but of course, the guru wasn’t seeing that. Reese Witherspoon? She would have. She would have never treated me like a toy. So I hate myself for not being able to see what was happening, that I was so impacted by this man, confused, like, even his way of responding to this draft, it was all weird. I did not deserve that.

I did see an old friend, and perhaps a real new friend, Dana, a lesbian, “gay,” she said simply, because I didn’t know how she identified. She’s a total fox who is in this super lucky position where she’s transitioning from one girlfriend to another… but she’s been with her partner for so long, six years, and they live together, that their breakup is happening over time… they’re friends. Her new girlfriend and old girlfriend were at this party together, hanging out, even. We caught up — in this atmosphere. She’s a warm person, the type that I would gravitate towards now. Normal. Friendly. Talkative. Open. Someone who is fun to talk to. Down to earth.

Not the guru. That man is not “down to earth.”

And sometimes, when I meet someone warm, it touches me too deeply, because the guru lacked the basic ability to care. She’s just a woman my age, she doesn’t give a shit about my pursuits… or my PAST, for the love of GOD. I never met anyone like him, the guru, he was a demon, mine. And I struggle with the reflections, that I was vulnerable, I look back on myself in this relationship, wanting only to hold myself, as if I were my own mother. “Please don’t do this…” I didn’t know I was disturbed. She’d probably come to my birthday… so I’m thinking about it. It’s just too emotional, today, just because I never thoughtt about throwing a stupid birthday party. I probably had a dinner once, something, who knows, but I’m not exactly throwing myself birthday parties….

And any trigger that takes me back to the utter horrific experience I went through, I think about him, the guru, I think about my parents, if I was abused, and I want to throw a chair at a sign called “mental health.” Maybe I should get a pinata, and Dana will smash it to shits with me, I’m sure. So I’ll see if her parents simply triggered me, or they had that in mind…her father said, you’ve had an interesting “life arc” thus far, and I didn’t know what that meant. What that was referring to. My life ended, so.

To Dana, I was saying, I don’t know what to do as a straight woman, now, because where am I going to find a boyfriend? Where do people go? My priorities were out of whack, like I ended up meeting a psychopath, that’s who this guru was, he was a psycho-path.She said that her other straight friends have ended up dating younger men, which isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but she thought, it’s probably harder, and I’ve just got to figure out where to go…

I’ll see Dana soon, I want to go over to her place and hang out with her girlfriends… just to bask a bit in her world, a minute, as that’s rather rare, that they transitioned to being dear friends, what can she say? But they are consciously unstructuring, so it’s taking a minute, as her ex has to find a new place in this case, so they’re roommates, more or less. But just seeing these two blond women chit chatting with another over her shoulder, it was funny. I noticed Dana’s soap, she smelled good, and I’m extremely comfortable with myself in that way, there’s no inkling of a problem in me with one’s sexuality. I rejected that a long time ago, twelve, even made my father cry when the Catholic Church tried to sell me homophobia. I made the man cry. So I complimented how she smelled, but I got a touch of a remark from her girlfriend, though it was benign. “You smell amazing.” It was true. I’m buying the soap right now. That’s Dana. She gave our friend THIS soap. And she’s showing up with two blonds. I have to laugh. And she’s not reaching for fame, UGH, she’s not Alexander the Great, which, why was this necessary to put on me? WHAT exactly made me so special? But not, it was so heartbreaking. And this guru, this psychopath, he would think that it was…a compliment. If it hadn’t been, I could have bought a house right now, you see. If I had met a different type of person. Not one is telling DANA this. Before she does anything. No one is putting that SHE DOESN’T KNOW she’s special, because she has a vulnerable personality, or SHE CHOSE, as I did, to NOT be like that because of my background.

“His brother,” okay? “This guru’s brother, also a genius psychologist in some regard, he told me, for real, that in the 15th century, I would have been the one to speak to animals…” isn’t that insulting? I couldn’t get ONE practical piece of advice. Like, don’t spend your money. Something. Not until now—Reese Witherspoon popping up on my phone, and I almost cried. I felt so stupid, and it’s the pompous airs of the guru next to the simpliest piece of advice, that sends me head spinning. Not Dana’s soap. I ended up in outer space… and it hurt me so deeply as a person, that I’ve struggled to move on, because I can’t quite make meaning, like, other than, “I was vulnerable” and stupid. These dudes, from Beverly Hills, they can jack off for years if they want to, believe in whatever, but they shouldn’t talk to people like that, which is how these plant people spoke to me… like, I was a psychic.

At least, though, I identified someone I’d actually like to hang out with, I like Dana. She’s someone I’d discuss art with, hang out with, because it’s just so easy to talk to her. She’s not complexed, she’s not elitist, which I can’t stand, and we never have to discuss my background, ever. I just run into these emotional moments, because I even remember, turning 30, and asking my friend’s girlfriend at the time, and she has another lovely girlfriend now, who I introduced myself to. She said, “40 is coming,” right? That’s all she had to say as a woman about to turn 40 to us, at 30. “I get it, you’re thinking oh, wow, I’m 30, but no, 40 is coming…” and she said, “You’re going to want to feel good about that age.” And I don’t, exactly, though I’m looking forward to 50, let’s say, because maybe I can make it more productive, fruitful, nicer, even, kinder to me. Just a better decade with normal, people in it. No psychedelics. No psychics. Not unless I’m doing a show about it. I can’t quite avoid feeling knocked down.

Like seeing my friend’s parents, and wondering if they had been informed about what I went through, if they were thinking about it, I didn’t need a reminder. I keep feeling knocked down by what I went through, and the tears really roll down my cheeks, as I nod at warm, normal people who fit my personality, who would never specialize me, would never write all over me, or try to help me, if that makes sense. I’ve always been a sensitive person, meaning, I had a tender heart, fuck sensitive. So ringing in my forties feels like a mourning. I don’t know if I was abused, in the end, by my parents… or by someone… and I went through a crisis, also thanks to the guru…

And I struggle to move on.

We’ll see what my friend says, as I’m curious if this is going to be another, “let me sit down and rid myself of the psychic bullshit” once again, or it’s going to be, which has happened, one of these—”oh, Maria can pick up on things sometimes…” which everyone can. Or they get fearful. You know? I say that because the GURU placed a degree of importance around HIS FEELING about something, that, I don’t do. I don’t act like I’m necessarily correct, but that attitude most certainly confused me. So, I feel like I’m struggling to move past something that happened years ago, and no, these gurus in Beverly Hills need to stick to their own lane.

I called this guru, confused as to whether or not I was fed… because this guy kept shoving “THEY FEED YOU” down my throat, over a book draft? He made comments that ALLUDED to his BELIEF. “YES,” he said, cold, a cold man, “and I suspect you weren’t bathed either.” It was UNNECESSARY. Telling me “you’re probably going to go through experiences,” because YOU think I was repressed… based on what? Because I didn’t know how to write a fucking book? “You were repressed for a long time…” I could strangle him. Repressed how? What did that man know about repression? Other than he, might be? Talking about how HARD it is for a MAN to express his feelings? Didn’t LOOK that hard.

So last night wasn’t that easy for me, though seeing Dana was lovely. And I dislike the effect this causes in my mind, as these gurus believe you can telepathically communicate, that what happens in your head in real, which isn’t true. So I just ended up feeling terrible this morning. I don’t know why. But I'll keep trying to re-find my happiness. At least, at the top of my thirties, which my friend said, I was happy. I loved life. I didn’t need to be Alexander the Great, over a sex scandal? Or some crazy family story? So I grieve, maybe that’s what the end of the decade is, for me, at least decade. A funeral. Grieving what I lost. Taking deep breaths: perspective.

I was blamed for all my parents’ problems — all of them. I read through this — tearing at the guru’s commentary — Christmas in Naples is a Sport draft, and nod, nod at myself, a person who didn’t realize that OTHER people can act inappropriately… that I didn’t have to let people do…whatever they wanted to a certain extent, especially around my STUPID fucking story. But hopefully, to Gumby’s turning under falling snow (my young cousin) as an orphan, as that’s the first role I cast her in, maybe all this will make a good book… a real journey… as I’m now thinking I’ll do a sweep… across my life… I have the Forrest Gump soundtrack in my head.

A bit of a voice of a simpleton. In that, “I was called special, but I don’t know why. It had to do with my personality… “ my cousin Carmine called me “a touching person", but man oh man, I would not wish that fate upon any man, not from where I stand. I would tell a touching person, “it’s time to build walls.” TO NOT LET PEOPLE IN. I suffered I did, without needing to, needing to make peace with coming from a set of characters that people didn’t believe were real, true, in a world that must protect itself… from shady people.

I just didn’t want to project my story out into the world, I didn’t want to judge a book by its cover, I never ever did that. And here, some people would say, “come on,” except I came from the background that I did. And I had to learn how to JUDGE. Discern. Because, in the end, I ran into my doom… and from the ashes, I hope Barbara Harris will fly above Phoenix, and the joke that I “got here, got through this,” taking off action-star aviators, “thanks to the ghost of an actress…” in this imaginative tale called my life. Full of intrigue, charm.

Anyway, honestly, in the end, right? Who cares if I picked up on something or not. I think it was more the feeling of being judged or misunderstood. Like what I went through wasn’t understood. Anyway, I’m off to work on my EPIC essay, and I just want this to be over. I don’t want to be a writer, yikes. I just want it to be over. Like, I might keep going… through my life. College, I began to disappear. That was a disaster. The end of family 2. Dr. J returns. She calls them “classless.” Amazing. And then, people are going to look at me as if they don’t know what crazy is. Like there aren’t fucked up people out there… and go to Paris… tell a bit of that story… to come back to LA, through NYC, which is the introduction of the plant people, and my third family… I mean, by the time I got to 30, I reunited with my cousins. And I’ll use them, and the guru, to show the OBSTACLE of the OTHER.

Not totally realizing that I can’t SAY she accused him a being a child abuser.

There’s something about them singing to me… constantly, that I like. I’ll figure this part out. But I’m starting to think about writing a more sweeping journey… practically pulling clothing racks across airports…as my clothes became my thing. Anyway, no rush there… wish I could kick back right now, with money in the bank, which I had, I wish I bypassed the disgusting display, truly, of my specialness, or ability to BECOME FAMOUS WRITER SUCCESSFUL, and just gotten a job, found the right psychologist, and worked out the relationship in question: boyfriend. Husband. I didn’t MEET Obama, you know? A man who would have made an argument for marriage.

Like, the guru wrote me this birthday card, “BE AMAZING if you chose to be…”

What about “I love you just the way you are…” ?

You know?

Is it AMAZING to write a book? WRITE AN AMAZING BOOK?

I was just a pretty young woman sitting in a cafe—to him. He found me attractive. Or else, weirdly, he found my STORY attractive, and it triggered him in a way that was going to harm me. I couldn’t recognize that, as I had been so disrespected around the story, which my cousins will show in scene one, of my interaction with them. And the one thing I had to learn was: say stop. Enough. I’ve been through enough, in relation to this stupid story. Go watch TV. Go write a script. Make up whatever you want to… but spare me.

So, I just want to keep letting this go. Even seeking validation that one day the book will be published, nothing but applause, Booker Prize nominees, whatever, where I will feel validated and understood. I hated the whole story, unfortunately. I gotta keep — moving forward, and continuing to do what I’d like to do, and I’d like to find what it is that I felt I was made to do… and secure my future, really, as I do get worried, right now, so I got knocked down, my life fell apart. I’m 40, and I’m here. And I’m looking at this Gilded Age photograph going, fingers crossed. Let’s see if I can turn this around.

I’m going to be damning talk of being special, as a warning, don’t do that to someone. Not over shit like that.

As I told this guru, “assholes like you, man, assholes like you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Who want to play ZELDA…” flying over the world on a cloud… fighting supernatural raccoons for the sake of art, artistry… over some GIRL, who came with a PAST. Oh yeah, she was pretty. A nice person. I need to get over my anger. Wanting to chuck his apartment out his windows. Smash his computer. “You can feel my PAIN?” That’s what this man said to me, the second time we hung out, because wouldn’t I be uncomfortable? Would YOU be comfortable talking to a stranger? Don’t you know what it means to have gone through something? Anything? Like, I’m not trying to pretend like it didn’t AFFECT ME, dickface. And then, the anger comes.

Gotta go.

I struggle to move on because I can’t resolve this with this person. I can’t get an apology. I’m going to have to let this sick fuck go, on my own. That’s what bothers me. I need to let it go. Yes, he gets AWAY with shit, doesn’t he? It gets on my nerves.

And playing Fletcher to the Golden Age soundtrack (Spiderman the Video Game)

Heaven. I feel fantastic when I walk to Columbia because of the architecture, because I get to work on a scene. This time, the director, an Italian woman, she was strong at communicating nuance and working builds and sections, and giving us room. Her neutral presence gave us the floor. I love this scene so much, playing Fletcher was practically divine intervention—play this. Play one these older men doing you a favor. Play one of the greats. I trembled a little, as I didn’t exactly realize that my relationship with the guru, who I call a guru, not like he was like this, but him playing psychologist… him wanting to teach me… was not okay. It freaked me out. “If there were a chalkboard here,” he walked across his living room, picturing J.K. Simmons in this role, though he would have to be emotional, like a nurturer, in his mind, so not the same color.

“I would write family,” just a suggestion, “and circle it.” That clearly did not resonate with me, I did not like that, but he thought it was “a strong theme,” expansive in his regard, “fundamental,” he enunciated.

I still get a little shaky. He scared me, actually. Like, why am I here? I do not know you. This is how we’re getting to know one another… But THAT, on my end, I had to learn “I do not know you,” as a stance. “This is someone you don’t know,” Jesus. But people could act like they knew, which confused me, I was stuck on a “I don’t know why this happening” line, unable to ACT, REACT — “what are you doing?”

And now, perhaps it will become my superpower — throwing this script down “start counting.” You piece of shit. I said, laughing, I hate artists for this reason, this sort of shit gets on my nerves. There was a professor in my theater school in college, who told some girl, truly speaking, and he would laugh, by the way, if I mentioned it, sort of prissy about it. “You’re like a cabinet…” sort of taken with how it just struck him as a thought, “an empty one, you open it and there’s nothing in there…” UGH.

A terrible thing to say to a person. But HE’S a teacher. When I said I was from LA, first day, he basically rejected me, an ENORMOUS city, I mean ENORMOUS. And it worked. I didn’t go, lousy piece of ignorant shit. His methods were superior. I have some people to draw from, it’s fun to play this — teacher, and this fucking LOST PUPPY is getting on my fucking nerves. “Were you rushing or were you dragging?” And she even said, “have fun with it,” meaning, you enjoy messing him. Power.

He’s trying to be GENEROUS. “Are you upset? You must be…” because he’s fucking with his band, unable to tell what the fuck he is doing, so fuck you. Rough. He wants to humiliate him in the end. It’s classic. But it’s probably ultimately for his own good, he will either become a musician with some basic skills, even, to follow a fucking tempo, thanks to him, you see, or become a bank teller, or something Neiman, something more suited for someone so sensitive. It’s probably in his best interest.

He’s a manipulator, but evidently, he’s got the best band in the school, Neima, so he knows his methods work. He’s trained many, Neiman. “Practice harder…” not a big deal, not in the end. I felt so victorious, because it’s a role I could play, I can do psychological genres. I can blow up, laugh it off, switch colors, easily, and the younger woman playing the drummer, Neiman, great name, she’s a very strong actress, so we're really listening, I am listening to her most definitely. So now we’re on break, I’m going to memorize my lines, and I’m going to let go… generally. Yay. Man, I just wish I skipped theater school, to be honest, and just worked this way. Really really fun.

The slytherin I met, he would play a role like this well, he pretended to like me, even love me, just like my mother, and then, in the end, he’s going to fart on the phone at me after I got out of a hospital. Amazing. An inspiration.

What to do

So, I was on the floor of the restaurant last night, feeling distracted. I couldn’t help it, and I don’t know what to say. Like, if anyone told me that they didn’t know if they had been abused, ever, or if they, coming from a total disaster as I had, didn’t know, in the end, if that had been true about a true tragedy that befell them when they were four… I just wouldn’t act like mostly everyone did in my life. It was the, “oh yeah,” casual, “cool,” like, I’m sorry? There’s no way, my friend, a person? No way. I’m going to spend time with them regularly. I’m going to support them through that. I guess that’s me. I’m at least following up. That’s grave. That’s like a, hold space. I’ll grieve with you. I’m not going to shut that person down, I’m not going to pretend like that’s not heartbreaking and devastating. I have been heartbroken and devastated. I can’t even look at a picture of my parents. Only one of my friends, in the moment, held a space, it’s just, I can’t really help but wonder if he put on an act, in the end, because I haven’t heard from him… when, I don’t know, like, my friend lost her mother recently, and I don’t know how much time has passed, maybe a couple of weeks, but I’m about to send her another note, letting her know I’m thinking about her. I was shut down, I felt that way, and I was, even nicely, so I can’t tell if I’m projecting in that case, but I’ve had a hard time, specifically, with how the people in my life have reacted, and it’s left me feeling at a loss. I mean what I say. I don’t know if I can be friends…anymore. I’ve really struggled with it. I can’t go, whatever. Sorry, I mean what I say. My entire life, that lie was my whole life, and I went through a whole event… I don’t know what to say. I had to step away from these people, permanently, because I have to be able to hear myself think, like, I understand it’s hard for you to believe…though I already came from…a story…that’s never changed…that was already a “wow.” I don’t want to go to my friend’s birthday party this evening, to be frank, as I’m sort of done with it, and I’m trying to be open to… my reaction not being…fair? But I can’t do that.

The conclusion I’m coming to is, one of these META life reflections, that these people aren’t my inner circle, or intimate circle. I would think, Maria today, me, “I’m going to need to make this type of friend or partner.” I didn’t exactly prioritize building a life, so these friends of mine, I would say, structurally, some of them might have been close to me when I was in college, but that was 20 years ago. Not to say you can’t get together, from time to time, but with one, I basically have a text message relationship, which is fine, but not to be confused, as it’s fun to text with someone, who cares? But, I would have encouraged someone like me to really reflect on building an inner circle, at least, or FIND a partner — you gotta get over that part, only because in my case, I feel the lack of that, like, I wish I gave love a real chance. Not like I can’t now, but I’m moving through a big revelation, devastating possibilities, and I’m struggling with how the people in my life responded because they aren’t my friends like that.

If I had had an inner circle, a, that would have never have happened to the pitch that it did. I don’t know what to say about the whole epic event of it, because I had met a psychopath, not realizing it, I got wrapped up in strange corners. I was vulnerable in a particular way… however, all the same, if I did go through a large event, of some kind, without having been stiffled by some of this complicated ideology I absorbed which inhibited my capacity to SPEAK, which was “whatever is happening to you is what you want to happen,” you don’t really need anyone, you can solve all problems internally, I was NOT the person to say that to. I had no idea what was going on, I hung onto that lie for dear life, not really understanding WHY I was experiencing what I was experiencing, and this psychopath, even, was making assumptions as I was going through this, basically suggesting that I was repressed… which, why?

I called him, right? The guru. I was beginning to go through strange experiences. And, just to give a sense of where we GOT to, as he acted as if he were psychic. I called him. “What’s happening?” I said. Now, a normal person would say, “what do you mean?” No? Not the guru. He says, “don’t you think you were scared…?” And I took that in, “scared?” He said, “scared of suddenly being somewhere else?” Now, he already made an assumption. I had to unpack that with someone, I mean, my house was scary… I cannot even comment on that. “You’re probably going to be going through experiences…” he said to just hang up on the phone on me, practically. No, um, “how are you?” Nothing. A cruel man. WHY he would do that, I don’t know. He had no idea what he was talking about.

Unless? You see what I mean?

So I was communicating with a questionable person, irresponsible, unsafe, at the time. It was a life configuration problem. I had made weird friends. I had gotten very sucked into writing, unnecessarily… I had met only enablers… I had stopped seeing the “plant people,” I call them, by then, but still, I was told that I was psychic, no one in a professional, supposedly, mental health environment HEARD what I was saying… it’s only now that someone just asked me to take them through that…these early years of mine… so I don’t know what to say about that. Now, I struggle with the choices I made, meaning, I lack an inner circle. People I feel like I can actually talk to, people who know what it means to be emotionally available, who are going to follow up with you, simply. And my adopted family? Forget it. I am quite freaked out, freaked out by the very idea that I was in another family…

Again, if my daughter told me that she didn’t know that she had been abused, a girl I even adopted for seemingly unnecessary reasons, right? I’m not acting like it’s a sunny day in Maine. So that’s over. She’s no longer my mother, and my sister is no longer my sister. It’s over. Besides, that family ended up putting me through weird shit, man, and I no longer have a maladaptive pattern in that direction… now, I’m like, “okay, let’s try and find a boyfriend…” for real. I want a committed relationship, even to get married—progress. I wanted a GROUP of friends, I no longer need “a one on one” structure, like we gotta go deep, or I don’t have the same attachments. I would have approached my life 100% differently.

So, if you’re ever in that kind of position, it’s a new world indeed. I’ve had to make peace with not having made friendships that really fulfill me. That don’t give me what I need. Seeing old college friends from time to time is lovely, in theory, like, people have different types of relationships, and I think a varied social circle speaks to a life well-lived, in a sense. “Oh I’m seeing x,” I know that she’s not someone I can rely on, emotionally, or I’m not going to share intimate details with her, or be able to confide in. I went through an event, which is one thing, but once I was able to talk and sort through the mess of it, when it came to vocalizing that I didn’t know, there was no one. None of them, except one, acting airy fairy, like, are you joking? Even called. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react…

And they all have inner circles. You know? As far as I can tell. I’m not in it. My former closest friend, or one of them, he has a group of friends… I’ve met them, I’m going to be at the birthday party, but he did it, he found his clan of sorts. And all these friends of mine they have that. And I, I feel strangely heartbroken that I am supposed to feel satisfied with that, when, if they put themselves in my shoes, they aren’t in my situation. So that’s what they are, they’re in a different category, which now, I don’t know what to say, because I would never respond to anyone who told me that they might have been abused —like that. I’m showing up, regardless. In that case? Regardless. That’s a code red. Code human — “how are you?”

Not acting as if this person isn’t going through what they are, and wondering why they can’t make a switch. I was quite shocked at this group of people. But I’m in a different place as a person, where I am aware of my own heart, of the type of person I need as an intimate friend. I’ve had some trouble there. Letting go…of going to the wrong places for what it is that I am seeking. Meaning, there’s nothing wrong, at all, with what my needs are… I’m just going to the wrong places. And there’s nowhere else to go… because I made arguably weird life decisions, that, in my opinion now, don’t really speak what is truly satisfying about a life, and for me, that’s relationships, social circles. I was thinking of trying to find people who can more so relate to my background, or something.

I’ve made a couple newer friends, though they were always my friends, and they are in that category of close friends that I might not be able to talk to, I suppose I could, but I’m going to leave that alone. They would be at my birthday party, but they might not be the people I’m confiding in. I don’t know, maybe this speaks to my personal experience, meaning, if you tell me anything related to abuse, I’m there, I’m continuing to give you a HAND, because that’s gotta be hard to talk about. With one friend, she held me, we spoke about it, which I thoroughly appreciated, but we’re not discussing it further, she’s not asking me questions, but she knows I’m going through a period, and we’re hanging out frequently, doing fun things together. I don’t want to talk about it, as we aren’t that close, which is fine.

It’s more just, the people who were around me at that time, they didn’t know what they were doing, also, in that, I went through a medical emergency, not some ethereal mental health event that didn’t take me years to recover from. There’s nothing else for me to say. I went through a medical emergency. And a few of friends, I felt imprisoned, trapped, in needing to “pretend” like it was over, when I was going through severe pain. I could not do that. Like, these gurus, they acted as if what I went through was not real, because why on earth would you support someone traveling, after they got out of a hospital? (I hate the guru, truly.) No sense.

Do not be ridiculous, that’s my comment. I’m telling you to lay down, I’ll cook you some food, let’s just take it step by step. I went through a medical emergency. I couldn’t talk, I just tried to get my boxes back, as fast as I could, ripping through these, looking at pictures, like, was this true? None of these people around me, you see, were at all equipped, to deal with a real emergency. I suppose they did what they could, but that was horrific, for me, principally. And then, I have to chase after one of my friends, who gave me some speech about how it was hard for him, okay, I went through a medical emergency. So there goes that guy. He wanted to, encouraged me to, pretend as if I could turn a page, when I could hardly EAT. Eating was an ordeal.

What are you going to do? I don’t have anything to say about that part, only when I finally was able to start talking, what happened there. I’m too hurt, there’s a line between me and them that’s too deep. I might have come from a particular background, I understand that, where I’m able to show up for someone, and not in the, “you can call me,” but “I’m going to contact you,” not pretending like I don’t know you went through hell, or pretending like I know what you went through when I do not, no one in the hospital did any evaluating, not for real. I’m not doing that. I hate the subject of mental health because people act as if it’s some ethereal teletubbies episode… but, in my case, I went through a terrible set of experiences…

So I’m making peace with what I didn’t get, what I thought I would get, I guess, and what I hopefully can create moving forward now. If I had concentrated on building that core partnership, intimate circle, meaning. Like, I have to run some tests wiht my physician, just because I ended up talking to him about what I went through, and he just wanted to make sure I’m fine, and I think I am, but of course, I’m going to run some tests. I don’t have the friends that are going to go with me to the doctor, that’s a partner thing, a family thing, (this is what I mean), or the friends who are going to necessarily ask, since no one did. I said that to these people. “Have you gone to the doctor yet?” Nope. Me? “Do you want me to go with you?” No, okay, let’s talk when you get out, then, or just keep me updated. And I don’t know what to say…

I’m not a perfect person, things slip my mind, but that’s just who I am. I’m not exactly drawing conclusions, but as I move through this stupid story on the page, I’m just shocked, so. Anyway, I hope I’ll find what I want, need, and that I’ll have a few friends I get brunch with semi-often, I don’t know, people I actually hang out with. I’ve had a hard time, just going, “I can’t mention to x if I’m having a real moment,” it’s gotta go, “I’m good, thanks! And you?” That’s it. I don’t know if I want to talk THAT much, because as I said, if someone told ME what I told YOU, I wouldn’t be acting like that, so there’s nothing I can about THAT fact.

I’m definitely going, “take me through the situation…” and honestly, since that’s what I’m doing on the page, I don’t know what to say, because I can hardly believe it myself, and I sort of cower away, because I don’t know how “situations like these work” but I’m disgusted. I have real questions, for my parents, type deal. And I have the right to ask them. And there are “friends” so to speak who would be able to back me up in that way. When it was all ethereal, one of these friends wanted to hire a PI to watch Ghomi, hilariously. But yeah I have real questions.

So I guess I’ll go this party tonight, with a bit of a “alright whatever,” as I don’t think I’m in the wrong, actually, and I’ll just keep letting them go, I mean, letting go that I’m not getting what I want or need here, and I guess, we can be casual friends, I don’t know what else to say. I might not want to hang out, but then, we don’t hang out… so who cares? I gotta keep moving forward in the direction that I think is mine, sometimes wondering if this is all a sign of a greater need, (which is when Obama comes to mind, stately) like I should go back to school, study psychology, and specialize in an area, because God knows, I do not care if I know you even, I would never abandon a person who’s going through something like that. Maddening, truly. I mean what I say. I do not KNOW. I went through enough.

I’ve had a hard time, and what I’m saying to myself now is, I’m going to have to let it go… that’s not what I’m going to get… not here. I suppose I could call one of my friends who said, “I’m here for you,” and say all this to? I’m just going to let it go… as “it’s hard” when I’m trying to wrap my head around these years this woman’s youngest daughter and I went to a fancy French prep school to faciliate this sex scandal, basically, like, not knowing WHY I remember a chocolate bar from my father, when I wasn’t living there, and he didn’t mention “times” I was home, and I don’t have my own bed in this house, I cannot deal with “it’s hard for you…” not right now.

Dave Chappelle comes to mind, grimacing through this as I needed him, hilariously, to keep me laughing through this. And all I can picture is him, tipping back, saying the obvious. “Her name is Dr. J.” Is there anything more I need to say?

So I’ve need to laugh and react like Dave Chappelle would, in my mind, to basically get through this experience. “I get I was in the Sound of Music for most of my life, or something…skipping around,” picturing how he spoke about Bill Cosby, selling pudding pots, but he came from the projects, so he might say “some real shit from time to time.”

I’m seriously sitting with all this, not knowing what to do with it… so I don’t want to hurt anymore, you know? I don’t want to put so much on a story about it, like it’s going to make these people realize that they hurt me deeply, when they won’t. I can’t expect people to apologize, so I have to move forward and try to build a life… and I have one solid friend right now, two, but really one, who wants to spend time with me, so I’m building a relationship with her… which is going well. I think I’m rather un-complicated, in fact. I’m easy. She is.

Maybe I’ll call Jose, the comedian who pointed INTO the subject, “how are you doing with that, specifically? Are you able to get out of bed in the morning?” I mean, shrugging, it’s chill if you can’t. Understandable. I had to laugh. He was the only person who did that. Right? So I might talk to him about it, I’ll see if that’s necessary, in that, I’d be able to crack jokes, um, tackle it in a particular way. He’s not uncomfortable with the subject, it seems, but really, I’d like to ask him if he would be able to help me film my short series… I can try and pay him a little, or whatever. He can tell me what he thinks. Is it funny? Is it interesting? Me telling your fortune in PETCO? On the phone. Can you SCAN over the aisle? OF? Another location.

“Uh huh,” confused, truly, “I think you have a mental illness,” looking at electronics. “Yeah, I do, “I think you need to go to a psychiatrist, I do, I’m pretty sure.” Looking around BestBuy. “It’s just, not working, I get it, I do, and I think you might find some alleviation if you are honest about what you’re actually experiencing…”

It’s like, looking around, “I think the guides have spoken…”

“I don’t even know how I ended up here…”

As I have unorthodox methods, that work, right? My phone is ringing off the hook. I’ll have to keep developing it and seeing if it works, given the one way convo of it, but I’ll work that part out, they don’t need to be long. The shorter the better. I’m just trying to achieve a small goal, make ONE thing. ZOOM IN AND OUT—Farmer’s market, “hm hm,” okay, “give me a moment to orient myself with your energy… “ scanning flowers, apples, cheese, interesting, looking over there, to some lonely empty corner. “I see.” I overhear a “wow, amazing!” “Oh…” I’m nodding, “okay…” wondering if this is a cover up… or the sign that something good is coming round the corner that the person doesn’t expect, what is it?

I’m just taking it in, as space speaks, and I’m IN the moment, and life is revealing itself around you, I am simply a medium. And I’ll take it from there…

I’m going to have to learn how to film something.

I have to get ready for rehearsal, as I’m doing a scene today, and I have rehearsal later, now that I have my IWatch on—I’m ready rapid fire to send “YES” regardless, as these film students move at a super rapid pace. I just don’t want to deal with distractions anymore, because it just messes with my head. And I don’t need to carry that into my work. I can’t help it, the topic is heavy enough, needing to deal with people who don’t get it. Even still struggling with future thinking. I can still get triggered. Honestly, the real mental health issues I have is annoying and hilarious—it’s the future. It’s unnecessary. I can’t help that the guru’s emotionally manipulative way of being, beliefs, really affected me. I find that a struggle to let go of, though I’d like to have a sense of what my goals are, where I’d like to end up, I just don’t think I need to get SCI FI about it. He was a little sci-fi.

Again, wish I left the first time we hung out. He pointed at me strangely, and spoke to me as if we were in a sci-fi about “the chosen one.” I mean, “knooowwww what do you wanna knoooooowwwww, life is not about what you wanna do, it’s about what you wanna knowwwwwww….” he appeared like one of these “illuminated” crazy people. And it was the deep breath he took, and he did this impulsively, as he raised his arm and finger at me — outstretched and shaking. He was completely weird. I wish I never…got involved. I’ll keep working that out. Luckily, I’m doing well at my job, though I wrapped up someone else’s receipts last night, which isn’t a big deal, but I got distracted by all this. And the bartender was like, “why are you stressed,” because anything rocky disturbs me, I’ll continue to settle. He was a lunatic. There’s no excuse, he shouldn’t have spoken to me like that.

Time to go play Fletcher in Whiplash, speaking of, so I’m going to try and love the shit out of manipulating someone, fucking with someone, as an elevated artist, even, chest out. Someone who could and would say, “I can get an extraordinary artist grant fucking tomorrow Neiman…” like I don’t give a shit about him, but he’s sort of a fun play thing, maybe talented, if you can call it that… or he will become great through this treatment. I’ll go have fun. I’m excited because it’s one of these LARGE emotional character. So I gotta run my lines, and I’ll decide what I’d like to do… I guess about this birthday party… I feel strange about it.

This is how I feel right now:

This is who people, real people, think I am

The crime fighting raccoon included.

At Tom’s diner shooting a student film

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…

What is my lesson? Is it rage? I didn't want it to be.

I mean, looking back on this video, this social media video about Christmas in Naples, what the fuck is the big deal about someone just getting started? I can’t get a real “how are you?” from a friend that never calls me, that I make sure I reach out to — to say hello. But I get “concern” about a stupid social media post when I am concerned in the inverse about her priorities here. If my friend told me that she didn’t know if she was abused, for the love of GOD, by a member of her own family, that’s not what I’m saying to her. I’m saying, “hey, how are you? who gives a fuck about social media? Experimenting? OKAY.” So you know what, just like my other friend, I wrote her and told her that — roar. Maria is roaring. And you know what, remembering my bike ride through Central Park yesterday, in a state of disbelief, like if this is not COMEDY, I do not know what is, because these people are concentrating on being MEAN to me even! Look man, I needed channel MAJOR DAD energy last night on this restaurant floor. I was channeling MAJOR DAD BACK UP — on the psychospiritual plane. Fuck the imagination. That’s not real, in fact, we’re really just meeting on a PLANE, a psychic plane. And I was paging OBAMA, Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg and Dave Chappelle — please! Help. So what? I don’t LOOK that great in a video? No shit Sherlock. I’m coming back from the dead, trying to decide if I even want to fucking be on these channels… when my friends turn out to be my biggest obstacles… so you know what? I’m sick of being disrespected in the name of CONCERN.

I’m so angry. I really am. I call her to say hello, and I get weirdly directed concern. “It’s so nice to hear from you, you sound great,” leave the SOCIAL MEDIA VIDEO BEHIND, it’s like no one gives a shit about social media, in the sense, that a VIDEO? Ever see someone post a video of themselves CRYING? People do that. I can’t try and make a joke out of an epic Christmas? It’s not that great of a video, OKAY. AGAIN, why are we talking about this? When I do not know if I have been ABUSED—feel me? I’m not on that LOW of a level! Enough. Enough. Across the board, my friends suck. They all SUCK. That’s what UNIQUE said, last night, as I was clearly upset, and you know what? I was having a GOOD DAY, actually, and this person has to KNOCK ME DOWN in the name of concern. It is I, who is, concerned. So no, I’m not taking it anymore. Who cares if the social media post SUCKS? I mean, truly speaking! But I can’t get “hey, how are you? How are you doing with all that? You alright?” GUESS WHAT? I’m not going to indulge here, I’m going to say, “up and down?” Obviously. So, I don’t know why, and I wish it weren’t the case, but it seems like I have to stand up for myself from beginning to end. And I don’t get the impression if I ever GET THERE for the love of GOD, that the public eye, Oprah, and we can play the stupid video, even, is going to BE CONCERNED OVER IT. I believe Oprah is going to be concerned about my friends, I really do believe that.

“You gotta start somewhere?”

I suppose I try to keep up social masks, I try to remain cordial and make room for people’s opinions — not in this case. Apparently, I gotta do that LESS, I gotta be really sharp, on guard, so… I hope I’m right, if that makes sense, because that truly ruined my day, and I don’t need that, honestly, after everything I’ve been through? She knows, I know she doesn’t like social media, but please, don’t put that on me. I just can’t even think, and these people’s CONCERN is so offensive considering they don’t give a SHIT about the real stuff. So let’s see if she even reacts, but I do think I have a point. A social media post shouldn’t be the thing to get concerned about, not that one, so it wasn’t a high quality image! So I was sardonic? I am trying stuff OUT. And it’s annoying, because, you see, I do not CARE about social media… it’s a TV channel in your pocket. Basically. And you’d think, me? And I’m sure Jay Shetty would be on my side, I would be talking to my friend, encouraging them, if they want to use these channels… maybe suggesting they don’t be afraid to share their wisdom? To really think about it? Maybe you’re ahead of your time in stating the obvious, that it is a TV channel, but maybe you can figure out how to make that work for you… you’re an amazing person, you have a lot of wisdom to share? Maybe you can make a Christmas in Naples channel? I don’t know, obviously that time is wrought because — holy shit, I didn’t even know what I was saying. My time with my cousins — they also BROKE my heart with DISBELIEF over the LEAST disturbing details! And do I hear from them anymore? NO, and you know what? I’m happy about it.

Last night, at work, I thought, please, just shine on me, please, a little light, a little support, let the Gods look at me with blessings — speaking of Naples — let Poseidon, even, and the siren bless my efforts… the journey home was horrific, I’m telling you, it really was. Full of dangers. Full of misunderstandings. Storms. Close calls. It was an epic battle, it truly was, and it was the ones closest to me, in this case, that were my greatest adversaries… it might not be a big deal, EXACTLY, but it is to me. My family was a shitshow. And I gotta, thinking about what JAY SHETTY would say to this RESISTANCE, deal with people who DON’T BELIEVE ME when I’m SIMPLY SAYING I do not know if I was abused…and specialists are nodding, “yes,” understandable, “you could have been given what you’re saying…” you see? And I came from a totally nonsensical family story! Filled with adopted mothers falling from the sky, also RUSSIAN, okay? It was a MESS, it always WAS. And I, without fail, have to keep getting hurt by those who are apparently closest to me… my friends. My family too.

In this Odyssey, we will go to the fluffy land of “this is yours, this is mine” people playing patty cake, robotically, on the greenest grass, the sunniest day, just a paradise on earth… where warnings are lurking… oh yeah, nicely, they’ll just kill you out of concern. Obama is — present, a guide, giving me the space to explore this territory. The epic is home, that’s for certain. So, I feel like I shouldn’t let stuff like this pass under the bridge, exactly, I don’t get “the test,” if you would, like, why I have to get angry, why I have to defend myself, but you know what? To my family, the WHOLE entity — I wasn’t wrong, assholes, YOU WERE. I took the shit for their entire ROUTINE. I had to change, “sure,” I am SECURE in my dialings with Barack Obama on the psychospiritual plane. “You got your four year old into a sex scandal, people. You wrapped up some STRANGER woman up in a sex scandal…” driving her temporarily insane if not permanently in regards to me. And it’s scary enough that they DIDN’T GET what they even DID! So no, it’s a giant no. And let me finish this stupid story, let me just finish it, you know? Just because it caused me nothing but grief, anguish, complications, nothing — it brought me NOTHING positive. Not one thing. The only thing it gave me was the key to help others open up about what they have been through — horrific tales, abuse, thievery, criminality, in a world that would judge them, condemn them, if not kill them. Just please, “are you putting your four year old in a sex scandal?” That caused a thief to laugh. “Enough!” I cried.

“You are not morally sick.”

This was the year I was invaded by the Russians.

“You would not DO THAT, right?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “Okay,” let’s just draw a line in the sand SOMEWHERE. “There is nothing more common than a thief, enough, it’s not that oooooh ahhhhhhh, okay? It’s not that special, but you, you are special, you are an extraordinary man, first.” You see? You see the difference in how I speak to a human being? Imagine, poking about him about some stupid photo on his wall. “You know, this photo, I’m concerned about you…” right, he would get it, “I’m concerned about you.” He always called me a light, he did, but this one, was that true? He knows, in the end, was that true? He would HUG me, goddammit. He would sit and hold space with me. Because what the fuck do you even say to that? “So now what?” He would ask “Well, I’m speaking to a specialist…” right, he would follow 100 percent.

Anyway, back to work. Alice Munro and her husband — forget the child molester — their responses were asinine and demeaning and unacceptable. Sexual abuse is a CRIME, and it’s really really true, right? People can get BRIGHT and CHEERY around the criminal line… like it doesn’t EXIST. It’s a magician act, a stupid one, where you’re pulling BUNNIES out of hats, “nice, sure.”

Drink sparkling water

You know, I can’t help but get angry sometimes, yes, I have rage, because it’s hard enough, having had my whole world fall apart about my family. My whole life. And I think about this Hollywood screenwriter in Beverly Hills lifting his arm at me as if he were a guru…in this location. Just remembering this relationship, I am so embarrassed. Like, why is he telling me “the energy is rising” over a draft? “Can you ride the wave?” “You’re spinning it up?” Over a book. Like I’m supposed to write “the book” through energy waves? I just can’t. I’m listening to Whitney Houston, I’m drinking sparkling water, and I went through a total rage today. I really did. I was feeling great actually, but I outlined my story, and there it was: was it true? And I expressed that to a friend, just that I wasn’t feeling THAT great about it, and I got no response though I have her texting me a lot, and that was frustrating to then get knocked over by another friend when it was unnecessary, over a video that I posted a month ago maybe, I don’t even remember it, as I was just trying out material, not really trying to think about it actually, and then, I got a message from another friend wondering “what’s going on,” and I’m sorry, but I had a rage spell.

Anyway, there’s my new pianist — texting me, we have a date. Happiness. Hope. New directions. I need to be in my own space for a while. I’m going to have to decide what’s next in my life. And I guess, I have to finish this story, because I’ve come this far, and it feels though it caused me so much anguish, that it’s not even worth it, but I hope I find the purpose in it again, as I thought it was potentially an impactful one, pedaling through Central Park, trying to not lose my joy, get it back, and forget the guru even existed, eternal sunshine. I got to go to work, and I didn’t need to get triggered by my friend today and yesterday and again today — three people. And you know what they say, you have to stop trying to get something from somewhere you’re never going to get it. So, I have to accept that. I’m going to need to put on a face, ask people for space, and just leave quietly. In the words of Elaine Stritch: “next Tuesday at the country club? 11 am? Look for me…” she won’t be there.

It's like I continued to be shocked, I continue to be shocked.

I just got this message from another friend: “whatever is happening, I love you and hope you’re doing well.” After reading my blog post. How many times do I have to say, I don’t know if I was abused, what’s the confusion about? I told her, more than once, that I don’t know if I was abused. I’m telling you, it’s amazing to me. “Whatever is happening…” I have no idea how to respond to that. I said, I do not know if I was abused by my parents when I was four, and she didn’t respond. She didn’t even follow up with me. NOW she’s wondering what’s going on? “Whatever is happening…” I’m listening to the Golden Age, Spiderman soundtrack, as the taxi I’m in is weaving around Central Park, and it’s so beautiful at this time of year — the autumn leaves, it’s storybook. I really have reached a breaking point. I truly have.

It’s all good, these aren’t my close friends, I don’t know what else to say. Fine, let’s get a fucking drink while you’re in town with TOM CRUISE, as I’ve had hilarious conversations with this man on the psychospiritual plane, like maybe HE would be AMAZED by how no one gets it.

It’s amazing that a video on social media brought me words of concern, a VIDEO, please, what would Jay Shetty say? I started in my attic? I didn’t look that GREAT either? But I don’t get any concern, follow through, a how are you over that. “How’s everything going with that?” You’re going to have to lend a hand? I’m not even asking for one, it’s more, I don’t get it.

“Whatever is happening…” I do not know how to respond to that. I literally have been blown away by people’s responses. Like, if YOU told me that, what do you think I would do? Am I not allowed to be hurt by that? I’m going through the literal story, the literal story with this sexual trauma specialist — literal story, and he’s not shutting me down. he’s going, “Yeah, I can’t TELL YOU, but it’s already IN the story.” Am I supposed to KEEP saying the SAME thing over and over again?

I DO NOT KNOW IF I WAS ABUSED.

Truly.

Do not send me “whatever is happening…” I’ve been writing BLOG POSTS about it for a while now. I GET YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME — AND BELIEVE WHAT? — so no, I do not want to SPEAK to you, because IF YOU TOLD ME what I TOLD YOU, them, I would not be responding like this! I’m infuriated.

As I said in my newsletter — the NYTIMES, who questioned the validity of Amy Griffin’s statements, is going to be nodding at me, like they can follow the confusion, the pain, the utter impossiblity of it. My STORY has always been the same… I just don’t know if she LIED about him being a threat to me, because of what I went through. And regardless, I went through something that sincerely made me question whether or not it’s true. I cannot STAND this. “Do not contact me.”

It’s driving me nuts. Looking at these notecards, wanting to give it up, I’m telling you. I want to give it up. Sorry, I posted A COUPLE of videos on social media, and I wrote a blog post about it, because I am frustrated. Yikes, I didn’t want this shit. What’s the point? You know?

I don’t know, when I think back to this Hollywood screenwriter… how he wrote all over me, when no one even asked, the obvious, I don’t know. I didn’t think it was true, obviously, for most of my life, though I made no sense, remember, at the same time. I made no sense. The story made no sense. THEN, I started writing about it, with this lunatic screenwriter talking about fictional characters being “really good psychological devices,” and I woke up to what happened. Now, I don’t know. I have real questions. That are valid. Looking at my LUNATIC parents. Both of them. In my mind. I can’t even LOOK at a photo of them!

“Whatever is happening…” she says. That’s it, I’ve reached my limit. That’s it. I cannot talk for a while. I’m going to just do my best to finish this stupid story, and I’m going to reach out to EPIC with it, and HOPE they say, “we can work with this.” I’m going to lose it. The GHOST of my actress with me… as we curve around Central Park with my new vintage Gucci bag, which I bought myself for my birthday (it’s a joke, as people believe I am psychic, for real, okay? The screenwriter too, and he also believes that the line between life and death is arbitrary, let’s emphasis that word, so the ghost of the actress STAYS for real, to make a joke about it). We are amazed, just amazed. But now, I’m upset, and people are wondering why?

How would YOU feel? If you’re looking at notecards, building up a story, that you yourself did not understand, to get tangled up in nothing but confusion, arrogance, manhandling, and sentiment… with some screenwriter wanting to play GURU. You know? Jesus. I’m at a loss. Personally. I don’t know what to say. I mean what I say. It’s hard enough not being able to look at a picture of my parents, not being able to know, and everyone is missing the point. It happened, regardless.

All these people wondered, “why are you so unaffected?” WELL?

I don’t need to TALK, because I can’t, even, I’m too fucked up by all this, but I would appreciate a little comprehension. Is that too much to ask? It’s like— whoa — the journey — my mother now, yes my mother now, I said that, meaning, my current adopted mother, as this goddamn story provoked a maladapative pattern, forget trauma, no one is interested in mine — she is even acting like I didn’t say that.

Can someone please understand me? Why would I want to play “patty cake bakers man” right now? WHY do I have to play that game? I GET what YOU THINK, and this sexual trauma specialist, chill, but not so chill within me, is HEARING the story and telling me I have a right to be here. Please leave me alone with the “patty cake bakers man” talk. I’m graining away from all this, for the moment, because the guru’s bullshit, excuse me, about creating your own reality is even causing me confusion, and I imagine that abused people, people who have been abused, might stand with me at least — and blow this guy away!

“Everything that happens to you is what you WANT…to happen” on some meta level. Please. I just, I have reached a breaking point. It’s fine, the noise I am making is barely flashing a light in the world, my friends, like, I have 700 followers, blog posts can be deleted, as well as social media posts, there is absolutely no risk here. There is nothing major happening. No one gives a crap about my social media platform. Not yet anyway. I can adjust, keep trying to put myself out there…

I’m just finding myself at a point, like, why am I doing this exactly? The guru with his VOODOO talk, okay? Missed the point. He missed the point. I thought there was something of value within it, I just don’t know what that is anymore, because I don’t get any kind of encouragement at all — literally none. When it was UNREAL, sure. So is the universe telling me — just stop. No one wants your story. Or, do I have to take a deep breath and go, what I’m doing isn’t working… it’s just, I’m talking about a handful of people I hardly even see! I’m not even talking about… crowds of people here. This has been such an ordeal.

So — this is what I learned. I can’t mention my true feelings. I cannot be honest. I cannot experiment on social media for fear of….? I’m going to have to, for myself, because it hurts too much, you see, and maybe someone could have advised against going on social media? This guru, I’m telling you, this screenwriter, even “telling your story” with your cousins in Naples, Italy. Look, um, in my experience, no one responds well to any talk of child abuse.

When he said, “they see through the show?” What was this man even talking about? I can’t talk to them about that. Be real. Angelica Leibowitz? If you must know, when she thought it was TRUE, based on what was really happening here, she thought my mother was rejecting me because of that. Dr. J was not your average crazy. Sorry, I can’t help that I am the one, or one of those who come from Crazy Town.

I’m admittedly still struggling from this guru’s involvement — I’m still struggling with the useless psychic track that the plant people supported here. Okay? “Are you?” That’s a comedian…coming up to me at a bar, but for real. “Are you?” Look man, I don’t care, who knows? It’s just for me, they said, it doesn’t work like that, they said. It didn’t WORK OUT, so no. I got so aggrevated, so aggrevated by feeling isolated, rejected, ignored, and yeah, I suppose some people checked up on me… in airy-fairy tones, so I felt like I had to remain silent.

LOOK, no one, so mental health professional is going to HEAR my real story and know what to say to me. “This is insane.” It’s not the other way around. I’m not TALKING crazy, it is crazy. It does not LOOK good. My parents don’t look innocent. Forget the dementia. These people would not PUT MORE on me. They would probably stand by me as I explode at my entire life, and everyone in it. “This is probably deeply necessary in her case.”

“Something isn’t wrong with me, there’s something wrong with you.”

Everyone in my life.

Right now, it sucks. The whole thing sucks. But I hope that the Gods will smile in my favor. Just because I feel like I walked a road that I did not know I was on (with questionable characters acting like they know when they didn’t). And I still have to get these odd messages from people like I haven’t been clear here as to what the question of my life is right now. Looking at a structure that is holding together, for a story about all this, and the question is: was it true?

“She did this because she was jealous…” you see, that’s what my father said. “She wanted to tear us apart…” okay, feeling winded, twisted, and nauseated, needing someone to HOLD ME, please. Mirrors being smashed off the walls, so, thirty years later, I’m on a roller coaster ride, blinking that these statements. So, she lied about you being a child molester because she was jealous? Please. Of a four-year-old.

“This is how she left it,” he said, when I haven’t been here in four years, though that’s not entirely true, now is it? So where did I sleep? You see? Easy for you to make decisions about what really happened when it’s not your body… or story. I’m telling you, this drove me nuts. It truly did.

So that’s it, I’m on my blog again, I was feeling positive this morning, and my friend came to mind last night, and I haven’t spoken to her in a while, so I reached out JUST to say hello. And she hits me with concern over a social media post, but you navigate through it… what are you even talking about? So I’m pissed, officially, I’m so angry, “whatever is happening…” you know what? I went into the car with this bitch when she was having a panic attack over some DUDE? Drove around with her for hours? So imagine, please, for any reason, if you didn’t know if you were abused, what do you think I would have done? Enough.

Can’t say hello. It’s not happening right now. Not everything I’m doing right now on social media is working according to the first 5 people there, THANKS. I decided I would move things around… and I’ll work out my anger and confusion over the stupid guru… his direction, suggestions. What an arrogant man that was. Acting like a guru because he meditates. Can someone hear me please? And the thing is, I would never act like that. And what, would he TELL ME based on his FEELING what he thinks happened?! I cannot stand this man. That’s exactly how he acted to my detriment! This sexual trauma specialist was like, who even is this person?

Alright, I’m done for today. I didn’t want drama. I didn’t want strife. I can’t help that I’m, I don’t know, dealing with that, so when I get ignored by my supposed—closest friends, shouldn’t I just get new friends? Like YOU made yourselves very clear, now MY question is WHY would I be here? When I feel like, generally, I would keep acknowledging it, keep saying, we can keep talking, if you’d like…? How’s that going? “It’s more everyone else.” I just keep on trying to get this story out there, in some capacity, seeking validation, it’s just—it might not be there.

I feel as though I have to accept, just don’t talk to certain people, just smile and nod, don’t make any reference to my feelings, this story, and don’t contact anyone who’s going to be concerned about a social media post about a funny Christmas. Does that make sense? But it doesn’t occur to her to say, “hello, how are you?” Or, “wow, what you said, yeah that’s concerning…” that I don’t know if I was abused? The social media post lingers… but not that. I don’t know what to say. That’s all I have to say.

I really don’t know what to say about this one. So I might go dark a second. I don’t even post that often. I really don’t understand the problem. I’m going to finish this story, “um,” imagining a little nice PING informing the EPIC editors that my story has arrived, they have no idea what’s coming… and I hope they respond to it. I’ll keep going. Is there something wrong with sucking, even? I mean, one post, for a minute, to get to something? I don’t have these sorts of judgments.

Except to say, I might need to put on makeup, or I might need to make it clearer that. I am not being serious… about a Christmas-sport-experience. Maybe wrong context. Maybe not the time. Like it’s premature. I just end up getting frustrated and angry because who gives a shit? So that’s that. I’m struggling with this stupid platform, that I am not even on, I’m not scrolling that much, but, I don’t know, the guru said, I should figure it out. And is that true? You know?

I was supersonic speed biking to the antique gallery through Central Park to buy this bag and glass for my birthday, as I decided to embrace the fairytale explorer vibe. I felt like I had to say goodbye to my entire life… just a big goodbye, waving, waving it all away. Goodbye! I don’t even understand it. But I got April, I got that date in April, when I will present new work to The Pit, as a woman told me, who developed a one-woman show, did. I’ll keep developing it, there are always call outs for work… so I’ll keep doing that. I never cared about this platform… someone just said, “here try it…” and it caused me just problems, and I don’t know why… because what I’m doing is embarassing? Is that even fair?

I’m just done, today, I am done. I have a cute Gucci sack, laughing, as I bike through Central Park, picturing Barbara Harris biking with me… and she’s laughing too… I’m picturing Tom Cruise, even, laughing… just the absurdity that I have to deal with sheer agony… of people asking me “whatever is happening…” while the sexual trauma specialist speaks, he continues to, about what this might be, and in my case, “it really happened,” so… he’s not exactly a therapist like that, he just left me with empowerment… that I should feel empowered… but it’s hard to feel that way, when the world, when it feels like the world doesn’t want you to exist… like, thanks Dr. J, really, thanks for the joyride, lady, because that was a fucking nightmare.

“Breasts at my door,” Angelica Leibowitz said. “My front door,” looking at me with DEMONIC eyes. “Breasts, Maria, at my door. I opened my DOOR and there were breasts! Maria,” she moved closer to me, “BLOUSE totally open. OPEN. Maria, blouse OPEN.” And I’m biking through Central Park… with Barbara Harris… as real messages from my friends scroll, about me being confused, to cut to: me at four throwing fists, screaming my head off, with her daughter, as my father stands at a wide open door like a guilty man. Being dropped off like a THING at my house — and the more I put together, the angrier I became, I went through a whole bodily event. Sure, mix in crazy people, all that. The sexual trauma specialist, he’s able to hold a complex moment. And I don’t know, it’s the strangest feeling…like the more I let go… you see… of all of them… all of that… the better I feel, the realer I feel, like I don’t think I’m wrong. I don’t think I’m wrong that I’m going to be backed up, that the story doesn’t sound too good… that I deserved better than this. Better friends.

So my whole life, it came to a real end, and I’m going to be forty soon, and I’m not at all where I want to be, but I got a beautiful glass, made of real gold, I got a lovely bag, a new address to get a vintage belt once I find the jeans… and I have a classic view outside my window of golden leaves, red, a beautiful ride through the park. I thought, it’s a great setting for a superhero, as I saw the Joker when I was in the hospital, and I thought, hey, you know, my mother looked like one… so maybe I could bring a Joker into existence… I didn’t know what that meant… but I see glimmers of stories, imagining I don’t know, turning off the road to see the specialist in some TV show, film, something, as I’m thinking of going in that direction, or I’d like to. There’s a lot I could do with that story, and I really really want a happy ending. I want something good to come out of all this. I want to be able to look back and say, it’s over, I’m exactly where I’d like to be.

This book, Jesus, whatever, is well received, simply, because in the world at large, it’s not exactly that unbelievable. I don’t know how to tackle that one, it was a real situation that got out of control over a four year old. The world might not even care. This guru painted HARRY POTTER pictures. Like I was in fact Harry Potter. The most successful version exist, according to him, MERLIN, when it’s like, can you look at yourself? Over that. Over a little sex scandal. I don’t think anyone is going to tell me, I’m not describing that accurately… a short cut version.

I felt like I lost my whole life. And from the looks of it, I don’t know if I’m losing or gaining even if I’m alone. I had no idea with this one, I still don’t. It turns out, I wasn’t a good friend at all, that’s the conclusion I had to come to. You know? That I went in the wrong direction… even. But I’m sure that will change, I just really don’t know what to do with my world right now, my old one. It’s just a goodbye.

I’m going to keep getting on my feet, I will finish this story, and open up to what’s next in my life. I’m spilling out because I’ve had a terrible time, truly, a terrible time — and I have no one right now, and that wasn’t always the case, but then, they all forgot where I came from. Again, the story didn’t change. Even my closest friend who also called himself my manager? When I am not an actress. He even said, right? About my father? Sounds abusive? So what exactly is that new? Or unbelievable about it? I agree, I definitely am struggling with the believability of it.

So, that’s it, I need to go, and I’ll keep getting on this blog. Thanks for reading, if anyone is, as I still struggle, really, with the future crap, or this idea that anyone wants me to get “there” at all, wherever “there” is, guru. Ever feel so much resistance, you don’t know if it’s the universe saying — stop, you’re wrong? Or am I supposed to keep pedaling through this because there’s a real reason to…?

I mean, just thinking about what I heard people say to me about all this.

Anyway, I’m off.

So I met someone in my neighborhood last night

Early rising, before the sun, or with the sun. I went to bed early last night, watching my rehearsal footage from yesterday — just trying to stamp out the future conceptually from my mind. I did a monologue about the goddamn future — I lost it.

These gurus told me that the FUTURE writes the past. The Hollywood screenwriter’s brother gave me channeler tapes. Suggested reaching out to my future audience, and that really was not a good idea. All this downloading information from the future. It was an obsessive relationship to some future point.

And it seriously affect my life. I can’t think about doing anything, like performing again, or even writing, literally, without “future audience members” encouraging me to keep speaking… it’s just, it’s a delusional navigational tool. It doesn’t really exist, they don’t really exist. NOT in reality. In the here and now. Be real.

It’s as if these people thought I was going to be a giant “wow, oh, look,” she saw it all before it happened. I keep picturing one of these TV panels I’ve been going to, where the actors give me a respectful space to speak about… the reality of being psychic.

This wasn’t necessary. This step wasn’t necessary. So I still struggle with this logic I absorbed, even the psychic shit, so for the moment, I’m just speaking and working with where I’m at. I can’t stand it anymore. I cannot stand the future. Like, I’m performing, just standing in a rehearsal room, and I get triggered or I start to feel people channeling through me… so to speak… like I didn’t need this “shit.”

I’m cursing, rejecting it, stamping it out. Trying to get back to presence. Where I am alone. There is no future. There is no audience. There is only me. And of course, gazing out windows, there is something addictive about it, though I’m observing this strange addiction, because it’s my mind… it’s triggered. I’m stopping the mechanism.

Vogue Italia believes I am revealing the psyche and its mechanisms. So I’m grieving the road it took to get here, grieving this… I didn’t want to let go, because I believed so wholeheartedly, you understand, I believed in YOU, I believed in YOU, that was a gift, where I believed, you see. I don’t know if anyone has ever confronted a real, “this doesn’t work,” where you tried so hard. What a strange example of it, but I… was a fucking mess because of these gurus. And they don’t even have followers.

So, the future, I’m repeating THE FUTURE into a goddamn mirror — just getting it. the FUCK out. I can’t PLAY characters, I can’t ACT, I can’t WRITE, I can’t THINK! And will this be the key to unlocking my greatness? Hand in the air. The ultimate GOAL to the goddamn GURU. Wow, wow, “brilliant,” John Malkovich was there. The sign of true greatness: John Malkovich was in attendance to her show… she was in her curly hair bonnet, he might have even SEEN the ghost of Barbara Harris around me. “She’s doing the best she can.”

I have to laugh, I really do. Because, evidently, I want to find whatever it is that’s going to allow me to shine, find real success, I just, I wasn’t this fantastical a person. I was born in a fantasy flick (?) and all I wanted was — out. On magical chariots, turning to look behind me, as the darkness gets closer. “THE FUTURE.”

So I’m being very present with what I’m truly dealing with — I don’t know any of these people! I just want to be in a room with myself, grieving what I lost because of this direction, struggling with… how I have not one friend, not real friend. My friend Jo texted me, how are you, and I said, not that great today, because I outlined my story, but I’m letting it go and going to a film event. No response. Of course. Later, she said, how was the film thing. I just don’t know what to do with that, as I’m not like my friends, at all. I’m going, “how is that going? Do you need someone to talk to, even about these scenes?” I don’t care if someone cries, or if they are going through an emotional moment. It’s just, getting to a notecard, as I brought that into my monologue…you see, step one, notecard one is: she told me your father was raping you when you were four. Here’s the notecard. THE FUTURE! Picture Gandalf throwing his wizard wand in all the cinematic magic — that’s the guru.

I didn’t need movie soundtracks accompanying a pursuit like this, and look, I can’t imagine that actors are IN THE MOVIE of MAKING IT, looking UP at auditions dramatically, as if they can do this, it was too much. And I’m a writer. I doubt Joyce Carol Oates, who is IN my show, is acting like that. Just picturing her “downloading” information from the future… TO BE SMART. Crafty. She’s getting to the most resonant book BEFORE she begins. She’s sending lines of connection to her audience members. I think this sci-fi is hilarious. This action-flick even. I become a superhero of some inutile kind, totally masterbatory.

So use it? I am in that phase right now, where I fucking hate the FUTURE. I’m projecting my voice in this rehearsal room at the National Opera Center. Jesus Christ! And then, just like anything else, you make it better. I’ll get to a structured piece, but that’s where I am at right now, just still evacuating any kind of channeling, no no no. ANY kind of channeling. What do you do? You admit you have a problem, you face it, you let go of your attachment to it… and you admit you went down some dark road. And now, I’m just putting up notecard one, trying to structure out this story ahead of time. “She told me he was raping you at four.”

All that. All that. And last notecard, after going through the whole thing, “was it true?” A terrible thought. Putting together this story was a nightmare. But this structure is holding together, how terrifying. Maybe for the book I’ll bring back my older structure, meaning, I don’t know how to structure anything yet, and I didn’t need the FUTURE. I tried, I tried so hard, to follow this man’s belief… and why? Why couldn’t I get ahead? Why did I have to meet this person? You know?

I became a superhero… that’s where I went to next, as if I should wear a costume, a superhero costume, while putting up these notecards. I became PSYCHIC, able to ACCESS ANY AND ALL FUTURES—Joyce Carol Oates and I in a spaceship, hitting turbulence, as we make our way across the universe. Bumpy. She’s not concerned. She’s already in the future where it’s smooth sailing. “Good point.” I hate this guru, I never felt hate, before. I hate this guy. So I keep finding material that I like, that I can develop, which makes me feel better, but I still channel the future, whatever that means, which is — deeply annoying. I keep STAMPING it out!

I don’t need SUPPORT in speaking, writing, anything. It drove me nuts, it drives me NUTS, the channeling. Do not GIVE someone channeler tapes. So right now, right now in my life? What I’m dealing with? Sometimes, with Will Hunting, because I feel like my problems and story merit the return of Will Hunting, the psychologist, as he finds himself in that profession, which I think is a solid move, and it makes me laugh, at least. “THE FUTURE.” And this would be progress, you understand, because I haven’t been able to even articulate this. “Why am I getting CHANNELER TAPES?” It gets better, but the future is too triggering… the sci-fi fantasy flick too stimulating, so. I’m just trying to get back to presence.

What a mess. I’m telling you.

That’s my current battle. Just getting into a rehearsal room, and just trying to get, throwing punches, back to the PRESENT. Where NO one is watching. No attachment to outcome, even, and I can just work with me. I did not need this. And the worst part, is like, I feel so alone right now, because I’m looking at these notecards. I can’t find a friend to save my life. No comment, no response, and to me, it’s over, it’s so over with these people, but there’s nothing I can do right now. I don’t know how to respond to my friend…who can’t even ask a question as to how it is I’m doing… you see. Am I supposed to let it all go? My whole life go? Like, I really really don’t want to speak to you. Or am I to understand them? I would not act like any of them.

And this stupid guru, you see, with Maze Runner in my mind, that soundtrack, he believes I could — cinematic peaks being reached in sound — MAKE IT, a writer, floating and turning in a holy light. He believed my birth was divine. Amazing. I’m just at notecard two: she drives to my house. I’m FLYING with Joyce Carol Oates down low, to pick up notecard three, and fly back up: I alert her.

So, writing about this really ruined my life, trying to do any kind of profession with possible fame attached, not like you can’t be a famous academic, lawyer, doctor, it just doesn’t come, I don’t think, with the same CRAP. It’s a lot of CRAP. It’s really true, and I am not even famous, I just came from a sex scandal. Extraordinary, to Goggins, I believe. He would find it extraordinary. So much crap. I did not need it. I guess this screenwriter was a dork, a nerd, someone like this, who had a VERY colorful internal experience…?

I’m going to be forty this year, and I don’t want to see ANYONE. I don’t even want to go to my friend’s birthday party, just because, I was just ignored. And I can’t get intimate with new friends, so I can’t go there. I don’t know what to say, I’m in a place of total unknown, and luckily, I stamped out the guru almost completely, this Pillsbury Dough Boy. No offense. Because, looking back on him, what was he doing?

Might as well write a monologue, put on a performance of STAMPING out the goddamn future. Is John Malkovich coming to the performance? I DON’T GIVE A SHIT. NO, there is NO performance YET. But this is the type of thinking that the guru would have condoned. “Yes, very good.” NO! OUT JOHN MALKOVICH. You’re not WELCOMED here yet. But he sits firmly in his seat. I have to laugh. I have to make jokes. So I’m just trying to get to mental stillness. No pictures. No visualization. I don’t want to have a problem with simply putting on a show, like I’m trying to MOVE to BROADWAY or whatever…before I can even get through a monologue. I don’t know what to say but I wouldn’t just give someone channeler tapes. Even the shaman, the shaman I worked with, if you call it that, he would totally not advise giving ME, specifically, channeler tapes. That’s not the move.

And now, I’m dealing with space itself. I don’t see a connection outside of myself. I don’t want to be in a loop. I get there is STUFF outside of me, but to SOME, losing it, that’s an ILLUSION even? I cannot STAND THE PSYCHICS! Because what do you believe in?! Fuck you, and that’s from the ghost of Barbara Harris, (laughing), because, in the end, everytime I open up YouTube, without fail, and I’m not changing it, it’s Barbara Harris looking haunted in the First Affair. Without fail, youtube goes straight to that video, and it’s frozen on the same expression. A woman who could make you believe…that she’s really haunting/helping me.

So am I channeling THE FUTURE — somewhere OUT there? I do not even understand this SPATIALLY. Or does the FUTURE live inside of me? So why am I reaching???? Where am I reaching??? I hate this system of LOGIC. Right? Where everything is connected. I cannot stand it. So now, I’m just trying to relinquish the future, in a room, and I put that in the mix, it works. I can get a superhero costume. I can dance to movie soundtracks. Notecard five… a mastermind. OH MY GOD? was it true. Fist. Did my father rape me? And here they come… the voices… my whole life. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. Everyone I knew.

Before I even began. I had to cut off with almost everyone I knew. I couldn’t hear myself think. The guru will be Ubu Roi in the corner playing video games: the Hollywood screenwriter, the GURU, that’s how he held himself, for real with me. I didn’t need to be HELD UP. I’m telling you, this story only caused me problems. It brought me nothing. But I hope to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I really do, just because I have no idea what to do right now. “And I do not need ADVICE,” picturing the White Lotus cast… not giving me advice… but this GURU, people, I mean, Jesus Christ. “Give the woman some room…”

So I’m trying to get to a reel, you know, and trying to think WHERE I would fit in the screen landscape, and I thought, well, White Lotus, maybe, with my psychedelic background, I could play someone who just got out of a cult. And it’s all about TONE. I was LISTENING, as they said, acting is LISTENING, so I was LISTENING, and going, TONE. That’s what Sam Rockwell said. So is she…broken? I mean, sure, but there are different WAYS to be broken. I’m fucking PISSED, because I have to WORK OUT real mental health issues now. I’m FINE, you see, but my MIND, yes, the computer with WIRES connecting to my whole body, that’s NOT FINE. It’s a goddamn mess. I’m drinking coffee, coming to terms with the REALITY of the human body. I have another hour booked today for rehearsal.

I’m just going, “yes, that’s good” for now, leaving it be, moving onto something else. There were silvers of a character emerging, especially around this guru, which was the Joker’s Daughter, that’s my personal goal. But I suppose it’s all the same, it’s coming from the same place. I need to get past the channeling audience, whatever the fuck this is, so I can work on character. I need to be alone. So that’s my work right now. Just wrestling with my mind, literally speaking, bringing it down. Stop.

So thanks GURU. Thanks assholes for telling me I was psychic. Even the psychic, supposedly, the woman who was psychic, she never told me I was psychic, exactly. I’ve got arrows drawn on the psycho spiritual plane, forget the imagination, and Joyce Carol Oates popped up right there — we’re with the ALIENS, making our way across the universe, AIMING to publish a book. Lightning speed—ahead. Warping, bending time, heading for an agent. Backflip. Onto their desk.

Boom. The draft of drafts.

Booker Prize. 2027.

And I’m like, Kill Bill, one toe. Just trying to move my one toe. And look, I don’t understand this man at all, because didn’t he write it line by line? What a strange man, what a strange preoccupation.

Anyway, I saw that EPIC published something on their social media channels, that they got this weird draft that was delightful and then, he’s now a staff writer with them, and his story got made into a documentary. That’s where I wanted to head…So, I’ll keep working on this, not knowing what to do about income, as I didn’t have to WRITE, like I was writing. And this guru, I do not understand who he was on the other side of the telephone line. It scares me, it really does. I find him terrifying. So I have to keep figuring out this piece, income, as I don’t need to work at night, in a restaurant. I’m making my own stuff, so I can rehearse at night, I crave a normal schedule. I just don’t know WHAT to do.

Who I was, I guess she’s still inside of me, but she’s a different iteration, she died. I mean, artists reinvent themselves, but I didn’t change like that. Looking at the guru, I have no idea if he even liked me. I mean, my personality. I didn’t like him, actually, not at all. I just didn’t know that. I didn’t find him a pleasant experience. How could I? WHO would want to be me in that relationship? He wouldn’t want to be me. A GURU, hands behind his back? Some dude who made a couple of movies? No offense. It’s not to cut anyone down, but WHY he was a GURU I don’t know. What life experience did he even have? Right? I didn’t understand his pompous attitude, and you see, the more I peer, the more I see some rich boy — are you… I really didn’t understand his family’s desire to help? They all have a thing, it seems. It’s weird, they should stop. Like, their sister simply invites my friend to come hang out for a week, she buys her clothes, shows her a nice time, which sounds NICE. That’s what SHE got, and I got — this guy. I didn’t need that shit.

And now, I got the FUTURE to work out in front of an audience… of some kind. I’m going to keep watching my rehearsal, so I can pick out what’s working, what’s not, and I have to STOP— Maria, no one gives a shit, not right now. No one is reading this. No one is following you, you see. No one gives a shit. Do I, meaning, me, only me, do I want to do this? I have to separate from some external point desiring that I DO this. Terrible. It’s really terrible. Just stillness.

Look, assholes, if it turns out that I am PSYCHIC, you can shove it up your ass. Straight up, you know. Especially because these DUDES acted as if they were PSYCHIC, like what the fuck is everyone’s obsession with having superpowers? The guru —I see you, I see you. That’s a condition, isn’t it? A narcissist? I don’t know WHAT that is, but the conflated ego thing — that’s not okay. And I gotta reject, these slimy feelings, like you’re NOT my father, yuck. You’re not a mentor. I was a GIRL in a cafe, okay, writing a book about a heavy story. And that’s what you did.

I just shiver, yuck, when it comes to this guy. Look, um his partner recently died, and he acts as though nothing affects him, who cares? The line between death and life is arbitrary, according to him, and I’m not going, “time to back up…” smile, and leave. “Sure, next week, feeling faint, must have been the salmon, byeeee.” I guess he had time on his hands? I really really really didn’t need to be INTERESTING to some shadow of a man regarding me as if he were a superior being… I get he was older, but that was — hm, a step beyond that. Several.

So, I hope, I woke up this morning like, what do I do? I really don’t want to work at a restaurant. I gotta keep applying for jobs. It’s more like, I get frustrated, because I couldn’t meet a normal person? I didn’t need help, if you would, but I met HELPERS who were not helpers. Now, I identified a direction. EPIC. Film and TV. Story writing. Everything I’m working on could be funneled through them. The Year I was Invaded by the Russians. Even Barbara Harris.

I just have to get there. And right now, this structure holds together. I’m sure it will adjust, but it holds together, and I spend some time yesterday just throwing the sections into a new doc, and now, I’ll read through that, and I’ll work on it step by step. I can’t do the whole story. It’s too big. It merits a book. But I can just tell the story of what happened. And maybe this will be section one of the book, or something, as, really, there’s nothing bad about my writing, it’s just structure that has been a battle. And I don’t think it’s a matter of reaching into the future for the ME there — in the future — who KNOWS HOW to structure a book. Ah, clever. Imagine John Malkovich playing this person, the guru.

“OH MY GOD—AMAZING!!!” People are flocking, John Cusack included to the theater, who is a fan of Barbara Harris. “Yes,” the guru is saying, “yes, the ENERGY of Barbara Harris is assisting you.” I can’t, I’m moving to the Knight Rider soundtrack, through these strange ties. Trying to GET to the undercover investigation — notecard FIVE. Slam dunk. And in the end, I will be a hero? Hilarious. Walking out, a Victoria Secret model in lingerie… to the theme of Knight Rider. Applause. Wow. I’m ONLY with models. You see? I ONLY hang out with models. That’s it. Kill anyone who approaches me.

Do not hesitate—legs: go.

I’m in the car — making a getaway. Knight Rider. I’m asking a model, “has anyone sent you their dick on Instagram messenger?”

“Yes.”

“WHY?”

“Not the question. Just delete.”

It’s a strange world.

But I went out last night — with a psychic arrow directed at another LAYER to all this — and I happened to see a bar I never noticed before, and it seemed to be a jazz venue. So I stepped in, I got confused, so I left, I stepped out and regarded the signs out front. (I just got out of a cult, so skiddish.) Okay, deep breath, I walked in. I took a seat at the bar, and the booths were red, it had an inviting vibe. And it’s a jazz bar, and they have a real venue, and you can sit at the bar and listen to the music without paying for a ticket, you just can’t sit in the venue. I spent the last couple of hours singing… which always makes me happy…and yes, I have to work out the future, yes. Where my mind will project some image. It’s truly harrowing.

But anyway. I worked on singing. I ended up in this bar. I was speaking to a woman who lives in the neighborhood, so I made a new friend. She goes out a lot as an older woman. In her fifties. She knows everyone. So I thought, okay, maybe I’ll be able to find a gig in my neighborhood. I don’t know if I have an AGENDA about it, but I thought, shrug, I’ll do this video… I’ll work on a jazz one, I guess, and I’ll go to this bar, hang out, get to know them, and see what happens? That was fun. And I got a bunch of suggestions as to where to go in my neighborhood. There you go.

I left, I put on some makeup, I was in sweats, I’m still a little afraid, because I don’t know to say about what I attract, but I’m not young, that’s the other thing that made me so angry. Ridiculous. Something felt as if it opened up, but it’s just — if you can follow my logic and how annoying it is — I DIDN’T HAVE THIS PROBLEM of “things needing to open up,” I just can’t STAND the guru. But I suppose, because it’s as if I can’t even appreciate that I had a serendiptious evening. Simply. I find that expectations like that, I mean, I don’t know who this woman is, I don’t know anything, but I found a cool spot to hang out at, around me, and I’m going to explore my neighborhood as I like it, it’s very old school NY. It feels like NY. I like the area. Cue: St. Elmo’s Fire. As I always put the sex scandal to that soundtrack…

If it’s about a family who really finds themselves in this situation — the mother is the SAX, sexy, Brazilian, as I always made fun of her, which she didn’t mind, she knew she was hot, you see, dancing across her carpet — but this family of sports stars, you see, these Brazilian Jews, they take home a four year old, and they get child molesters, insane people, and they are going to GET HER through this. A total nightmare. That’s one direction to take it. And in that case, you see, we really went through this, picture the Breakfast Club, but JOSE Leibowitz is the one lounging here. Not Molly Ringwald. We’re a family of 8… with grandkids… who became nine. And this is their story. I picture the whole family in red sweaters, the parents in the downframe, holding this edition. She’s looking into the camera like… she doesn’t know what to say… this is how we became a family…

I loved that, I was thinking a variety of things, it’s just, the ending, the real ending, it’s not exactly an ending. No one is going, “yeah aw…” when she sends me home with them. It’s like, “wait what?” I mean, holy shit, I mean, the SCENE, it’s all about THE SCENE: that she invites him over to her house (picturing the father’s face, close up) and tells him that she lied, you see, about him… which is why they put on those spectacles for him? He goes, “she can stay here while I figure this out…” And truly, in thinking about this convo, I went, “wow.” Um? Picturing a real dad? “I’m sorry?” It could be such a great moment. “She can stay here while he figures this out?”

Just picturing a father on a couch, blinking, receiving this. That she invited him over? For one? That she said, what? I’m sorry? She lied? Wait? What? Just the reception… the build, that would be his build. It would start small.

Or you treat that scene differently. It depends on what the story is, if he’s guilty, innocent, I mean, I don’t know what to say, but at least, it’s a good scene. And I’m going to be looking at actors, okay? Applause, gold clap. Good job. Right? It’s a good scene. Except, no one got that, that you have to find something to love. It’s a good scene. I need to reach a place of distance. It happened a long time ago.

But — this father, no no no. “Stay here until he figures this out?” Looking at Jose. I don’t know what to say about how this story would unfold, but the character of her husband, because WHERE was this guy? Became — central. The Jew, the father was a Jew, finds himself in this situation. And we’re dancing regardless. The lambada.

I saw nothing but potential in it, at least.

So I gotta get there. I gotta get off my blog, still, it’s part of the same problem. I can write, but I write a lot, right now, as letting go of all that stuff has proved to be rather difficult… because there’s SOMEONE reading this? I find this to be hard, because I could have spent these hours working on my EPIC piece, just needing to let go.

So I will.

Another thought

I keep breathing, I keep telling myself I need to get off this blog, but I can’t seem to break away. It’s like, looking at these notecards, “yeah,” I can finish this story, make some headway, it’s just… looking at this story, how confusing. “Yeah I can make it…”

You know what, what else can I do?But believe in it, or accept that I’m here, and it put me through so much, just so much. So I hope it does, I hope this story takes off, and that I’ll reach a new chapter. Was it true? In the end.

I never thought I would feel this lost, or this strange, so, just because my entire understanding of this story had to be reframed, and the journey to get to notecards was…harrowing.

I just hated this story, hated it so much. It didn’t bring me any real love, if that makes sense.

I’m going to leave now, I’m excited to go to the event this evening. I want the future to go away so badly. Maybe I’ll get a checkbook, write myself a check like Jim Carrey did, imagine this will bring me a great reward… it’s more so having gotten so caught up in it.

I never feel like going out when I tackle this one…

I feel so confused, like I’m supposed to talk about this story over social channels? I’m supposed to try and sell… this or put myself out there, like this? I guess so, I don’t know, but I really didn’t want to be in this position. The guru suggested that I do this. I don’t know what to say.

I’m trying to feel better about it, so I hope I will. But for now, I have to work on letting go… of talking to no one. This blog. It’s the heartbreak, the ache, of the future shit, the future audience shit. I’m finding it challenging to break away from that idea… like it had claws. My head spins, it really does, sometimes, like I didn’t want to get all fucked up about “making it” or something. Like I didn’t believe that I could? Or, I was special? Cocking my head at these notecards.

I could become a great star… squinting at these notecards…

But now, I feel like I got eaten alive, so I’m spinning a bit, letting go… I need to get active, I am, but I still suffer from what I learned, absorbed, this past decade, I really truly do suffer. I feel so alone sometimes, it’s hard, like I didn’t see how I was enabling myself. That’s all I got, but I just think about that guru sometimes and it still pains me. So, deep breath, moving on, brighter horizons.

-in line in a fur, at White Lotus-

Okay, so let’s say I was in foster care, I had been in foster care, what would the guru have done? Would he have concentrated on my potential greatness? Does that make sense? I needed to work out my head. You can download the stuff from the future — would he have acted that way? I keep trying to put this story out there, right? Because that’s what he told me to do, and people responded to it so intensely, they could, that I feel confused now. I just wasn’t expecting to feel eaten alive by these trauma people (the plant people) aka psychedelics.

Imagine Casey in the backseat saying something innocent, “you got involved with drugs?” Well, right? Affleck and Damon are going to try and defend me, and to Casey, that’s going to sound like “yes,” he’s going to shrug. I’m speaking about their characters in Good Will Hunting, a movie I obviously watched a lot. And I appreciated it. That basically sounds like a “yes.” I’d laugh. “I had no idea, really!” That was strange. Just because I ended up in a relationship with a controversial person.

“A drug addict,” Casey knows.

“But,” he’s listening to me and it’s funny, “he has problems, like he’s off drugs or something because he’s on…”

“Drugs,” Casey says…?

“Like he has special needs?”

You see what I mean? “And then I’m going to start sometimes, not all the time, as I can’t really get addicted to those drugs,” it’s more that he was sort of mentoring me now— “another one?” Casey. “Another mentor?” And you can picture, McBride going, “what are you, like the best writer that’s ever been?”

“I guess it was like, supposed to be that I met the right people and it was going to help me…”

“BUT WHY,” Casey, “yes,” McBride, “why are people helping you?” Helping you how? “Jesus Christ,” he’s annoyed. Except, I’m attractive? But WHAT, WHAT, was I attracting? And look I wouldn’t share this part, but if my past started to surface, as I got into a brief and not fun affair, no one was even there for me.

Like I was talking to this specialist, like I’m confused as to how to frame all that? “You got involved with the wrong people?” Just generally. What I was doing didn’t make sense.

I keep moving through these “acid flashbacks” type deal where I feel lost because I didn’t feel like I was conscious of the choices I was making. And the guru was so confusing because he played a super weird card.

And now I’m looking at “was it true?” The notecard. After ALL that — you can MAKE IT AS A WRITER!!! The unbelievable can happen to YOU! When… I’m putting up notecards, “her breasts at her door,” yeah that scene.

I have vision for this story now, and I’m where I’m at, so I’ll keep reaching, will keep embracing this moment. Keep doing what I need to, and I do feel like I keep moving on. So deep breaths.

Got an invite to White Lotus premiere, heyyyy perfect psychic timing

Heeeeeyyy. Heeeeey. My friend Liz called. I’m going to a screening tonight with the cast of White Lotus. I’m not exactly the type who didn’t believe in herself, like the shot of me getting ready isn’t someone who didn’t know what she was capable of? It’s someone who is confused. I made my choices based on where I came from. I wasn’t looking to make it, not until I started writing, but I didn’t want to harp on the subject, like make that a problem.

making it? Does that make sense? I didn’t think that I wanted to be in film, as some people think I’m actually a Duchess, it’s not — posh, necessarily, speaking of the Brits, to be an actress. Ew. Imagine? Charles? King Charles? “An actress?” That’s not happening. Not like it couldn’t, but I’m joking around. In any case, it’s much more… like, I’m so excited to go, how fun. I can’t totally get a read on myself, because no one was that interested in my opinion. Really! Amazing to me, thinking about going to this film event, with the guru telling me I’m special. I have something special. And now, I’m totally clueless as to what that was, is. I would love to be… regarded as good at something… or something… ?

I’m going to keep opening up to this idea, if you believe in manifestation, I appreciate that I’m getting the chance to go to…film and TV events. That happened naturally, out of nowhere, and it’s fun, I’m going to the Russian tea room this evening.

So my lampshades arrived, and they’re too big. I wanted electric blue. I ordered another kind of shade, so we’ll see. I’m watering my plants. I posted a working outline on my book blog, and then, I just let go of a stronghold on the club, and I’m just went through the story, and, at least, I got to the end. Is it true? That’s the only question here. So I’m going to take a deep breath, I’m sure people approaching writing a story differently, but why start writing until you figure out the idea? So now, I’m exhausted, truly. Like, this idea that I was intuitive, that… ruined my life. It was unnecessary. I was gifted, vaguely, um, at… capable of…meditating the book into existence, downloading the information…

Not to say I am not special, or a genius? I was truly confused. I was just a woman… in a cafe. Who came from a sex scandal. None of these men went off anything real. Only their psychic senses. No one is reading and going, you’re really really good at that. Reading something on the page. And no offense, this guru made mention of “really good writing,” but when I look at what I gave him, I’m truly confused. I’m confused as to why he did what he did. But again, I really don’t know why I got involved, but it took me this long to GET to choice, you see.

I wasn’t bad, I’m not bad, but that was a lot of fanfare over a girl. And if I had skipped all that, I would have been better off. Skipped the special stuff. Skipped it.

So I’m going to build up the energy again… I’ll keep staring at these notecards, now that I basically got to the end. I’m going to sit with these scenes now…that I mapped out. I’m going to keep running the story in my mind, taking it step by step… like, no one reading this is going to not believe me… no one is going to conclude that “she gave me away to a total stranger…” she paid a woman to protect me.

Was that true? I didn’t even have a room.

I feel like I have to keep on working up the courage to get back on the comedy circuit because I feel like I need to keep working on my approach… like maybe I should sit back and watch comedy for a moment… I’m still exploring a show, I get into a rehearsal room, and I’m going to work on Parting for MOTH… rather than Family Matters. To me, Family Matters is a different tone… I’m not sure if there’s a story that comes to mind… but parting, yes, just to say goodbye to all this. So I’m feeling exhausted today, staring at notecards. I would just pitch them, I guess, EPIC, but I have never written a story before… so being a journalist, or writing for psychedelics, none of what I did helped me at all. This is. I hope so. I’ve been so heartbroken over the waste of time my last decade was. I hope to be able to make some headway now… and I’ll keep thinking about a short series, something easy, to make — something I can film… so I think I might turn my wheel that way.

I somewhat lost the desire to continue, if that makes sense, though I always navigate around this moments…I didn’t want my life to revolve around that story? It didn’t until my thirties, and they were so horrible, that I’m sorry I even ever got started. I’ll keep figuring it out, just feeling SO normal, like beyond NOT special. So I’m going to sing. Like am I supposed to give speeches? Am I a remarkable person with wisdom to share? I suppose I’ll keep finding my way through these moments.

I can’t exactly afford therapy right now, meaning, more like a psychologist, as I feel like I got eaten alive, psychic, special, wrapped up in SETH books, or this fucking Hollywood guru, he was a total headfuck. The worst. So I’ll keep moving off my blog, but I feel a need to connect, even if it’s with no one, as I can’t connect with anyone in my life right now. And I am working on this story, and no one in my life really gets it, gets what IT is. But I always find relief in thinking about film or performance, or I’ll keep steering. So that’s it.

I wake up at 5:30 now — without fail

As I work at 5:30 AM over the weekends, now I’m up every morning at 5:30 without fail. So here I am up at 5:30 in my silk cap, for my hair. Someone suggested once that I get a silk pillow, but I think there’s rhyme and reason behind keeping the mane contained. So I have a very attractive, very “she’s got her shit together” cap on. I don’t have the “she’s got her shit together” pajams yet, but we take it one step at a time. There’s nothing really fun about spending money to rebuild, to slip in that comment towards the guru… as he might say something like that. Like, no no no, I was in the hospital douchebag, lost years of my life. So that guy can fuck off, and he’s almost totally gone, left my body. I don’t give a shit about that man’s so-called weak wisdom. In any case, any sign of him, you see, that pops up, I have knives in my mind, I’m an assasin. I had to stab the thought of him out of existence. Stab. Kill Bill. I have stabbed this man out of existence. Sliced his throat. Like this mother fucker would even stand a chance in a fight with me. Ha, that might even make him laugh. I would KICK his ass so fast. Prissy bitch. REMEMBER:

In a switch blade fight between Barbara Harris and Vietnam’s street fighter, the SMART money would be on Harris. I’m on a whole other level.

But, all the same, I’m trying to really live the life that I feel is mine. I’m really trying to put myself out there to see what could happen — and so I woke up this morning, in the dark, thinking, “oh,” let me get some amber bulbs, ohhh, mood lighting, as my whole approach right now is — building from the ground up. This encapsulates it perfectly: my ex best friend said, when I was living at the Chelsea Hotel, “how can you top this?” An apartment ouf of Great Expectations? That’s in dire need of repair? Or, that didn’t have working plumbing? You see? It was grand, the wooden beams on the floor gleamed. I was stuck in some “cool” image.

What I love? A really good mattress. I could have gotten one, while I was living there, but I feel a deep sense of relief, in having worked out these kinks. Like, my own apartment? If I had the attitude I had now, I could have saved up a bunch of money and put it towards a house. The problem was focus. Like, how am I going to top this? That apartment was so symbolically on the mark, you know? Like, it was a museum piece, you couldn’t demean that apartment, you couldn’t criticize it because it was… beautiful, original. My doom. They put brass wallpaper on the kitchen walls and ceilings — a shade of yellow that turned pure gold at the end of the afternoon, encased in 100 year old wood, handcarved, with yellow and teal ceramics along the boarded up fireplace. Fantastic beasts above my head, the boarded up chandelier silthered, serpents. There were antique standing lamps everywhere, candlabras of cobras, ia portrait of Dali on the wall. Artists bought it, kept it, protected it. It was a dream… a grand apartment, three in one.

And that’s where my life ended. Sheets over the furniture, antique, the living room was a shade of animated blue that the artists brought over on a chip from Naples, and not just any artists, like, not to disrespect people who paint in their freetime, but he’s a famous artist, painter. You know him. He brought this shade from my beloved Naples and had it made… so the living room, at night, that shade of blue sparkled, practically, in the night light, not navy. It was bright, animated, like a cartoon, but at night, it took on a magical hue, a lagoon.

So that’s where…I don’t know what to do with this character I invented while I was here, that the guru called “a really good psychological device.” I don’t know about that, the utility of that statement, but I will analyze that character — that this guru even inspired mostly because he didn’t know what connection means. He was not intersted in connecting. That was a terrible thing to do to me. He was – selffish. Self-ish. And since he gave me the Seth books, I’ll make sure to break him down with the logic of that book… afterall, there’s nothing that says I cannot CHANNEL Seth. Time for a little update. It’s the same with anything else. Honestly, just picturing Arendt reading this book, she would have, you know…that’s the thing, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her… she would have followed my life this closely, as I was sort of Arendtian, and she would have read these books. Huh. She’s an actual genius.

These boys, not so sure.

I thought, there was something about the Seth books that rang as a possibly good fiction. One of these cool theoretical novels around Death leading someone through a flash. The idea I came up with, in the end, was — death is going to lead someone through an awakening… something. Anyway, sometimes, I can’t quite stomach thinking about it… but who knows, maybe in my book, I’ll recount what this chapter was, at a strict distance. If the guru wants to know, as he believes I was divinely inspired, that my birth was literally divine, I don’t think all that is literally true. I don’t think that I needed someone up my ass about being repressed… or whatever the fuck that was. He should stick to his lane, he needs to be knocked down a couple of pegs. Like, you lost the video game. Game over.

But that’s where this idea came to me, and even my ex best friend is going to … strangely… the one who started fantasizing about being in a motion picture… when this screenwriter came into my life, imagine? He’s going to get attached to death, the character, for real. He’s going to want to PLAY him even, as a budding Buddhist preacher, something. Imagine? “Oh I thought I would play Death,” he’d slip in… a little later on this chapter. Isn’t that fascinating? Anyway, I’ll break down what happened. I carried that character… for a while… confused by it, it became a place where I dealt with what I was coming to realize… I just needed to find a real person. The guru was terrible. He had no heart, literally none, that man has no heart. He just backed away, didn’t say anything, other than, “A really good psychological device?” It was as if he wre trying to kill me. And his brother, do do do, in outer space, these men, is talking to me about “the ultimate guide.” Death is the ultimate guide. Yes, I guess, people have used death as a character…

Let’s see, once I get there, as I don’t feel like conceiving of anything right now, what that means. And you’ll see, this man was on the other side of the line… throughout this year that my life ended… and you’ll get a perspective on someone who has no heart and possibly no soul.

“But first you have to become the extraordinary man…” with his fake tone, you see, over a book? I was already an extraordinary man, dipshit. You’ll see — I can see the FIVE STARS flashing across the screen or appearing on a poster. JOHN MALKOVICH IS AMAZING, TERRIFYING, NECESSARY, THE ROLE OF HIS CAREER, that this story is about A POST SOCIAL WORLD, THE DANGERS OF MANIFESTATION REVEALED, THE DARK SIDE OF TIKTOK FILTERS. AMAZING. Emma Stone’s in it. Experimental. That’s all I see now around him… just silence and many stars about how dark our obsession with manifesting and bending reality — can become. Is it real? Is it literally true? I didn’t need to be triggered on that level. That’s one of these deep deep triggers I have, like, I did not need crazy shit. We went through an unnecessary amount of drafts… I said, the title is Holy Idiot. WHY did he even feel the need to start tossing titles at me? Look, it was crap, it wasn’t a book, a story… just say that. He’s selfish, he’s a bitch, a little bitch, to be frank about it, a little bitch. It’s not a big deal. He was so precious about his feelings. Speaking of someone who needs to get some help… HE isn’t THAT SPECIAL, as he projected so much SPECIALNESS ONTO ME to an unnecesary degree. Like, am I LADY GAGA? You think I’m Lady GAGA meets Joyce Carol Oates? Something? This is your…wisdom… based on nothing. Just based on my looks…? My personality? I’m looking at the ghost of Barbara Harris currently, and she stays, her ghost, because this man said, “the line between life and death is arbitrary…” so she literally stays. We’re deciding what I’m going to cook for dinner. We’re just moving through the mundane… no offense, but Dave Chappelle? In all seriousness. If he were listening to all this, if he had been there, he would have called this guy “a little bitch.” Thankfully, I had seen his work, because I thought, wow, finally, “that guy was so unreal…” watching comedy… not just Chappelle. But I realized, just what an UNREAL person this man was, and I didn’t even see it.

But there might have been some interesting ideas in there…

Anyway, I am exploring, I think, just the idea of a book that has… a Forrest Gump quality, that takes place over time… so you can get the whole journey of it. This is where I’m going to end up—

So the sun is rising… I woke up thinking, I need to make an effort to go out, a lot. I need to see shows, comedy shows too, now that I have a schedule, for the moment. I still need to find more work, another job, and I can’t get a receptionist job, even, which, I don’t know what to say, if I KNEW someone, I could probably get a job like that. If I had been a receptionist, wrote on my freetime, didn’t spend my money, I would have been able to buy a house. Like, I get this guru BELIEVED I WAS DESTINED FOR BEL AIR…but based on how I was living, that’s not true, that’s not how I was acting, idiot. Holy idiot. That’s the book about this guy. I hope I get there, I hope I am able to purchase a home in BEL AIR. Maybe I could start a kickstarter that all the celebrities on earth would participate in so I can buy the house that’s DIRECTLY NEXT TO HIS SISTER. That would be fantastic. RIGHT NEXT to his sister. In BEL AIR. YOO HOO. So let us hope, let us hope that even the Obamas will make a pledge — donate money so I can buy the hosue direcly beside his sister. LIKE RIGHT THERE. I’m getting into the car, I’m going about my business. It doesn’t MATTER, the money, the HOW takes care of itself…and so, why not? A kickstarter that Kim Kardashian is supporting. I just need some millions, nothing more.

Anyway, you never know, but I could have operated differently, and been in a wealthier position, just by working with what I had. Enough with the star talk. Again, their obsession with reality creation was a pitch too high. Thanks for ruining my life — you fucking dipshit Hollywood screenwriter. I hope the world knows.

I have to get out there now, I thought, this morning, in waking up and tapping away… still. I’m letting go of… a truly heartbreaking decade… and I’m simply looking at notecards, I have a job, and now I gotta go build a life… staying clear of whatever these strange gears were, not even knowing if they would still EXIST because I am no longer 30, I’m 40. Not the same thing.

And this dickface is calling Margot Robbie a “7,” in Australian terms. Okay, look dickface. I’m not doing that. I suppose I should have judged him, right? Where exactly would HE fall on the hot scale? YEAH. Barbara Harris in a ponytail – I Dream of Genie. Should have been done. She’s MY genie, in my Aladdin. MAKE WAY FOR PRINCE ALI…truly, this guru…believed I was PRINCE ALI…going to show up, Joyce Carol Oates amused I hope, with a book! “Hey clear the way in the old bazaar, hey you!”

“Prince Ali…”

“Genuflect, show some respect, for no reason at all… now try your best to stay calm…” that’s what the guru did, like, be a star… who gives a shit how it happens, why, etc.

Yikes, anyway, that chapter aside, I hope I reach true and enormous success: make Oprah laugh. Barbara Harris could have played I Dream of Genie most definitely. She could have played a genie. That one made me laugh as I had a fun time imagining all the characters she could have played. And I’m, really, Aladdin. I’m not Jasmine. I suppose I was a Belle? I can’t…totally tell, as this man thought I was — attractive? Didn’t seem like it. Scary, if he did, as he confessed his love to me in the MOST obtuse fashion, over a lost DVD, somewhat role playing my father, or making IT about him? Disappointing him? Like, the guru thinks he’s that important to me???????????? You see?????????? So many question marks. He decided that disappointment was the base feeling, whatever this was, between my father and me, so he called the lost DVD a psychological set up to disappoint him. That was one of his most deranged moments. TO THEN tell me, “you’re SPECIAL,” imagine? And he intends to keep his perspective, as if he doesn’t want to PLAY my game? Dude, I’ve never been in this game. Just to let you know. Never been in this game. Not unless he will forever be associated with a child molester, you see, a story about that. He most certainly didn’t act WELL. That wasn’t WELL. He breathed in dramatically, gestured to himself as if he were a robot on a stage playing to the nosebleeds, “you cannot disappoint me” and he gave it to me with a shaking hand. “You have my love…” I was 100% confused. Standing on a fucking sidewalk in Beverly Hills. And this is where I see the PRAISE from the critics ROLLING IN— OSCAR. THE MOVIE OF THE YEAR, OUR TIMES. It’s about everything — GENDER, POWER, HOLLYWOOD SCANDALS. It’s the ring to rule them all.

So, he was actually in love with me?

And, so, I’m here now, I have to keep learning, I even saw a range rover on craiglist for 4k — like, why not? Just reach for lifestyle, right? I’m laughing. I truly am. I saw puppies, which I wish I could get right now.

I’m rebuilding from the ground up, so maybe I’ll get night bulbs…and I keep thinking about just — a better life than living in someone else’s apartment, if that makes sense, remembering what my ex closest friend said about the Chelsea.

Like, a better mattress, right? Changed my life. A deck. Like, um, money is REAL guru… not knowing what to do with his pompous attitudes, he was really dangerous… he might not understand how deranged he is. To anyone on the outside, he’s deranged. I didn’t deserve, after everything I’ve been thorugh, which this guru also shat on, he shat all over me… and how dare that man? because I was a beauty? So you know what, he can take his comment about Robbie and shut it — an ogre. He’s an ogre. A narcissist, I don’t know. He’s a psychopath for sure, like, don’t go there… don’t listen to him, don’t seek his guidance… not if you’re a woman, one he finds attractive, I don’t know. I can’t even begin with this asshole.

But I woke up today, after spending an evening with notecards, thinking, I have to put myself out there. I’ll figure out what the EPIC piece is, how to pitch it, but I did not want this to be my life… and I will probably end up confronting the guru for sure, you see, did he rape me? Might as well, right?

But I was thinking this morning, I need to make it a priority — go out, see shows, as I would like to put on a show, and meet people, get social.

I was thinking about my next Moth… and I was hovering over Family Matters, as that’s a theme coming up, and then, DC said, “Parting” in my mind… and I thought, oh, that’s good, like saying GOODBYE to that family, GOODBYE to it all. I could probably tell a better story in that theme. So thank you DC, for helping me fine tune… my choices here. It goes to show, like, go find people who you like, learn from them… so I’m going to try that, if I get on. Parting. I have a couple rehearsals planned this week.

I wish I could relax, to be honest, at this age… I wish I could kick back, but I can’t. I’m not in that position. SURE I COULD BECOME HARRY POTTER WITH THIS BOOK, but be real man— Jesus Christ! How that fuck was that supposed to HELP ME? I’m aiming — for the house RIGHT NEXT TO HIS SISTER. I’m aiming to get to know those people at least, be invited over eternally for coffee, whatever it is I need to do — to BE — RIGHT NEXT TO HIS SISTER so I can watch him… just watch him. Maybe my dream will come true. If there’s a God. And according to him, my birth was divine, what a lunatic. Anyway, we’ll see. There are MEN will great destinies. I may be one of them, opening two doors at the same time, moving through manors in England… with a posture of importance. For what? No one knows. I’m just generally the MOST important person on earth. A artist of IMMENSE caliber. WHAT I do, this is not important. THE IDEA, it’s all about the IDEA, to the GURU. And here come the FIVE STARS from the critics. Just SMASHING. WOW! This is truly the movie that captures the insanity of today, as I begin, hilariously, trying to figure out social media… get out there and be somebody after I get out of the hospital… that’s the ONLY thing this mother fucker says. NOW, he says, get on social media? It was, truly, as if this man wanted to destroy me. He’s a terrible person, okay? A terrible person, just like his father. His father sounds like a really really terrible guy who fucked anything and everything that walked. No worries, my mother was the same person, smiling.

So yes, I’m going to get going, I’ll read, work on these notecards, see if I can apply for jobs. I don’t know what to say, really, I don’t really want to write… I don’t want to write for magazines… so I’ll keep making my transition. I saw Isabella Rosselini last night, like, she was let go by Lancome when she was 42, and she ended up getting a Masters and making short films…. so that inspired me, to embrace the next chapter. I’ll probably go into film, try to. I’ll keep figuring it out. Anyway, coffee time. I need to make some plans, too, I need to make plans next week, go out, see shows, figure out this aspect of my life. The next chapter. I hope I write something that makes a splash… I hope so. He might have been a narcissist, but then, so was my closest friend, that’s what he called himself, which was… not someone to get involved with, in other words, though I just read an article about that condition, people really taking charge of their illness, so maybe he should think about that… my friend… as well as the guru… no care for other people’s feelings.

He really deserves a slap across the face. One that hurts. Or does he like that? You feel me? Does he not feel anything at all? I wondered if he did crazy shit sexually, something, like DOMs. Not to say that’s crazy, I guess, I just wondered about his — terrifying treatment of me. Maybe he’ll piss off Oprah, one can only hope. One can only hope that PRINCE ALI will play through Beverly Hills… and he’ll know that I am coming with major back up. One can hope.

This stupid Hollywood screenwriter

I’m telling you. It’s 8 AM, my space heater is drumming a soothing blank noise, just like a sound machine, I’m surrounded by my PLANTS — NICE beings. I’m looking for these jobs I wanted to apply for, right? And I can’t. So I’m thinking.

I sent this fucking screenwriter a few — YES — I am aware — SUBJECT ONLY EMAILS though if he CLICKED and READ he would read that I think he’s an asshole, and he was part of my problem, if not the bigger one — THANKS.

Assholes like you. And it’s not over, not for you.

In all this — FANNING hands, I’m even doing interpretative DANCES on my TikTok channel, you’ll see, practically JAPANESE, FANCIFUL JAPANESE, imagining telling the Good Will Hunting crew this story, “THIS GUY, and then THIS GUY wants to be a hero!” He’s giving me FANCY jazz hands like meditate reality into existence, and he can’t — since he VOLUNTEERED to help me without ME ASKING — say: GET A JOB.

I hated all these geniuses, there were two men who came into my life who not only made my life a living hell, it would turn out, but they didn’t get the picture. I was not UNFORTUNATE, I didn’t NEED friends, in a sense, I had a community, assholes.

These ASSHOLES ONLY saw what I lacked. And if I see you, BELIEVE ME, there is an ACTRESS behind me, I’m being HAUNTED/HELPED by an actress, and she doesn’t give a shit WHERE we are. I see you, beware: I will BLOW. Fuck you. It’s a major fuck you across the whole decade, an ACTRESS is behind me.

So I’m having trouble right now, as I was acting STUPID, listening to these losers, getting caught up in USELESS shit. USELESS. At 39, I could do tap dances around these men, I must say, in terms of a young woman… washing up to my shores? SO dickface, you think coming to PARIS with DRUGS is gonna help me?

“Who’s this?” Imagine the ghost of an actress. “Who’s this?”

You brought me into this so-called COMMUNITY? And YOU SEE there’s a DRUG ADDICT WHO CAN TREAT PEOPLE UNIMAGINABLY??? As someone who already came from that backgorund? Not the time. Now, why am I here in the firstplaec? It was a step one problem: WHY am I here to begin with?

Thanks for enabling me, seeing me as someone unfortunate, but also gifted, yeah, in the psychic arts, like I needed this shit. So, here I am, with my plants, in my own universe, changing my FOCUS — yeah, this shaman? Look, cyptically coming around me and slipping that in… to disappear… can you EXPLAIN what the point is? You can’t SIT DOWN and speak to a person normally? Because you’re some “ooooooo” shaman who MISSED the point?

Why did you get on the phone with me after I got out of the hospital? “This is about belonging.” WRONG. You were all disgraces. And I do believe that the SYLTHERIN, as I met a slytherin, and Dave Chappelle projected on my wall is going to agree with me. Without knowing, I’m sending in Dave Chappelle into the Carlyle Hotel, and I’m asking him to sit in the cafe and take a look around and tell me if he sees anyone remarkable… someone who is going to catch his attention.

“I saw a slytherin…” that’s the first thing he’s going to say. “Is that a slytherin?” But for real, is that a slytherin?

And yes, I got involved with him. And no worries, with him, I’m sort of in a — I understand you have problems — you’re well intentioned — you just don’t seem to understand that drugs, dialing into the FBI CIA, forget police, AFFECT you, and I would have kept that in a very boundaried place. Though I would not be here, to be frank, in the first place. My mother was a drug addict, so this is a giant goodbye. GOOD-BYE, the ghost of an actress telling me to get the fuck UP.

I believe the slytherin indeed sent me the 5 AM message through my website that tipped me over a real edge. Okay? I’m going to exist there. And this SHAMAN he gets on the phone with me talking about BELONGING when I was on the floor of a hospital with pains in my loins. NOT ONE of these goddamn experts could ask — did you FEEL anything in your BODY? Truly. Did I NOT reach out to these SHAMANS DURING the experience? Sounding worthy of concern and action. Like did I not PAY money? Did I NOT GIVE MY TIME? DID I NOT INTERVIEW YOU? BELIEVE IN YOU? So you can fuck off. I hate the plant people with the power of a true psychic, Dave Chappelle, behind me. Okay?

If you’d like to know, I would like to give credence to THIS idea, that Mr. Chappelle — appeared — looking through all these bodies — a true psychic. “What? Did you say Dr. J?” A superhero. “Did you say your mother’s name was Dr. J?” That’s it, he entered the equation. So did many others on the psycho spiritual plane. Forget the imagination. I was sending smoke signals — launching into space — reaching for the celebrities for assistance. PLEASE get me to YOUR TV SCREEN. I don’t even fucking have to MEET YOU! “Listen to this…”

“AND THEN a Hollywood guy wants to swing his dick AROUND…” telling me “fictional characters are psychological devices,” and good ones! Just please. That man was a psychopath. That man had no right, and of course, I’m in a worse spot because I listened to this so-called experts, you see? I was special? Famous already? CONFUSED. A book would CHANGE MY LIFE!!

So SURE, thinking about OBAMA, OBAMA taking this time: 500k can fall from the sky, the man can even DELIVER it to me, a job might fall from the SKY, YES! This wasn’t my ISSUE.

AAHHHHHHH, I’m pointing, electicity shooting out of my goddamn finger, telling these men to get OUT. An actress is helping/haunting me. Okay? GET OUT. That was the ONLY thing I had to say. GET OUT! At STEP ONE. It was a NO. Forget YOU and ME, no no no. It was a NO, at step one.

So, I can’t apply for that job, and I’m going to have to keep figuring it out, it might take me a second. I’m just getting frustrated because I concentrated in LOONEY directions, truly, like what is DOING DRUGS going to DO for me, with YOU, at the CARLYLE HOTEL? THEY KNOW, I assure you. You know? And I had NO IDEA what the fuck I was doing… I did not want to do this, you understand.

And this fucking guru is telling me that the 5 AM message — I CALLED IT IN from the ETHER to deliver myself the final blow…can you please explain? Why are you saying that? WHAT final blow? You see, I can move BACK, asshole, through our interactions, and SEE that you are CLEARLY trying to lead me down a PATH.

WHY? Final blow? When I think it was actually the slytherin, that’s what the sexual trauma specialist said, after I took him through THIS leg of my journey. “But he’s not asking you, WHY are you acting like this?” “No.” He nodded. “Right.” Because that guy? He agreed to RECEIVE my money for me, you see. Why? Right? Why would that be NECESSARY? “You are not in danger?” The sexual trauma specialist even said it, gave him the response! “I do not NEED to be here.” So he believes they did. And you know what? At that point, you might as well admit it, right? So THAT mother fucker, this slytherin, FARTED on the phone at me after I got out of the hospital. So, sure, he could have. He could have raped me too, sure, at this point, the sexual trauma specialist is seeing NOTHING but rapists. Sure. Slip you something… why not? Who gives a shit about her. So if you didn’t, you should THINK.

I have to follow newsletters, I have to THINK: where do you want to end up? I suppose I feel stuck because I BECAME A WRITER IN ALL CAPS. I was open, trying to let life happen to me, yes, even intuitively, and just GET OVER IT. I do not want to write about family, exactly, and this GURU with his haughty airs of “if this were a chalkboard,” getting up, in his house, “I would write family and circle it.” OKAY— thanks, because that was a maladaptive pattern, but clearly this guy is living in an unreal universe, where the real world does not EXIST, okay? Not my life idea. A MALADAPTIVE PATTERN. You see? You see how he’s only going to fuck up my life? In the GUISE of genius, a lot of HOT air. So anyway, he’s definitely in my book, for sure, and I made my way out… the ghost of an actress and I making a getaway on the psycho spiritual plane as fast as we can.

Maybe I should look up production houses or something as I think I’d like to go into film… I think I have good ideas actually. I’m just frustrated today, and the thing is, these men wouldn’t even DARE to come UP to ME and SPEAK to me in the way that they did, because MY GENERAL attitude is not the same. I’m not putting up with POWER PLAYERS. You wanna take swings, chick? I dare you, truly. the Carlyle, yes, is supporting me also on the psychospiriual plane, I felt it, I felt the hotel FEEL my entrance, and I felt welcomed, thank you. I got the message, wink.

And all I have to do is DELETE a blog post—brilliant.

You know, this man said, you remind me of Barbara Harris, right? In an outfit she would never be caught DEAD in. That’s the joke. But still, okay, I could relate to her at some angles, and at least I was influenced by an artist with a real point of view, a good writer, someone with heart. I can use what I learned. But come on, this guru is painting pictures, cuing VIOLINS, over some CHICK who wants to be a writer? Like this is the Hero’s Journey? Like nothing is REAL? Just, please, I was SPECIAL TO HIM — THINK, I was just a WOMAN in a cafe. And now, the man is in love with me, not, wanting to spread his SEED, be a guru, be ABOVE ME, I couldn’t KEEP UP.

So now, I’m going, hm, could have become a REPORTER? First step? If you want to end up at Vanity Fair, or one of these? You might want to read magazines? If that’s the direction you’d like to go in… so I’m going to sit with Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, and I’m going to think Barbara Harris Did Not Want to Be Interviewed. I’ll see if I can break some ground… the only piece that sucks is the money one. And, I had MONEY IN THE BANK. Right? The empowering perspective would be — that. Like, here’s some homework: figure out how to make it GROW. Here’s the silence.

This is where I silenced the celebrities on the psychospiritual plane. “You want to APPRECIATE in value, lady, NOT DEPRECIATE…” but these GURUS see LACK. You see? RARRRRR— I am sending psychic FIRE across the psychospiritual plane to these people. Me? As a mother? With my husband, in theory? (Because, like, my child wouldn’t BE here, you see, hell no.) But SURE, here we go, getting into the CAR, for I will SHOW UP — you see the difference? FUCK NO, I’m pulling over in a goddamn lamborghini and BLOWING THIS GURU AWAY. RUN, you better RUN. I became a mother, you understand, I had to. My man, he’s fine. lol.

Jesus, just, get to a good psychologist. If you’re here, you gotta reframe the whole thing. Not it’s your fault, not, no no no. WHY are you here to begin with? Try that on for SIZE. I don’t have people I can rely on right now, not like that, and that’s totally fine, I feel like I could have left home at 14, I was watching Jennifer Lawrence, and figured it out. But I’m 39. Needing some serious… I am not psychic. Okay? I am NOT SO SPECIAL SO SPECIAL that I don’t even deserve RESPECT. That guru DISRESPECTED ME at HELLO. But that’s how that stupid story went in reality.

So don’t give me some speech about MY LIMITING BELIEFS. Imagine? In BEVERLY HILLS. Even Beverly Hills is shocked. Really? YEAH. And guess what? The GLARING POINT NO ONE SAW: I was in a sex scandal, you idiots.

Now I’m going, “hey dipshit,” me, “you wanna MEET people? People…” as relationships are everything. You wanna… think about where you want to END UP? Looking at these so-called expertst… wisemen…geniuses… this guru in particular, and if I am RIGHT that there has been even the TINIEST reception on his END: GOOD, asshole. I was NOT a toy. That story just brought me nothing but complications. Nothing. Now with this douchebag and his obsessions with DRAMA, problems, right? Just a fun ride, this guy. He knew nothing about my background. Nothing. So WHY did he ACT as if he were the psychologist for me? He doesn’t even know anything about WOMEN. Do not GIVE me some FACADE, like, has he ever had a girlfriend? What the hell does this man know? PROFESSOR LANDAU is NOT PRACTICING PSYCHOLOGY. He’s a MATHEMATICIAN.

Looking at Robin Williams, on the sly. Thinking about Good Will Hunting. And I have to be wrought over all this, like you were, what? NICE TO ME? Should I CUE a PARADE? You were not that nice, sorry to break it to you.

His father — no offense — he looked like he sucked. Like he sucked real bad. WHY these men have a strange celebrity complex? What the fuck is this? Why do they think they are GIFTED in this realm? WHAT did they, personally, GO THROUGH? LEARN? STUDY? ANYTHING?

I did not need to go down this road. So, this guy, he’s so arrogant, listen to this. I wrote this bizarre (the actress looking at this over my shoulder) BIO on my website that HE even approved of, which is some fairytale conversation between me and a mysterious “wise screenwriter…” where he’s TELLING ME what a TITLE IS. It looks BAD, not good. This is where Dave Chappelle tunes in, in my mind, “what?” Please! Help! I came from Looney Tunes! If he read this convo, he would be… confused, “who’s this guy?” You might meet people who keep YOU HOOKED.

The actress and I BOUGHT some JEWELRY, a sweater, plants, a vintage Gucci bag, okay??? For 150. “CALL,” she said, so OVER ME, “CALL THE STORE and ASK THEM TO PUT IT ON HOLD.” And there I go, saying I can put down a deposit. And she paused, on the phone, she would just put it in the back for me. See? I was in a throes of what to do, in the rain, do I go now? I needed someone who could SUSTAIN rage. Stop acting like that.

The ghost of an actress: that idea is making me laugh, at least. I’ll figure it out. I have a job, at least, I just suffer sometimes, though I understand the value of attitude, of course, so that gets better, because I’m in a position that I didn’t need to be in. I had to learn lessons the hard way… I did INDEED write this GURU, like my mother, SUBJECT ONLY EMAILS hoping I would PUNCH them in the FACE. Even ONE. I started a new email, even. Just in case.

“Did you take advantage of me asshole?” I don’t know HOW, but you’re a clever son of a bitch aren’t you? The way he ACTED was SUSPICIOUS. So why don’t you TAKE THAT and THINK ABOUT YOURSELF. That I went through an experience, Carl Jung’s the Red Book? He said? I don’t know if I was abused in some capacity, so why not? YOU — dipshit. Why not, I don’t know, manipulate me further, you see. With your BELIEFS, seriously, that whatever HAPPENS TO YOU, you see, is what you want. Imagine? So why not rape a woman? You think I can’t follow that logic? Right? And you see, there’s an actress haunting me, so — f propriety. I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID. The SETH BOOKS might need a serious edit.

So, the sexual trauma specialist, his question: WHO did it? WHO? The possibilities, he said, were WIDE in my case, he made that very clear convo one. And when your parents, even your MOTHER is up on the STAND, if you would, surrounding THAT question, well, why not some DIPSHIT screenwriter? So my arrow, on the psychospiritual plane, as a Saggitarius, Brad Pitt a centaur in the distance, lol, is pointed RIGHT at the guru. And you see, I’m the type of person who’s getting on a PLANE — FLYING TO LA — and waiting extremely patiently for YOU to appear. I’ll even get a LAWN CHAIR. DID YOU? The question is very very simple.

Did you take ADVANTAGE OF ME SEXUALLY. And with my list, I will go down, and I’m most definitely going for DR. J. If I can. That’s my plan, in my dreams. WHO? Who did it?

So I will stare at notecards today… with dreams of telling all this to the Good Will Hunting crew, like “there she is,” stepping out of her house, far away, and she’s already funny, running down the steps… she might trip because she feels exposed, and I’m going to LOSE IT! I’m beside Casey. “Okay, so I was in a sex scandal… when I was four…and THEN I’m going to become PSYCHIC. You see?”

Nothing but trouble here. “I am a shaman,” imagine? “I could be a shaman…” and the thing is, in some of these scenes, you’re going to GET THAT, it’s just, a funny road, where I AM BEING ASKED by RUSSIANS to talk to a Ukranian refugee, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, looking at these people. The RUSSIANS trained me, yes, of course they did. I was trained by the Russians as a clown… and I might touch Putin’s heart. He might be tickled, imagine? And moved by my experience with Russian people. “This is Society of Spectacle no?” I asked the Russians, concerning my sex scandal. “Da,” no hesitation. “Is this NOT what YOU see? The Society of Spectacle? It’s CAPITALISM.” Absolutely. That’s exactly what they see. So I had to laugh at our interactions… no? Across the board, it was society of spectacle. I’m putting on DANCES for the child molestor… spectacle. An American missed the point. It’s artifice. Fireworks. The 4th of July, we know.

In any case, I’m feeling much better overall, and I’m going to solve this problem, it’s a basic problem, but it’s bothering me. I would like to exit restaurant… as fast as I can, not like there’s anything wrong with it, I just don’t want to work in this capacity. However, that’s where I am for the moment, and I have kept that to a three day a week thing, and I’m fine, but I’m trying to figure out what’s next… so something will come up. Unfortunately, a couple of things did, back there, but I was in the throes of utter confusion, so I let a couple of thing go. I just didn’t want to do them, but it would have at least provided me with more… to build off of. So that’s alright, you live and learn, and I’m trying to open up and think—what do I do? Where do I point my arrow? Even… make impossible reach outs… I don’t know. Just trying to think about what to do from here.

Time to get to work on my EPIC story… and that’s about it. I gotta go to the open mics, too, but today is my writing day, as I’m trying to figure out my schedule. Maybe I’ll go later. Have a good day. I will.

Alright, I have to go to my job, don't want to

Crazy crazy crazy screenwriter, hm? Now, I have to go to work, but I had a coffee so I’m feeling tired and revved up. I think I’m going to have to put in my notice at my writing job, because my editor said, I need to have my first story in by… too early… I can’t wake up at 4. I’ll try. I’ll see. I got home at midnight, one AM, so I’m taking a deep breath.

I think right now, for a book, I’m thinking of telling a more sweeping story through time, so you’ll get the whole heartwrenching story… of each family. I’ll think structure. If, in the end, I’ll use my cousins, Christmas… this part I don’t know. But maybe a scene, just to go, “you see?” Just being stuck. A story about waking up. I’ll think about it, how to structure that. But first, I want to finish this EPIC idea.

But I‘ll move through Paris, the people I came to know, as I befriended a refugee, one who had been abused by two members of her family, and I had to wrangle her to get to therapy. I am not a therapist. It was a non negotiable. So we argued, we fought, but that was that, because — it will make sense, I moved with Joy, in a sense. And then, the thief, the person I befriended again, instead of turning him in, because he was such an extraordinary guy. I overly identified with clown. I am NOT a clown. Be real. But I had an interesting journey. I ended up in Nagorno Karabahk. I’m thinking more like Forrest Gump, as he had a remarkable journey to land on bench.

And yes, I had to meet this Hollywood guy, right? This guru. I had to move through this psychedelic group. I ended up in outer space…psychic. The fairytale started falling apart at the Chelsea Hotel. And maybe I’ll skate into Barbara Harris… for a scene… and I’ll go through my amazing two nights at the hospital, was it true? And the rest of it. I don’t know if it has to be the longest journey on Earth, but it can move… and I’ll end up somewhere new. So maybe I’ll start here, with my plants, new growth. And I’ll take it from there. I like that idea. There are beautiful locations.

I’ll get to those notecards after this Epic task. I just wish I had a day job if that makes sense. I’ll keep looking. Strange to feel just like a normal person with no remarkable skills. Just a normal person. Not gifted, per se, though I don’t know what to say about psychology, as I was so young, and that’s how the world opened to me… but at least, I feel a drive, a point of view, and hopefully I can take it from there. I just need to outline it, though I have to compare to other books, so I’ll keep reading, and I just need a sample to start. So, deep breath, one more night at the restaurant.

I contacted the guru's sister and my ex head of school, as she knows him

Look man, the sexual trauma specialist was like, “WTF?” (He’d laugh, maybe.)

Played by MATT DAMON —in my mind — the specialist made notetaking in the frame of SKYPE worthy of a great actor, AND I say Matt Damon because he spoke to ME through a poster of Clearwater — I was coming to terms with my entire childhood, and I promise you, I turned my head, like, what the hell even was this story? And there was Matt Damon. “Matt Damon?” I thought, in an Italian accent, on a poster. I thought, oh my God, Matt Damon plays a man who travels to foreign countries to get his child back. I heard it, the question from my cousin in Naples. “How far was this woman’s house?” Matt Damon, I thought, wow, he’s giving me clear energy on the psycho spiritual plane, to reference the gurus, as we can telepathically communicate, download information from one another,according to them, so I indeed established contact with the actor Matt Damon, that’s what they would say, right? Truly.

So, in this energetic exchange with Matt Damon on a poster, I came to the stunning realization that Matt Damon would never be in this situation. That blew my mind. I was getting a clear “no” from him, that was firm, as well as President Barack Obama. I was getting very CLEAR — graining away energy — from the Obamas.

I had to sit down. I started scrolling on my phone, and I landed on Sarah Jessica Parker. “No,” that was clear. She would raise all hell. She even made me laugh, just picturing her taking in this story, as a a real mother type, you know, shrugging, as I didn’t HAVE THAT. Truly. So writing about this really really rocked my world. That was a dark day. I suppose necessary, and somewhat hilarious that Matt Damon on a poster — kicked me over the edge. Oh no. That guy has like 4 daughters.

I thought, you’d be surprised, right? What can happen to a person. Like, you’d be surprised…by yourself, that was my thinking, which might be true, as I came to discover just that in my little world, but a drama is another subject—funny enough, actually, I was thinking about an actor, or an actor simply gave me a clear NO, on the psychospiritual plane. There was literally no doubt about it. Matt Damon was NOT in this situation. I just was amazed by the firm reply. I looked at Dave Chappelle, as I’ve watched a lot of his comedy, and he was DEFINITELY giving me clear sentience, “nope.” He would never be in this situation. Yeah no.

So the celebrities, if you would, they supported me on the psycho spiritual plane, evidently, as the gurus believe we are all existing energetically and communicating… and I have to make fun, I have to joke around, come on, and maybe there’s truth to that, I don’t know what to say. I suppose I needed support during a totally confusing time. It was hard enough coming to terms with having come from a real background that made me vulnerable. That really sucked. As, I just didn’t need, this guy in Beverly Hills, I’m sorry, these people getting involved. I came from a sex scandal… you see. And no one in hearing the actual story… in a public space is going to be able to TELL what actually happened. Forget the “secret dementia” a moment.

I took a seat, as writing this story changed my life, and I thought, alright, let’s go through this, and it just so happened that a real weirdo was CLOSE, around this draft, and all I want to do now is grab myself and hold myself — please stop talking to this man. I should have left at HELLO. Imagining telling people in Hollywood this story… so, then this guy walked into my life…just like that… and this is what happened. This is what he did. Now put a good soundtrack behind it, and watch as this man raises his arm at me as if we just veered into the film SPECIES, and he points at me and shakes his finger in my face… that LIFE IS NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU WANNA DO… IT’S ABOUT WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW.

Step aside, let Hannah Arendt come up to BAT and explain why I didn’t need to hear THAT, specifically. Maybe I could inspire Good Will Hunting, you know, someone who is able to throw REALLY REALLY smart people at YOU and make an argument? Was I not THE MOST SPECIAL PERSON ON EARTH? CAPABLE OF MAKING IT? Was I not the daughter of a genius? Just please. “Your life is your idea,” I swear to you, ARENDT would have BEGUN a new chapter at that one. And like, I’m pretty sure, in this case, I could call an Arendtian to break it down, from a psychological perspective.

I uttered this to the guru in this cafe, as he asked me what I was writing about, and my whole basic approach was off. This wasn’t a swallow and confront the subject with politician hands at a total stranger — except I was taken home by strangers who ended up being wrapped up in a sex scandal… so I had BASIC problems to work out which were, one of them was: THIS MAN IS A STRANGER. “Yeah I’m writing a book about how my mother gave me away to total stranger because she lied about him being a child molester.” Okay, Maria, looking back, WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING? You see what I mean?

So the next time I hang out with him, the first time, he pointed at me, his arm outstretched, he shook his finger at me. “KNOOWWWWWWW, what do you wannna knoooowwwwwwwww, life is not about what you wanna doooooo, it’s about what you wanna knowwwwww….” and the second time I’m hanging out with this man, I’m on a computer talking about my mother? Why? Ugh, why? This story only brought me PROBLEMS. He told me he could feel my pain? No, asshole, I just really went through that, and WHY would I be comfortable speaking to a total stranger about it? Of course, I would be uncomfortable, and to attest to something this guru said, if I was repressing ABUSE, WHY IS THIS GUY GETTING INVOLVED? It made me and the subject look like a joke.

So put me on the stand, no? In some movie. Let MATT DAMON, lol, sorry I have to laugh, enter some hilarious courtroom, who knows, some setting, and listen to me get PISSED, really pissed. I don’t have any issues with the law, so there aren’t any stakes… and the thing is, I just contacted two people I know related to the GURUS, YES, I did. I said, that was weird, essentially, because truly speaking, I went through utter agony. I JUST DIDN’T KNOW IT, you see, just please.

You see, most people wouldn’t be in this situation. If someone they just met took a really really deep breath and lifted their arm at them and POINTED — KNOWWWWWWWWWW. Imagine Dave Chappelle? I had to. Imagine Dave Chappelle sitting in that chair. I assure you, he’s going, after looking at this man in SHOCK not confusion, that was me, pointing to him as if he were suddenly in the movie SPECIES, and saying, “WHAT DO YOUUUU WANNA KNOOWWWWWW…” I assure you, Dave Chappelle would say, “I gotta go…” He’s not hesitating. He’s getting the fuck out — and fast. I needed Obama, you see, I was — firing smoke signals on the psycho spiritual plane. OBAMA was available. I pictured telling OBAMA what happened.

Man, I disrespected at hello with this one, I truly was. I was disrespected at hello with this story.

So you know what? Even for myself. As I ended up going through hell and back. I went through hell on earth. I came from a real background, one this guy knew nothing about—literally none. The sexual trauma specialist is on my side. ZERO credentials. I’m not a TV show. Not yet, anyway, at least I would be PAID. ZERO credentials. To make ANY statements. And he missed THE KEY, though he very crass, afrer I left the goddamn hospital, told me to “remove lie,” and put “accusation.” To hang up the phone in my face, practically, this insensitive prick.

His brother didn’t know anything EITHER. Now I’m speaking to sexual trauma specialist going, “YEAH,” he said, “of course it could have been true…” you see? The GURU wanted to sprinkle fucking pixie dust over THAT story. Forget that I said, “she lied about him being a child molester…” that guru was out of bounds. I had a story to work out – most definitely, and since he believes, truly, the guru said to me, that I am divinely inspired, that my birth was divine — this is what he said, “because I was born to parents who were not there” — he’s in the story…I can’t even divorce him from it. A sex scandal. Over a four year old. Not some sappy tale, jerk.

And I ain’t the same girl. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong, tell me that YOUR FEELING tells you differently! His brother, just like everyone else, when I started communicating after YEARS of agony, shut me down. You all did.

I spent the night on the floor of a hospital with a lot of PAIN in my vagina… to get graphic. And this guru, without even asking a question, he says, though I hardly spoke to him during this time, tells me “what you went through reminded me very much of Carl Jung’s The Red Book.” I told his brother that he said that to me, and his brother told me the most disturbing story about him…that when they were kids, his brother, this guru, took his hand and starting hitting him with it, “why are you hurting yourself?” And he, his brother, he relayed this information to me as if it were WISE… that his brother took HIS hand and hit him with it. So that’s what that felt like.

LOOK — I didn’t need HIS HELP. That was a death wish. I just lacked the ability to recognize what was happening! He thought my life idea was FAMILY, you see, “if there were a chalkboard here,” he began, and why am I here? “I would write family and circle it…” you know what I would write instead? “WEIRDOS.” That was my LIFE idea. My parents were WEIRDOS. You were a WEIRDO! It’s called a maladapative pattern, first of all. That was not my life idea, but of course, you can’t RELATE to me, can you? So WHY are you here?

Don’t give me bullshit that POINTING TO SOME GIRL ACROSS YOUR LIVING ROOM LIKE A WEIRDO WAS SUPPOSED TO HELP ME. I WILL NOT LISTEN TO IT. Eliminated. Zoolander, he is my cousin, actually from Naples, if you must know, a little fact about him, and we’re cracking skulls. New movie. And sure, you want me to acknowledge my choices, my decision making, sure, and still, I have many questions for this guy. LIKE WHY DID YOU DO: this, this, this. Was this man even thinking?

“The theme here is nourishment…” he starts there. This is NOT my LANGUAGE.

And during my draft, he keeps saying “THEY FEED YOU…”

In the end, I have NO IDEA if I was FED, RAPED…

“I suspect you weren’t BATHED either.” Imagine? That’s what the guru said.

Now, over here, Obama remains on the psycho-spiritual plane really wondering what happened here. I can’t even look at a picture of my parents, because was I? I do not know. That comment, these indirect comments that the guru uttered as he ACTED as if he had superior psychic senses, was not helpful. And he knows NOTHING about working with ANYBODY in this way.

So you know what, if only for me, I stated that that man was inappropriate with me. And if he LIES, well, that says it all, doesn’t it? Jesus, I couldn’t even make this up if I tried! Again. All over again. It just all sounded crazy, which is what the sexual trauma specialist said. “Wasn’t it always crazy?” Yeah.

These men called me PSYCHIC? I hated this entire decade.

THE GURU goes, “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…” he encouraged me to spend my IRA money? To listen to a FICTIONAL CHARACTER as if it were a “psychological device!” He IMPLIED I was repressed — why? What does the GURU know about that? After our interactions on the PHONE leading up to my night in the hospital, I am appalled at him. I’m PUTTING MYSELF on his side of the LINE and I do not get it.

So I’m calling him out. I’m not exactly seeking to SUE him… I want nothing from him — I’m just SEEKING to be heard and apologized to! WHY did he keep saying “I’m HERE” as if I were a dog? That was not okay. Not okay. He said, “I’m HERE,” as if he were training a dog. As he was too enlightened to have a relationship, he just wanted to BE THERE for me… as if I needed that. Just please, I was so heartbroken over this, like this guy couldn’t even say “hi, how are you?” YES, I was disturbed! But if you LOOK BACK to OUR FIRST DATE, of sorts, it would be CLEAR as to WHY I would have been disturbed, no?????? Lots of QUESTION MARKS.

I was a real person. if you don’t know what that means, you should keep your mouth shut. Keep your opinions to yourself. And in the end, guess what? Sex scandal.

So NOW I can write my book, no? Full of wisdom? Like, not only did I go through this, but WATCH what happened because of it. What happened because I was broken down so young, because I had problematic thinking. I’m going to end up in outer space with some good times. And here’s a reply. If the GURU were to give me some speech that it wasn’t ALWAYS like that, then WHY didn’t you apply the same logic to the sex scandal????? I needed to acknowledge my pain? Not concentrate on the good times? Now what?

That was a terrible relationship. The “you create your own reality” routine, that seriously disturbed me. And let’s think as to why? Oh, my parents were mentally ill to say the least. Reality happens between us, I much prefer that logic, and it’s just as true. Just ask your brother, who can give YOU a little lesson about energy exchange. ALL of my friends, thus far, have asked me this question: were you in a cult?

What concerns me about the SETH BOOKS, as the guru gave them to me, right? No need to hide that, right? Guru? What concerns me about the books is that, it states that everything and anything that happens to you, you want, which evidently has problems in considering RAPE. Do not tell me that a woman wants that. Do not.

So yeah, I’m angry, very. And? Don’t I have the right to be? Now I’m okay, THANKS. WHY was your brother on the phone with me? WHAT credentials does he have? You see how HELP doesn’t HELP? How you might be making things worse? My physician was like, okay, I’m confused, if you went through so much pain, why didn’t anyone suggest seeing a DOCTOR?

Surprise, let Billy Zane say it: it’s a sex scandal instead of a walk off. That’s the situation I was in.

So I might, I might do a more sweeping book… here we go… and of course, right? I’m going to have to meet a Hollywood douchebag. Some guy who wants to play SCI FI helper, master meditator, manifestor. Right? And is it true? You see, is it LITERALLY true? I had particular mechanisms, ways of provoking controversial logic, like, the sexual trauma specialist is going to say, “please STOP taking this on…” I didn’t need crazy shit. I did not need this guy.

AND YES I called him, it took my YEARS to break away.

To the sexual trauma specialist, the NOTES underneath the screen, his hands practically classical, before the orchestra, I could have been raped annywhere…. anywhere. Hard to grasp, believe, but that’s the conclusion. Everyone is getting molested, as a child, as we know, thanks to Margaret Atwood in the NYTIMES, and everyone is getting raped — again. That’s the short of it. And to be frank, I don’t feel like being EVOLVED about it. I read about the Epstein girls, you know, they were taken advantage of…because they came from a background.

So I came from a background, what am I supposed to say?

Thinking about my cousins… in Naples…wanting to PLAY PARENTS with me. And of course, they’re just going to disappear…. you see…. so thanks, I hope this all ends well FOR ME. A terrible ordeal that story, just terrible, and I needed to adjust my approach at STEP ONE. You’ll see. Step one. And was it true, in the end? It’s a disease you know… the sexual trauma specialist will be our comedic relief, DEUS EX MACHINA. “Child molestation…” let the actor LET THE PHRASE speak for itself, it’s sheer absurdity: Child molestation…And when it was some VAGUE story it could EXIST and when it became REAL, it COULD NOT EXIST.

The sexual trauma specialists GETS THAT. He had to help me through: “ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING ME IF THIS COULD HAVE REALLY HAPPENED?” It did. “Were you NOT in this situation?” “Yes.” “Okay, so of course it could have been true…”and like, saying my mother was a liar? To a COP? “DUH.” AND? WTF? This was criminal, okay? Criminal. The degree to which it was, I don’t know, I don’t know what to say, but it wasn’t lawful.

What a head fuck, I’m telling you, this was a real head fuck. I did not need the SON of a psychologist — supposedly? — coming around MY LIFE and GETTTING FANCY. He wanted to get FANCY, show his PLUMMAGE over a sex scandal over a four year old? And these BROTHERS acted as if they had psychic senses! SHUTTING ME DOWN. My rage is cosmic. On this one. My rage is cosmic. I gotta be PSYCHIC on top of it? You know? Because I have AN IMAGINATION? I do not know where to begin here.

So there you go, a new day. I said something. I spoke out. And I will continue to. I think I settled in… like, that seriously, the past decade, what am I supposed to say? Other than — I was an IDIOT. I was an idiot at step one, getting involved. You know? Nothing but complications. EVERYONE, even Dr. J, my mother, a remarkable name, had the BEST intentions in wrapping me up in a little sex scandal. NOTHING but the BEST intentions. Intentions—wee!! There goes Dr. J… speaking of good intentions, insert a Catholic priest behind her, while she’s feeling someone up inappropriately. “INTENTIONS…” she’s going to keep repeating.

The thing is, these gurus — would they ADMIT what they said to me? Probably NOT. WHY DID YOU DO IT THEN? All I have to do is ZOOM IN on DATE ONE: WHY DID YOU point to me like that? Why? That’s it, that’s all I have to say. Checkmate. I’m Dr. J’s daughter. You see? The question is: WHY DID I STAY? GET CLOSER? This is where everyone gets squeamish and uncomfortable EXCEPT OBAMA: “everything is going to be okay.” I came from a background. And there was nothing I could about it, you understand? I needed to get psychological help, and like, as you’ll see, I just kept getting shut down, too, as I moved through the world…. in strange ways too.

And I can break this down, I can break this down in terms of my internal DRIVES, and I can LINK them to familial connections, as Dr. J even wanted to HURT herself. Why? I don’t know. Im just saying. I came from where I did, and I did indeed work it out, which put me through a period of TOTAL confusion, despair, not exactly — a feeling of liberation. But I did it, I keep doing it, and it seemed as though I had to go, even, against what conventional logic might suggest. Like staying quiet. Like, not getting angry. Not speaking up.

So that’s that.

So I, personally, got the end of these crazy four years I spent in another house when I was 4-8, and I had NO idea if it was a lie anymore, I’m sorry, which you’re going to understand… that was utterly terrifying. So I might, I might do a sweep, now, maybe now I can tell this story, even if it required a near death experience, type deal. But luckily, there is something called spirit, I think, because I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for spirit. Or, the work of dead people. Like Arendt. I would not be here. OR, the “celebrities,” Kim Kardashian, specifically. I have to laugh, excuse me. People start FOUNDATIONS over this shit! I needed THESE people.

But luckily, I took this energy workshop through MindValley, as I was a TOTAL MESS. And Jeffrey Allen suggested identifying role models…. I had NONE. And I thought about Obama, and Michelle too, but Obama is a president, so he’s a neutral idea, as I couldn’t deal with any gender, for a while, and I tried to think: bigger. There’s something to do with it, contribute, bigger. You know what I mean? So I hope that’s true. Every day now, I only think about the day that the story will reach the public… that’s it. That’s all I think about, I don’t even want to talk to anyone in my personal life until it does, because that was such a terrible experience.

So I guess I want to tell this story. So that’s good to know. I get to… open up to a new life, possiblities, one with bounty in it, a house, Ican still totally achieve my dreams —BYPASSING WEIRD shit. HELP, in my case, was a real shadow… and I imagine I’m not alone. Just the help thing, for reasons I didn’t understand. I got that the GURU felt that I was THE MOST SPECIAL PERSON…picturing Will Hunting in some hilarious reversal, getting SO FRUSTRATED!!!! WHY????? CAN SHE DO COMPLEX MATH? Because this lady has a story????? She has a great personality????? Maybe. But of course, this person can’t say, “I really find you to be a…remarkable person,” because he can’t admit his own feelings… which is another point.

I was so confused.

I hope I’ll get to play Professor X’s protegee one day. I’d love that. I would wear a bowler hat, in the end. I would desex myself, no offense. And the actress, YES the actress, my right hand SUPERHERO, you want to be AMAZED? Send her in. Good joke. She doesn’t give a shit if I want to dress like a MAN. Just like, please. So anyway, maybe we will discover the psychic routine is true, I do not know, I really do not know what to say… as you can be out of the mind, sure, I guess, and I felt as though I was out of bounds… I just mean, coming from a story like that.

Please, if someone says something as confusing as “she gave me away because she lied…” about child molestation, attached to a scandal, situation, that lasted four years. Just don’t make any conclusions…. get the appropriate person. If she doesn’t make sense? Don’t tell her to make LESS SENSE. Do not assume. The sexual trauma specialist and I…will continue if I need to. I imagined, just because I walked a truly dicey line to get here, sheer agony, of not having ANY help AT ALL whatsoever, that as I went along… I would contniue to reach clarity. I went through the worst of it, I really did, and so, now, I’m alright, I can handle if… it happened, somewhere, I guess, or it didn’t at all? I keep… talking about it… I keep doing my thing… and I keep stopping being afraid of maknig a little NOISE.

Luckily, I’m okay. I was able to move through that. I was able to totally recover. The future stuff sometimes causes me some distress though also intrigue I suppose because I hope there is a bright future for me. Again, I don’t know if I would harp on the future, as that’s very confusing, but I look forward to the decade to come. Maybe wedding bells for me, something nice. Real love, a real “wow,” look at her, dancing on top of MoMA tables as Dr. J, a stunning piece of performance art, or something, I don’t know yet.

I think performance, more so than anything else, allows me to think about my experience… as a thing to communicate. Like, I can do something with it, and someone might understand me without judging me. So I would CAUTION any kind of psychological expertise when it comes to a story like that…? Like if it’s not YOU, don’t act like that. Telling me that “disappointment,” a person who was manipulated very young, so I had to LEARN how to disagree, you see, was the feeling between my father and me? DUDE? No offense, some people are going to hear me: that’s kindergarten talk. This guy talking to me about abandoment? When Dr. J is walking towards this woman’s house with her BREASTS exposed? NOT ON THAT CHANNEL. I’m on — GET HELP, that’s it. That’s the ONLY channel I am on.

However, I felt abandoned by my entire world, not the guru’s brother, but shutting me down again, like, “you’ve been talking about it?” YEAH — MAYBE WITH THE WRONG PERSON. NOT THE TIME. MIGHT TAKE YEARS. Step aside.

I ended up in Morocco, in the palace of a former prime minister, so maybe I’ll take a real journey, on this one, I dealt with terrible dreams, and I was surrounded by the cosmos, nice imagery. And of course “the psychological device,” as the guru put it, the fictional character in my draft? Staring at it, in my mind, like, WHAT? So there’s even a little magical realism in it. Which is all this man had to say— do you want to write MAGICAL REALISM? NOT PSYCHOLOGICAL DEVICE. I do not even know where to begin with that one. But the cosmos is good, the setting I guess, I really wandered the earth… unable to operate, I’m sorry, and then the GURU goes, “betwixt and between?” You’re BETWIXT AND BETWEEN?

This is where I dial in— OBAMA? HELP!! Why are these people talking like this? And then, “sure, spend that IRA money…”

And then, “let me give you a tip.”

“Meditate on the time of day, your name, location,” okay? ““And repeat: as outrageous as it seems plenty of money comes to me…”

I doubt, if I was even an acquaintance of Obama’s, that he would have spoken to me like that. If I said, “hey Obama,” in light tone, after getting out of the hospital, “I’m fine…” “REALLY?” I doubt he would have encouraged me to travel. “not the time.” BUT, here we go, mental health events, forget the TRAUMA bit, forget THAT, aren’t treated as REAL medical emergencies. I mean, “LAY DOWN.”

I was a mess. And it’s easy to understand why, no? But luckily, I’m fine. I left the hospital without a diagnosis. Clean bill of health, thank you. So nice try. Betwist and between, like, what the hell… so I rode the ferry istanbul, just trying to remember that I was a real person… NOT PSYCHIC, not BETWIXT, whatever the hell this means, in some fantasy PLAY written by two brothers, OKAY? Looks bad. These goddamn plant people, too, Jesus Christ. My ex, he told me that I was a portal channel antenna, some crap like this, traveling on multiple planes of existence…. ONCE AGAIN, my name is Maria Mocerino, I was born on EARTH. Had to get back to the basics.

That’s a lot, don’t you wonder what I look like? Like WHO is this person? Does she have a STRANGE look? Doe sshe LOOK otherworldly? NO. Just CUTE. Or I was. I was “a cute girl.” I do not understand it, looking at Barbara Harris… a woman who inspired…supernatural talk. And it all began… with a sex scandal, just hilarious. Let MATT DAMON have the last laugh, as the sexual trauma specialist, by crumpling up his final note — and throwing it at the screen. And it all began with a sex scandal… just a little sex scandal, do not be alarmed, I’m not saying it was the worst sex scandal, but it was a little sex scandal… thank you.

Let's see if I can aim a little higher

I love my plants, I need to finish furnishing my room, which I’ll do over time, but first and foremost, I need more work, a better job, just a job. I’m trying to think trajectory. It’s like the guru’s brother said, “I can see you writing for the New Yorker,” but based on what? He even said, “I know you’re a talented diarist…?” I really didn’t understand these men at all but they lived in a universe in which you were just some piece of clay that they molded to their whim. Or, psychic sense.

Anyway, don’t relate at all. I hardly read the New Yorker, but who knows? If that’s the case, I could have directed my arrow differently, like, what do you actually want to write about? You guys, no offense, my family story brought me — all of you, all these men, so why would I want to write about it? I suppose I can keep coming up, and I can keep figuring out what to say… but I shut down. I was disturbed by what my family story, and even wanting to write about it, produced in my life. It’s a comedy.

I am going to meet up with a friend today for a coffee, which should be nice, a new friend, and I’m going to turn my wheel into beauty… I have some products coming from my nails, so I’m going to see if I can start a YouTube channel. I like beauty. I might end up moving my stand up and stuff onto that platform. I don’t get Instagram and neither did the guru… I mean, yikes, telling me, after I got out of a hospital to get on Instagram. Maybe I have some fun clips from that period, but it was as if he actually liked me, and thus wanted to kill me, that’s what I think it was. That got scary. I get he wasn’t INTERESTED. I just, truly speaking, his feeling almost killed me. Like, he never gave me suggestions, right? To a degree where I have no clue what this guy was doing, but maybe he went through a hard childhood? I have no idea. Then, he would SLIP something like THAT in… totally insensitive.

I was in the Christmas in Naples is a Sport universe, where he shoved THEY FEED YOU down my throat. Disturbing.

I don’t know if most people would want to talk about a sex scandal over Instagram? I mean, that story is shocking, thinking about the guru, who was chilling, he really really freaked me out. I don’t know, that man felt so gratuitous — I don’t know if that’s the word, it’s early, but it’s just… heavy. I felt my interactions with this man took me — far far away. Wasn’t the time to travel. Wasn’t the time to see my cousins, this guy acted like he doesn’t know what cousins are, like he doesn’t have cousins? Imagine if a cousin showed up after the hospital?

I wish I never ever became a writer, said I wanted to, I wish I said, yup, in law school, all good, about to get married, see ya. At 30. Watch out. If you’re a beautiful woman, watch out, I was shocked, if you come from CrazyTown, watch out, because you might attract drugs and cult leaders. I imagined telling Aunt Jane that these people called me a shaman… I have wisdom to share… well, the first thing is, that was the most confusing experience. Getting here. Maybe I’ll figure out a graphic page, something, I’ll keep figuring it out. I hope to make a break, obviously…

I don’t know what interested the guru about that story, that’s a question I have. What exactly interested him about it? Now, I feel clearer, as he was so arrogant, so withheld, so guru like, like HE had the answer, I just had to get there… uhhhh. If I see that guy, beware. I will chew him out. I will confront him. One of these. Someone who truly speaking was deranged. He harmed me, yes. So fuck you. Basically. And what will he run away, ignore me, ridiculous. “Did it look like I had a problem?” His obsession with problems. He had a real obsession. I get “drama = problem.” Dude.

I still feel this compulsion to write, so here I am, because there’s an audience out there…it’s very uncomfortable. And no, I have to say this to myself, in my mind, I do not want to know any of these people’s opinions. The men I met. No thank you. I shut that down, within myself, not like I’m confused, but they were certainly only interested in themselves. I’m still evacuating the future shit as it’s very stimulating, this idea that there’s a probable future in which you get the role, get the job. It’s just, ugh, it feels like boys with video games, getting all wrapped up in stupid shit, when I’m a GIRL, I want to have drinks and buy perfume, I’m sorry. This was not fun, and most certainly not sexy. At this point, I’m just jumping by the coffee dispenser at work, thinking, should I do a monologue? Shaking out the FUTURE. GO away. JESUS. “The fucking future.” Pedro in view…giving me a look. Not again.

I could play a funny woman who just got out of a cult. She doesn’t know if she was raped, you know? At this point… moving past Pedro, the busser. “Probably, hunny.” Maybe my colleagues might lend a hand, like Matt saying, “I mean probably…” and Pedro is folding napkins. “Si Mama, si.” He thinks so. Danil doesn’t know what to say. These restaurant people gathering around me as I struggle with the future flashback — I can’t even send an audition tape without getting stimulated by the talk shows I’ll be on, sitting there with my head in my hands, just wanting it to stop and yet so heartbroken, because these men don’t know what it means to take something to HEART. I didn’t want this! Truly. I had NO ISSUE with any of it!!

“No,” Matt doesn’t hesitate. Aya appears. In a Japanese accent, she says “what?” Matt says, “it’s the future again.” Aya can’t STAND this. “Oh.” Japan. “Maria has acid flashbacks but about the future being created upon thought…” Danil wonders how my romantic life is going. “I’m just…” Matt finished my thought. “Taking it step by step.” Jesus, “yeah,” Matt isn’t hesitating. “I’m sure.”

He thought I looked like I just got out of cult. “I could be a shaman.” Matt nods. “I’m psychic.” And there everyone goes, at the same time, “are you?” Interested. I look at them like, come on… and there, everyone gets hooked, “like what can you do?” Danil, he’s not convinced. “These people thought you were pretty, right?” No, but apparently I was psychic, I might have have some interesting experiences, to be fair, I just ended up in the hospital, soooooo. I was a goddamn mess with this truly insane guru flying off the handle. “Doesn’t matter how much the rent is…” I mean, who the fuck was this person? Being told that I went through an awakening? What kind? Or Carl Jung’s The Red Book. I mean, just these men’s responses explains it all.

“Why is this man telling me that I am repressed?”

And my story remains some vague entity — uh oh, I need to throw up again… I’m in the bathroom, a bartender hands me a soda with bitters. “The psychic period.” That ruined me. It’s like, looking at Matt, “would you give me drugs?” “Probably not.”

“Aren’t you sort of… a sensitive person?”

“Oh no…” Matt is going to look at me. I was a sweet soul, yeah, I didn’t understand. Of course I am not perfect, but none of these men are looking at themselves and saying the same thing. And his question is, “did that guru take advantage of you?”

Ugh. I don’t think so, I don’t know how that would possible, “he sounds really really weird.” Eric, the big man on campus, he’s saying, “wasn’t a good idea, Maria.” He would be played by a Brad Pitt, he wouldn’t think of himself that way, but he’s a hot guy, with a shrug, no worries. Just because, YIKES, like who gives a shit if he’s hot? Truly. I wonder if he’s experienced just weird shit because of it, like he’s just… there. He thinks there are hotter people out there, and “they are,” Matt would smile.

Anyway, playing around this morning as I might try and write scenes.

I need a career, and I don’t know anyone, just thinking about my choices here, and I don’t know how to meet people, so. I’m going to have to think—events, I think. Openings. Art openings. Stuff like that. I’m going to have to try and figure out where to go. I really wasn’t that obsessed with my family story, no offense to the guru, he totally mistook me for some weepy girl who was looking for a guy she didn’t want to sleep with but talk to about all this? I mean, that’s not boyfriend material. I am not discussing this with my boyfriend. Weird move to make if you just were attracted to me? Or were you just attracted to my background? It appears very strange. All in Beverly Hills. Imagine Sacha Baron Cohen playing this person? Oh? Getting interested in some young woman…over THAT story? Taking a deep breath and pointing to me across the room, channeling the catepillar in Alice in Wonderland?

“KNOOOOOOOOWWWW….”

Yikes! And my boyfriend, right? Think Amber Heard in Pinneapple Express, the MOST normal person, shaking me out, “wake up!!” He struck me, he really did. That was NOT cool. And I really really really want to get back at this person, you see, because that really cost me — years of agony. “Carl Jung’s the RED BOOK?” Look, I am out of the box, I mean, thinking about Cohen, the man, wanting to teepee his house. It might be ridiculous but… holy shit! That guy was crazy! Picture Cohen nodding, “yes,” absolutely, “you get bleedthroughs from different times…” as in eras. He got it. Now picture some super emotional Einaudi track, “you cannot disappoint me you have my looooooveeee…” just what the fuck was this relationship? It was the weirdest — and then, in the end, he’s going to tell me:

“Who gives a shit what I think?”

Imagine? Horror. Like why did you bother me to begin with? Anyway, I hopefully will live in Beverly Hills, or throw a block party… RIGHT when he takes his walk. Without warning or hesitation. Secret. He deserves a slap in the face.

ANYHOO, acid flashbacks: was in a sex scandal when I was four, no biggie, though with a smile, you could picture me as a kind of Joker after all this. So again, while I was on the floor grappling with all that had happened, I saw that, so maybe I should go for it. I’ll keep going. I should concentrate on making my own work, I think. Just because, at least, I’ll build up a body of work… but I’ll start a beauty channel, sure, as I’m going to try a bunch of products anyway, so… and I guess I’ll have a singing channel, I thought about that. Maybe a family channel? Crazy Families… I suppose I could start a podcast, “crazy families…” crazy stories. Or “this actually happened.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

I’ll get all that going. I don’t know what’s going to work or not… but I have to think about one thing I can do, so I think I’m going with my call-in psychic persona. I’ll plan a few episodes. They’re not that long… so I’ll do that first. That way, I’ll practice making a script. I can’t imagine them being anymore than a couple minutes. Which is good. That’s what I’ll do next week, once I’m over my weekend of working. I just want a regular job, so I can feel a bit better about myself. I can have as many channels as I want on YouTube.

Like, there’s gotta be some audience of people with truly crazy families, they evidently exist, and maybe the guru is one of them… maybe his family is truly crazy. I don’t know what else that could be… unless they have mental health issues… hard to tell there. I feel Aunt Jane’s presence quite strongly, and she was — the toughest bitch that could obliterate you where you stood. What a total lunatic.

So, look, um, I haven’t gone to an open mic in a minute, as I am trying to figure that out, if there’s anything I can do there, but I’m still developing material, it’s been 5 months since I got back. I’ll try and get these editorial pieces I’m working on, one with Barbara Harris, one for Hannah Arendt Medium, and the EPIC one, which is my top priority, as it’s about the “undercover investigation,” in a very serious tone, that I “launched,” also my word, into this situation I was just in at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club. Knight Rider… that’s the theme. I’ll try to get those done by the end of the year. I’m going to apply for this job now, to see if I can just find something that takes care of my basic problem, and so I can operate a little more normally, though, regardless, I would try and keep my night job, as I work 3 nights a week, to make extra money as I figure out a better way to make extra money. We’ll see.

In any case, I will be making a real effort to stop blogging… let go… because these gurus, whatever their philosophy was, it was almost like a drug. I’m attempting to MAKE IT and GET SUITORS for what reason? I sit back, and tonally, think about the story that kicked off this relationship, and I go, I just don’t get it. His approach. The slytherin was right — I did not need more pain. I did not need some asshole on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills wanting to HELP me become a star?

HE didn’t GET it, I think, just like me, everyone else. It’s just that people ACTED like they did. I did too, I guess. I don’t know what to do with that.

I’m so frustrated with myself today, because I’m having a hard time dealing with what my former self did, in just trying to get a goddamn job. It’s like, these dudes I got involved with just look so stupid. I was, I look stupid in my mind, not like I would tell her that, I mean, it’s just… there’s no trajectory at all. It’s fine, I can steer, I’m just extremely frustrated that I wasted my time… on some “guru’s” beliefs… on how to create reality… and I just hold a space for myself because I got so heartbroken.

I wish this wasn't my life, I wish it was, the journey

I woke up at 2:03 am. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep, I’m on my period, so I’m drinking a tea, thinking outloud, feeling closer to myself, wishing I never met men…. not these men. I get that I was pretty, but I was just a person, and couldn’t these men, with their money even, have found a girlfriend?

I really didn’t want to concentrate on my trauma or discuss my family with random rich guys. I mean, I look back on this guru — and the fact that he would put me at RISK, I don’t know what he was thinking! What DID he know about women, even? He never had a girlfriend. Just some vague woman “he loved once” who he caught making up with a guy so early on they didn’t even have a relationship.

Now, no offense, does a man who has never had a relationship sound like the person who should get involved? I peer back at this guy stumped. He was, John Malkovich or Sacha Baron Cohen as I see him pop up…in characters that have appeared throughout my life… making me laugh. He held himself as if he were almighty. He was a GENIUS. He was even a genius psychologist… and why would he do that to me? People do things that don’t make any sense. That was unnecessary.

And so, once again, according to the sexual trauma specialist, I’m going to have to take on MORE PROBLEMS that aren’t MINE. “What do you think your problems were?” He asked me, like, uh, that’s the question. “What do you think?” Not I’m a BIG STRONG MAN IMPOSING MY POINT OF VIEW ON YOU, YOU FUCKING WOMAN. But in Gary’s words, my friend, a Yankees fan, beginning to fucking dosey-do, a man who KNOWS what the dance is, skipping around, a tough guy: you’re special but beneath me, BUT I like you but I don’t: “weird men.”

It jsut sucks for me because I feel like I wasted my youth. Jesus Christ, I think Aunt Jane would be, BOOBS, classical, “I didn’t think you were THAT pretty…” I was just “a girl from Jersey,” as I spent time there. “Maybe I had an allure?” But this didn’t bring me normal men in this case… it brought me these older men… wanting to help me, imposing a point of view onto me, and now, I don’t even know who that person was. UM, I came from a background? Will Hunting would be — maybe, um, acting stupid about it. Can you picture me in the back of Affleck’s car…explaining to these guys…and then, this Brazilian lady… she comes over, legs shaped by the Gods, that would make Casey laugh. “Oh yeah?” “Oh yeah, best legs you’d ever seen, legendary.” “She goes,” eating burgers, “these are 100% Brazilian.”

“We’re dancing the lambada and dancing for my father standing in a wide open door…” absurd! I pictured myself in that movie, looking like Blossom, and it seems as though I was… an attractive person, someone who had a sparkly smile, someone who was warm, someone who was vulnerable, too, hilariosuly, I believe. But why that was a problem, I don’t know. And I ended up in the outer limits because I was from there, my understanding of that story, too, was delusional… and you can see WHY, too, as the world I moved through could not face it, they did not understand, though they INSISTED that they did. As if I needed SETH books? Channeler tapes? Some dick screenwriter waving his dick in my face?

Over a sex scandal — you see? The sexual trauma specialist is throwing his next note at the Skype screen. “Newsflash.” Yup, it’s a scandal, we’re moving through the PHONE call, my father starts calling and ACTING innocent. Literally. The man starts CALLING and ACTING INNOCENT, and this Brazilian woman, imagining me telling Will Hunting, goes apeshit. Raising my brows, “SHE TOO CAN PLAY INNOCENT AND NICE SIR.” And then, “the dementia.” I deeply regret right now that I even chose to talk about this story, which was problem one, because I’m too vulnerable. It puts me at a disadvantage at step one, “don’t do that.” Because you stop that, and all these problems go away… people don’t see themselves, Jesus Christ, I needed to find someone who wasn’t so goddamn affected by me.

And like, it was fascinating to me, because the slytherin who came into my life, a drug addict, I odn’t know about now, but he’s a drug addict or “a genius with special needs.” He only heard about me, from my ex, who spoke highly of me, which, again, I don’t totally get, but he wanted to be friends with me based on that… okay??? The Good Will Hunting crew is like, who is this guy? Who the fuck are all these people? So then, I begin doing psychedelics with him at some fancy hotel, sometimes, and it’s like, I couldn’t get addicted to these substances if you would, but, I’m not entirely sure WHY I ended up here… if that makes sense? I become psychic… it sounds like a cult, that’s what they’re saying. No one actually sees me, but they keep saying that.

And then I’m living at the Chelsea Hotel for free, because I want to be a writer? You see? Just met enablers. My head, looking at one of my friends, no, it was not screwed on right. The clothes even, I was always fun about it, but the persona I developed, like, wasn’t really me, exactly. And I keep needing to say I came from a background… no one did a proper induction, which I would deliver to the Hunting crew, like, you know some joke of an official talk, about your background, evaluating if you’re the right candidate, even, as I had to go through heart problems, mild, luckily, you know??? Being told by my ex, literally, that I wasn’t brought into this “work,” correctly. It just all sounds like a joke. Which was the entire story. It all sounds like a joke. I was mistreated… you know? Someone from my background. But I LOOKED okay, right? Except IT DEPENDS on the day! Couldn’t keep up with this shit. A mess.

(And my adopted family, let’s leave that for another day.)

Now, can you picture this? I hope I get there, now, I hope I published something worthy of note, if only to feel a sense of relief. Because that story doesn’t SOUND like… what it did to these people… Oprah, question one, or early on, I assure you, she’s going to not know what to do here: “when did it become a lie?” You know? “Your mother sounds like a really really crazy person.” Which was the sexual trauma’s POINT. He doesn’t have a PROBLEM with the subject. Neither does Oprah. She’s spoken to people who have been raped, molested, etc. But these men…they are going to act like they know… though they were not there. Truly! And everyone did. Everyone acted like they were there.

Will Hunting he’s in the dark for sure. “How am I going to be forty?” Now what? You know? I’m starting over completely. I think it goes without saying that I was making decisions here… it’s just, I have a hard time in the moment steering… because I actually thought I was…special, I guess, as you’re taught in Hallmark CARDS even to believe. That’s not a new concept. People are writing “you’re special” all the time. TO ME. That would be the operative word… as I skip through fields, I guess I was this girl, “the free spirit” inspiring you with “a Jenny tale?” Forrest Gump? I was SO CONFUSED. You see? I have no idea…

And then, you find out I’m from LADERA HEIGHTS. I was not poor by any means. And if I was poor, continuing to PEER at my ex, WHY are you bringing me into an expensive situation?! Truly. I was blown away. I’m just a girl from Jersey… to drive that one home. I’m from California, but my family is from Jersey. My father was from New Jersey. I was just some kid. I didn’t exactly demonstrate extraordinary gifts… not to say that I didn’t have them, but if the story could have opened up a career path, even, like, all that got crushed… by fucking people feeling SORRY for me? Or, wait, I was a really remarkable person… so why not crush it? Send her to outer space for shits and giggles, gurus in Beverly Hills. Obscene.

I couldn’t even believe it, imagine? Me telling the Hunting crew? And then, listen to this, “in BEVERLY HILLS…” the Pretty Woman hotel IN VIEW. I can see it! This man lifts his arm like a guru… an all-seeing guru in front of TASCHEN bookstore. He pointed at me. “You do not have to manage the shift in reality…” and once, he turns, no explanation needs, no intro, in BEVERLY HILLS. He called my mother SMART? Whoopee cushion. I travel with it now. UM? Deranged from step one. My mother was smart? This biz manager… of hers who saved her from this fiasco, Ghomi, he gave her a chance? Don’t be ridiculous. He needed his taxes handled.

DUH.

It’s like I look at this man who went to YALE? And I go, why was he acting so stupid? Smart? Look man, that would make the Zen Master Sybil BLOW. Did you call that woman SMART? “Wrapping her child up in a sex scandal,” as I throw rose petals into the air, a jubilee… the world is wondrous. Whoopee cushion. This story necessitated a whoopee cushion. So we may all, in a British accent, get heatfelt and sincere. “There is a purpose, there is use, here.” I’m telling you the things I had heard.

“She gave you away to save you from herself…”

“BREASTS,” Angelica Leibowitz said, “BREASTS at my door…”

I wouldn’t call her smart.

I would call what she did a disgrace.

That was revelatory most certainly: the way these men got involved in my life. Not one saw me for what I had, Hunting, “a soul, the right to breathe” insert some speech. It was amazing to me because I had money in the bank, but I could BE FAMOUS, money wasn’t real to this guru? I was just blown away by him as a person… wow! He really blew me away. His performance. So it goes to show, beware of help, you often have all that you need… I don’t know what to say, other than, I’m 39, and I feel as though I could dance circles around these men. But then, I had to become a parent to myself, and a parent has no time for these guys. Maybe a tea downstairs, on drugs, as a real friend, with the “special slytherin.” I ain’t your accomplice, dude, sometimes, I didn’t do it that often, but WHY am I here? Learning from him? I was personally confused.

None of these people knew anything about a writing career… the guru works in film… which wasn’t my pursuit. I thought that this guy loved books or something. And then, eating burgers with these guys, with a little glad that reads impossible, “he never even read any books!” Amazing! Holy shit, have you ever felt like you got HOOKED all over your weakness, and they all got brought out and almost killed you? And no one cared? And of course, the question… so thanks, that was the overall note. Thank you SO SO MUCH for your help. And now, I’m back to me…

Wondering how I got here. And so, Jane has been present with me, but she feels excited, happy, also, so I hope that’s a good sign. But I appreciate feeling her support because that was God awful. I just don’t need to call her a ghost, I mean, please, looking at Casey. He’s going to tell me “I’m just Irish…” laughing. Please, no more Victorian tales. My head was such a mess.

I had blind spots, general washes of unawareness about the illnesses my parents had. Forget the senitment, this guru was so sentimental, what am I supposed to do with that? YOU, someone who has NO context, like he couldn’t RELATE to me at all, like, literally at all. Other than, he, too, wanted to be a “successful writer,” when I still look back at this moment, that he said that, “I don’t see a problem with that,” but neither did I. WHY was he doing this? I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to sound RUDE. I should have been. “You don’t…” waving my hands… not ASKING for your help. Is that a problem?

He can’t RELATE to an adopted child, though that’s not the story. I do not have “the adopted thing,” which I don’t understand, where did that come from? That’s not the story. I understand I said I was sort of adopted by all these families, which was true, but that’s not the point. This guru’s brother told me within 2 seconds, that I had “all the adopted stuff.” WHAT are you talking about? Within 2 seconds? So he’s psychic too? Everyone is driving on their feelings wondering why “everything feels so disconnected…” Both my parents were ill. I was NOT adopted. I was in a scandal that could have landed in a textbook of some kind. I suppose the adopted thing referred to relating externally, or something, so I have no idea why these people got involved, if they did not have the expertise, that was the sexual trauma specialist’s very clear question. “WHO are these people?” Another bunch of geniuses. I’m telling you. MALE geniuses who did not need credentials, experience, he’s crumpling up his next note and tossing his years up in the air… no need.

I was so confused, I have to ask him this next time. So I went to an ayahausca ceremony, where two women supposedly realized that they had been abused as children… and is this a superpower? Can this become your superpower? I want to know what he thinks. He said, to me, the word is empowerment. Superpower feels a bit fantastical as a word, don’t you think? I don’t know, I just wonder how that sat with these women. But I’m supposed to say, “that story can become my superpower.”

I don’t know what to say to that. And then, um, the guru tells me early on, like why is acting like a teacher, have you ever TAUGHT? He says, “family is my life idea…” right? When that’s just a maladaptive pattern I had to work out, I sought to. This is what I mean — I tried so hard, I guess, I tried to work it out, and the second I got back to the states, these men PUNCHED me outta the water! Like it had claws, keeping me hooked. It was terrible. And I’m in SUPER nice locations. The richest locations. Amazing. Amal Clooney stays here… thinking about Bonnie Hunt in Only You 1994, an important feature film. She’s definitely not getting involved with any of these people. That’s for certain. So, I’m hiding behind her, like — get ‘em.. I am NOT Amal Clooney. “She’s special…” she had a very very bright career. She’s super intelligent. None of these men would DARE to even speak to her.

You see the difference?

I was gifted, Clooney, imagine? But HOW? I was psychic. HM? A, uh, not knowing what to do with it, a really nice person. THINK. THINK Aretha Franklin. She’s not saying THINK, THINK about what I’m doing to myself through you. THINK about what you’re trying to do to ME. There’s a snap back. There’s a fuck you in it. This is the point, why people listen to this song. “Freedom.” She’s broken TIES, my friends. She’s NO LONGER in that relationship. I’m telling you, I came to find… without ANY SUCCESS in sight, that it might not bring happiness, per se. Okay! Wish I had just found a job… didn’t get caught up in these fancy pictures.

And now, who gives a shit about writing? You feel me? I’ll keep going… but it’s an entirely new world. I’m still, though it’s better, letting go of the future stuff. I DIDN’T HAVE A PROBLEM. Now I have heartache. Still, at times, I feel so mediocre, truly, like I went through the MOST mediocre world, the mot mediocre. I felt so not special in the end. I feel like I have nothing to say, no clue what’s going to happen to me, no clue how I’m going to make real money… I’ll figure that part out, but that was… a small lifetime to work out. And now, I wouldn’t be in these situations to begin with. WHY would I be? To fluff YOUR feathers? To live in a palace without plumbing? Why? Because it’s cool? Okay! Look, if my daughter was moving into the Chelsea Hotel for free at 30, I would be on a plane… Amal Clooney getting the VOICE note recording… as I would tape these conversations with self…

“She’s lost her mind!”

“What is this? Great Expectations?”

“Time to write? It’s called the WEEKEND!”

“Can’t visit? Take a few pictures?”

You know? Sometimes you try and take shortcuts… if I had a real job, maybe I could save up a bunch of money, “okay…” to me now… but no plumbing? I went to workspace down the street with showers, a nice space, it’s just, why? I think Amal Clooney would be on that channel. “This is…”

“EXCUSE ME BLOSSOM MADELEINE PIXIE GIRL?” NO. NO. NO.

You see? When I look back on these mothers— FAIL. That’s not who you were. I was my mother. I’m showing UP, hello? Knock knock. Um??? May I? What is going on here? If you think about it… I expect my child to be able to handle themselves in the world. “Practice writing?” That’s one of my Dave Chappelle moments. “Did you just say practice writing by working at a psychedelic mag?” That job didn’t help me learn anything. Not really. It didn’t help me learn how to structure a book… anything about the business… it didn’t introduce me to anyone in the industry… it didn’t even help me write features… as I had no idea what I was doing, but neither did… anyone else, in a sense, do you know what I mean?

Like the slytherin said, he liked my Fantasia piece, and I look back on it, “it’s purely descriptive.” What’s good about this? I got some jobs, but it’s more, “where are you intending to end up?” This guru’s fantastical ethereal — you don’t need direction, and again, I don’t get this man, who made some movies… it’s just that, in thinking about people who succeeded beyond him, even, not to make it about that, I don’t think that they would have approached me like that. Truly. So…

I’m seeing the “I don’t know” emoji. And there’s Barbara Harris. The two of us making a quick getaway on the psycho spiritual plane. Help. Please. I needed it. Up against the wall, was it really because I was pretty? Do you know how heartbreaking that is? My friend Nate, he said, I was such a light, someone he really didn’t want to see get taken advantage of… especially in the guise of help. This doesn’t really apply to the slytherin, but he has a help impulse that he needs to keep in check. And he was too powerful within this group, which I can’t, and when STUFF yeah, starting coming UP for me, there was NO ONE IN SIGHT from this so-called therapy group. You call yourselves faciliators? Me? As someone who was told who could do this?

GUESS WHAT? I disagree from step one.

LOOK, no offense, I was not the person to give drugs to… obviously?????

They look like drug addicts.

Amal Clooney? That’s what she’s seeing. I’m pretty sure. I’m all about medicines, whatever, but I was not the person to give drugs to… I have no idea why I even got involved with YOU KNOW WHO. Why? I was not interested in him. Not for real. And then, I find out that his relationship to the slytherin was — a touch beyond platonic. I pulled out. And then I got to get phone calls? One, or get some slytherin acting like he loves me, but he really hates me, and he’s going to FART on the phone at me after I exited a hospital?

RIGHT, thank you. Hand on my heart, an organ that took four years to work out… please don’t give someone heart openers… unless you assess their medical history. Peace sign. Please. I was a gaping hole. And NO, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have been treated casually, coming from the background that I came from. Wanting to SMILE like Julia Roberts in Mystic Pizza, except I don’t get — the emotion. It’s a pure fuck you. Call it strict. Fuck you. I had to reject it completely. I just feel like a person now. That royally fucked with my head. This ex of mine, seriously speaking, he tells me VIA text that I am a portal, channel, traveling on multiple planes of existence, that I’m too psychic which makes it hard for me to manifest…

Have you heard of the incredible HULK? GET THE FUCK away from me! You ruined my life! Vishen is 100% confused. I assure you. Vishen would be 100% confused. He might offer me a chip, dip, because wtf. But I say, I don’t know anymore about what happened, and this man is going to shut ME down. I was appalled, offended, and greatly disappointed, YES, GURU. I was amazed by this man… acting like a guru in Beverly Hills. Picture the Italian place, please, with this man repeating paradiso at me… the feeling… he’s currently surfing, leaning in to demonstrate “the egg,” how reality is an EGG. Awareness, yes, we hatch. We come into awareness. WHERE was HIS? In Beverly Hills. OUT and ABOUT.

This was not a friendship. He even stated he wasn’t even interested… I was so confused by this man. I wondered how Jamie Foxx at POKE in Beverly Hills one day, got where he did… right? Why? I don’t know, I had seen him recently on Instagram. And the thing is, he took steps just like anyone else. The guru goes, “continuity is bullshit.” Sure, maybe it’s not A, B, C, or something, like you can get the audition which changes the course of your life, but “I imagine he took steps…” no? In the real world? In any case, I have no idea what happened to me, because I was STRUCK by the guru’s deranged play, night one. I really was struck by this guy.

He did not have an accurate read on me. He did not see me. He was not paternal… not knowing what to do… confusing. And his obsession with “you create your own reality…” can you understand? Wanting to hold someone’s hand at a wedding? That we’re in it together, type deal, but I was… unable to totally enter the world… which has action in it. You pursue. I suppose some people stumble into their careers, get discovered, that wasn’t my story. I wasn’t STOPPED on the street…. despite my fab clothes. I suppose I was stopped for a photo or two. And the clothes, I guess, didn’t help me not be seen as someone to help? Does that make sense? I had range, but I was blown away. And then, my best friend starts getting stars in his eyes…

Casting himself in movies………………….???????????????????

Excuse the emphasis.

I couldn’t even finish a book.

And now, I’m like, UM, I do not care THAT MUCH about that story, not knowing if, in public, people are going to get — WHY I got so much attention, or they’ll be ABLE. to HANDLE the dimension of it. Meaning, yeah, looking at talk show hosts, am I supposed to LOSE it, start weeping, in public? Not really. Looking at these people, because that story PUT ME ON THE SPOT. How was I supposed to be? You know? Did I LOOK wounded? I mean, I can’t tell. Because apparently not, sometimes, like, what? (OBAMA appeared in my mind) Like a normal person?

I had problems, evidently, I mean, I might not have seen them correctly, as I had to become a real advocate for myself, I OBVIOUSLY had problems. I’m just not SEEING what they are. It’s about SEX, newsflash, that old subject. SEX. We’re dancing the lambada — all the way through — a song and dance about sex the year Kaoma took the world by storm, so it was playing EVERYWHERE, movies being made. It could not be MORE on the nose. Unbelievable, what can happen to a perosn, and always, if you want to know what I THINK? If anyone cared? You could direct some of that care to better places. TO ME, it was interesting what people care about, what they don’t care about, how they didn’t want my story to exist…

“Did she know what she was doing?”

My mother? UM YEAH, unless she can prove otherwise.

Now here comes Dave Chappelle talking about the justice system, you see what I’m saying. She’s mentally ill, YEAH, except she’s on a criminal line. So did she go temporarily insane? WHY? And like, I didn’t have any real support at all. Like knock knock, what the fuck was that? Amal Clooney = star. Please. IF THIS HAPPENED IN HER FAMILY? I believe she’s making a personal visit. I’m sorry? Right? I think I’m correct. Obama? UM??? “Crazy cousins…” if this happened in my family? Are you joking? This is where the Neapolitans would be on my side in fact. No no no. Not in my family. Too far. Way too far. So what do I do with that? This story ruined my life! I hardly have a relationship even with my cousins anymore… I can’t even talk to them… everyone I knew abandoned me, yes, through the most painful years of my life. These brothers — needing to stay in their lane. Forget the guru, he conveniently disappeared, didn’t eevn pass his special friend a “how are you,” probably because he felt guilty. His comments to me during this so called book mentorship were — delusional. Like, I gotta “become an extraordinary man” over a book? This isn’t the Hero’s Journey. Can you imagine?

I was so clearly not fine.

“The topic sentence is,” do you see how utterly stupid he appears? “Your mother gave you away to a total stranger when I was four…” That’s not the topic sentence. No one reading that story is going to know what to do with it, if you took the time to simply interrogate, you see. Such a mess. So I reopened these years… with this guy. Whoosh. I have a heart, and I’m saying no at step one to myself, recording these convos, as I had to blast away these men, I had to blast away the psychic shit, blast away the delusional DEBUT. And I had to separate myself from my friends, mostly, because they don’t understand what they’re talking about and they kept shutting me down, and not even giving a shit how I was doing. Unreal. My heart was totally broken. This guru was such an asshole.

OVER a girl who was in a sex scandal. WOW. That man should be ashamed of himself. Telling me a fictional character is a really good psychological device. That’s what he said. I see, maybe psychically, shrugging, his public persona, and who cares? About his facade? What the fuck was that? WOW, I’m just going WOW.

Now, I see a man kicking up his socks, no issue with being with a woman, if you would, holding architectural plans: extension, better bathtubs, showing me the way… DECK. BBQ. THIS. Think the DECK. The really great deck. So I hope I can still find that person, and there, I feel a little better, because I can… I just, whoa, had quite a journey to get here…but apparently, according to the guru, the suitors will POUR IN… once this story gets out. Nothing but suitors. I don’t get the point in speaking vaguely. He thought I was a star? Okay… like a movie star? Or what? I was a star of some kind… okay… I’m just seeing my looks, to get super basic about it. And yes, a personality, smiling, rolling my eyes at this douchebag.

Let’s see if I have talent, no? Sure, I’m down. “Let the healing begin,” clapping. Will Hunting is on my page. He’s at this psychedelic group with me. He’s chilling with the guru with me. Let the healing begin meets Keanu Reeves: whoa. I went through a rude awakening. I think the Zen Master Sybil was worried about that. Just that I was going to get caught up in these Neptune— she would say, these NEPTUNE universes, and it’s just where I came from. I’m not sure about the language, if you would, but that’s what she meant. It’s all dreamy and ethereal. Fantasy too. Men with lush imaginations… I mean, nothing wrong with it, but I didn’t need to get caught up… and all I can say to myself, is, you came from a background.

So what are you going to do?

So that makes me feel better. Like I didn’t get it. I wasn’t operating sensically because I didn’t want to project that story out onto the world… I was disrespected so young… and as my cousins even prove, I was disrespected at hello, normally, with this story. Like in college, this professor is the most insensitive man on planet earth, the one I got involved with, not seeing the real shitshow I was in, I hated this man. I hated I got involved with this asshole at all. I lived with a man who had DEMENTIA, secret DEMENTIA for ten years. At least! REJECT. I ended up rejecting the whole thing. Like get the fuck away from my kid. Like that sort of feeling. Like, I’ll deal with her, later. Stepping into all these houses — what the FUCK are you doing?

“Well you,” meaning a parent, “weren’t there.”

So now, there’s the secret, the key. Just become a parent. And blast these assholes away, messing with your kid. I would look at this guru in the utmost disgust. And here comes “the actress.” Right? The actress would rip you to shreds in public. She doesn’t give a shit. And I’m laughing. You bet your ass. And the thing is, I’m not exactly reacting as if I were a VICTIM… that’s an idea that’s detached from me, but people don’t get how these dynamics work. I made my choices… evidently, but upon first glance, you see, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I’m sitting there, a mother, staring at all these…people. LOOK asshole, if some guy started showing up in PARIS with drugs, I would be on a PLANE — and I would throw you out myself! THEN, turning, wanting Cate Blanchett to play this person… she would LOOK at my apartment, not LOOKING at it, “what the fuck is going on?”

“WHY are you living like this?”

Time to go home. We gotta regroup. Time to talk to Dad. I’m in socks. “Okay, well,” scratching my head. “You know, um, let’s just deal with it… you need a psychologist…” and it will all be alright. I didn’t think that I was THAT bad, if you would, like I just needed the right therapy, the right reframe, I don’t think that I needed to drown in my feelings? As this guru, which was so stunning, considering him, thought I was repressed? And now, I don’t know if I was repressing sexual abuse, you see, so thank you, once again, for getting involved… and speaking to me indirectly… about not being fed or nourished as a baby… child? I can’t follow.

AT ALL.

GUESS WHAT?

Aviators coming off. Brad Pitt, a true psychic, having picked me up somewhere back there on the field of dreams, truly, um… with me. YOU’RE NOT PSYCHIC. THAT WAS A REAL SHITSHOW. So, I don’t know, I hope I’ll soon get over these raw moments, just because I feel like I need to — get all this out… and I’m repeating myself because I still swing around… like was this okay? Am I supposed to remember the GOOD TIMES? I cannot tell you the pressure all this put on my heart. This guru I mean, this relationship could have killed me, and it’s like, DID HE SEE WHAT HE WAS DOING? And I got out of the hospital, having been farted on? And this guy, this guru, who I hardly spoke to during this time, tells me (picture me on the floor, needing to move, wincing, because I have too many sensations down there…) that what I went through reminded him of CARL JUNG’S THE RED BOOK?!

Bring me Benedict Cumberbatch. Let him BLOW this man away in a British accent. We will begin softly and end as GANDALF basically, if we must. Imagine?

UM? IN THE END this guy says, “I’m concerned,” when where was that REPLY THROUGH THE MONTHS it took me to GET there? This man was insane. I want to slap him across the face. Carl Jung’s The Red Book. THEN I HAVE A BEST FRIEND STILL WITH MOVIES IN HIS FUCKING FUTURE? JESUS CHRIST, can’t you picture Adrien Brody being — utterly amazed? “You weren’t even in film!” I went through years of agony… just utter agony… not understanding what hit me, needing to STOP blaming myself, going, to my socalled best friend’s friend, “um should we be worried, as he said he wanted to KILL a politician…” am I mad? He said that! That’s not a joke. Jesus Christ. Now, if some dipshit, no offense, with the FBI behind me, and the CIA, if not PUTIN himself, told me that a drug addict is on a higher plane consciousness — I would not stand for it. “What the fuck are you talking about?!” It was an awakening for sure. Not a person to MOVE IN with, if you would. OBVIOUSLY. “As your manager” he said, imagine? I didn’t do anything that required a manager. I had to watch Dave Chappelle walking through middle America, JUST THE INTRO to the show. I couldn’t handle much else. He was walking without fear. And I was so afraid. Help. I clutched onto clip.

As your manager with a belitting hand.

And all I’m doing is writing a book… sure, I would like to… LOOKING AT ANYONE is Hollywood… any takers? Quick flash of the eyes. Make a movie, or I would love if my story inspired one, sure, that’s a common dream. But I’m not THERE… yet. I have to finish a book, and it sucked, it really did, to see that MAYBE THIS GUY had a PROBLEM with my success? And look, here’s a psychic reflection, so who knows if I’m right, I GET THAT YOU WERE THE STAR OF THE SHOW IN YOUR FAMILY WHILE BEING DISRESPECTED AT THE SAME TIME. I get it. Jesus Christ. I’m thinking about Sharon, okay, if I told her, hey, do you want to decorate this apartment, I’ll give you carte blanche, as this was a moment for me, even if it was stupid, look, the GURU around this time is telling me it doesn’t matter what the rent is… OKAY! Will Hunting hates this apartment, he hates everyone in this story. So does everyone else in his crew. WE HATE THIS STORY. I can’t pay you, but I can give you a budget? Maybe you can, I don’t know, like pitch it to a mag, or something, maybe this could help you…

What is she going to do?

And since our friend said, to me, years ago, he sometimes doesn’t FINISH what he started, I kicked him out. I didn’t give that much of a shit, and admittedly, I got WAY too sucked into writing… truly. I forgot everyone… practically, it’s really true. I got way too sucked in… I forgot life… I was vulnerable… I didn’t need to meditate or get obsessive… I wish that guru just stayed out of my life. I was trying so hard, all the while, feeling ridiculously confused, because this GURU acted as if I meant so much to him, or else WHY WOULD HE HAVE DONE WHAT HE DID, BE REAL, TO increasingly discover… he didn’t give a shit! THEN my mother — this whore, she gets wind of a MAG cover? And she tells her cousins about it? She can’t contact me directly though, I just want to RIP her face off. Then my EX bro, yo, tells me he’s in love with me — years before — like a crazy person, and then, he tells me he’s giving AIDS to people for ten years???????? He’s committing manslaughter in some states, and I get SHIT over a dog bite? Fuck all you.

Giving AIDS to people for ten years.

(Imagine me telling this to OBAMA? And then the guy… he tells me he’s giving AIDS to people for ten years after MAKING ME GUESS WHAT TERMINAL ILLNESS HE HAS… what’s the worst thing I could have? UH HUH? A tumor asshole that’s about to POP. Okay, what’s the second worst thing? HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, looking at PEOPLE, like, what’s the shame about it, SON? And this guru is laughing? I love how he told you he had AIDS… okay… I imagine the guru is such a different person with his family, not his brother, though, that they might not even be able to take in these words… so, he should know that he needs to keep his HYDE in check. Unless he’s open about his beliefs, the SETH books, etc.? But whatever craving he had to spread his seed?

This hurt me. It truly did. I did not want to get hurt. I didn’t know I could be hurt. Not really. So when this slytherin called, truly, after I left my job over racism… during the Floyd protests, which wouldn’t be that surprising, because it all came up, I found, the slytherin called me singing “Maria” from Westside Story? Eek. And he tells me he doesn’t want me to go through anymore pain. What pain??? I don’t know if I was repressed, exactly, as I’ve needed NOW to work THAT OUT, this guru, but I couldn’t idenitfy what my feelings were… perhaps. And this guru was he not repressed? Why is he breathing deeply and pointing at me and confessing his love as my father, or something? It was so gross! This guy was gross. WOULD ROLE PLAYING MY FATHER — some version of him — MAKE SENSE? Over a DVD? He looks like a psychopath. “You’re special,” with his disgusting emotional layering on, “and I intend to keep my perspective…” wow. Congratulations. You really showed yourself to be a bigger man. That man deserves it. He’s even ASKING for it.

I keep picturing myself in a good place. All of this… far behind me. I gotta go ry and look as good as I can. I gotta keep just picturing myself breaking through, making a splash even…and here we go… with my personality… making a splash, like, oh, what an interesting person… and I can’t help but say this… and I believe Will Hunting would be behind me, 100% — they all would. “Can you imagine, in the end, if it were true…?” And luckily now, these people, their voices are no longer in my body, telling me automatically that I am wrong… so, I suppose, looking out windows… thinking about Oprah… these people believed I was Professor X’s protegee and even Jesus Christ (Will Hunting laughing, truly.) “The guy, the Hollywood screenwriter tells me that I was divinely inspired because I was born to parents who were not there…” WHOOPEE CUSHION. “You see?”

“The prop?”

In this case, as Jesus Christ, the man confusing the Immaculate Conception, Mary’s conception by parents who were THERE, not JESUS, it had NOTHING TO DO WITH JESUS, GOD has a message — it’s called REALITY CHECK. YOU ALL ARE INSANE. WHOA. GOD can’t FOLLOW this shit. So sure — send in MARIA. Obviously! Have her… illuminate all this. REALITY CHECK. No? Getting a little weird down there. And you’ll always kill Jesus. WHY? I don’t know. This time I couldn’t be whiter! That’s the joke. Couldn’t be whiter. I was amazed. I really was. These were wisemen, apparently, and they owe me an apology. Maybe not so much the brother, though, I don’t get why he came in… when he’s NOT qualified.

I did not need HYPNOSIS.

I went through HELL, and no one gave a shit. I have an arrow pointed for sure. Trespass if you dare. The ghost of an actress is with me. And she’s going—strike. I have to laugh. This is she:

STRIKE.

I do not want to do dances… social dances right now… as Jesus Christ, I would rather speak about the issues. Right? And hopefully I’ll be in a cool outfit… and my Joker’s Daughter persona at times will make sense… because what do you do with all that? Most of the time, I do get excited about the road ahead, like, I have the rest of my life in front of me, looking at people who found love… again… so I’ll figure it out, I’ll keep figuring it out. Maybe it will be a Forrest Gump, where you have the cutest girl, really, I was a very cute child, hand up, leave me alone, who gets thrust on this journey… who makes these decisions… who comes to… dunno make it out of Wonderland. That’s what Hunting would see, Williams too, he would have made me laugh, as an audience member, making some kind of comment about it, cracking a smile. “Child molesters,” nodding. “How wondrous…” something. And the thing is, I don’t know what to say.

This specialist was like, I mean, she’s a delinquent, “dude,” like, she’s drinking, driving, and looking for sex downtown… and my father is leaving me alone with this person? I don’t know who, among them, and a judge would understand me, is the BIGGER LIAR. No one gave a shit about Hunting. I gotta deal with dances with wolves… ? In court attire? You know? What the fuck was this? I could marry above my station? Again, I got there. I was relatively fine. In France, I didn’t run into these people…but the clock struck twelve type deal… around the end of my twenties, which is when my life began to turn into the dark… with people — well intentioned! Bring in Dr. J, she ONLY had the BEST intentions — not understanding… and I’m not understanding… don’t go this way. I made my choices…

So now, I have to think about it as if I went on an adventure, and that I came out the other side, and I’m going to be able to talk about it. Shed some light. Something. Come into the fullest expression of self. That’s basically the plan. I just don’t know what that means. But I got a lot of plants. Good start. And I live in a small room in a nice apartment, it’s not mine, I have to start over… from the ground up. Step one problem, type deal.

In short, if someone else raped me, let me begin there, I would appreciate knowing so I could call this sexual trauma specialist to hear… there you go. As people admit it, he said, sometimes. I would appreciate knowing from Dr. Joyce Rebhun, my crazy ass mother, if that was true in any capacity, even about HER, imagine? Did you abuse me, lady? BLINKING. CASEY IS BEHIND ME. “WTF?” I’m clutching onto myself. Or were we, what? Blowing things out of proportion, my mother taking her breasts out? Now I’m picturing Dave Chappelle recounting this… somehow, in the midst of all this kid shit… rides and cakes… Michael Jackson whips out drugs…? I needed this man. How could I not laugh? I’m sorry. And I’m going, wait what? Taking out her breasts? In front of you?

OBAMA would be making SPEECHES. Appalled. Upset. Yes, angry. This word.

OKAY?

OKAY.

Now, since no one heard me.

Can you imagine… if you didn’t know if your parents abused you… sexually.

That’s a wrap, in Dave Chappelle’s words, that’s a wrap.

But there’s nothing I can do, right now, though maybe a cop would accompany me over to my mother’s house, and sit there as I confront this bullshit. My mother had enough run ins at the police, you know. SO, sick lady, was that true? And a COP will feel me on this one as we watch…. if she says yes? Is that true? People don’t know what a liar is. So that’s where I’m at with this act of lunacy.

SO if SOMEONE ELSE raped me along the way, please leave me note, as my Sunday School teacher invited me out to lunch, even, another twist there, as I was investigating the Catholic Church at the time so I volunteered to be his assistant… Amal Clooney getting scared… and he invited me out to lunch, and I went, imagine? And somewhere around salad, I went, why am I here? And the sexual trauma specialist is going to put a little check box next to that guy who then sent me a dozen red roses… to my house. Yikes. I got so scared. And of course this guy, this guy is going to tell me — OH I had the MESSAGE WRONG? Bring me Mark Wahlberg, okay? You sending his daughter red roses? Her teacher? HM.

I learned a lot about sexual abuse, in my short life. It certainly um, can “appear” innocent, sure. Amazing. Utterly amazing. I’m just saying, I could have been raped by anyone, according to him, except I can’t say anything… because I don’t know. I might not have been. So — that’s it. I figured in time, I might keep working that part out. But I might end up confronting Dr. J, if I have the chance, like, was that true? Don’t acting like a moron. My heart almost exploded, it felt that way. Anyway, the gory details aside, it’s a very different REAL story, isn’t it? Once you get the details. telling me that Angelica is an unreliable narrator… once I got these brothers out of my life… once I was able to STOP calling them… goodbye!!!! I had to just sit with these memories.

I suppose not being real about it, because the world that I moved through, sorry, it was also an obstacle, didn’t do me any good. I didnt have to sit there and put myself in a position, to have to talk about this! Why would I want to? Be real. With some dick from Hollywood? Wanting to get sappy? Not a good move man. He looks real bad, real bad. But maybe I’ll succeed in the world… still. So there, I know I can, I see enough people out there, living long lives, finding new chapters, love, all that. So, I keep my mind on that. I just don’t know how exactly I’m supposed to LOOK back on these relationships?

You just wanted to HELP me? Was that it? And there all I find is silence, here, with myself, which is satisfying. I don’t know, I felt like I had to stand up to my entire life, like I’m the one in charge here, I am the authority, not YOU. On my life?

These are my thoughts today. I need to redo my audition tape because I realized last night that I didn’t follow the logic, that’s key. I didn’t quite understand the scene yet. So I gotta do it again. I hope I get it. I’m confronting what you’d expect, which is the line between cariacture and character, trying to be funny, trying to play genre.. all that. So I keep watching myself, and I keep trying to learn, as ACTING is a craft, like I get I was a sweet performer as a child, but I never really did it for real. So now, let’s see what I can do. Right? As I came out… not knowing what I am doing with the rest of my life. I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t know what to say. I just can’t go back to school. So that doesn’t feel right to me. Maybe that will change.

I have stories to tell, the guru said, which is, sure. But what am I supposed to say, that I was a clown? Think about that. Though as an arc, maybe, yeah, we’ll see. I keep thinking about a book, and I hope it will be great. Moving, all that. Maybe telling my cousins this story, at one point, just because the family story was so confused, maybe that will end up being a good suite… very moving because I’m dancing through life, as the Brazilian mother taught me to, in a sense, I’m laughing. cheering, celebrating… with an eye? A clown in a sense, I was out of the box.

But when you know… what happened, when you have context, that Christmas wth these people, my physical language, it makes sense. And here comes some line of “other families…?” And they, even, are going to “take me in,” amazing. They’re going to get parental one me, giving me some speech about how I was a kid once, when any one of their children, if they were in this situation, they would understand —like, I’m not a kid, I wasn’t ever your kid, I get that I was there once…

And there, I’m supposed to meet these people, right? That’s the story. In seeing myself as one, once? As a good one? As that was his line… as he saw that I didn’t SEE myself as a good kid… in the Neapolitan. So there you go. And now, I have to think, is that true? Did I not see myself as a good kid MARIA? Since people projected all over me… I would have needed real time to work out how I actually felt about things. I don’t know if I was repressed, and I don’t understand, if you think that FEELING, the guru, was my primary language? Another one of…his comments…why you would suggest all these things indirectly. The theme here is nourishment. DUDE, that’s not the theme, though I’m sure the COPS or social services would have checked out the fridge. They’ve been in all types of homes, I imagine.

I don’t know. I can’t answer that question. I don’t know how to answer that question. Did I think I was a good kid? Well, I think I tried to reject Angelica Leibowitz on principle, didn’t I? Amazed. I couldn’t help but see systemic injustices… and I didn’t have to look that far. Original sin? Okay. Illegitimate babies? That one I repeated many times to myself. Illegitimate babies? You blame the baby? Uh huh. I was — thinking that sounded insane. So my mother reflected very true things about the world, there are totally insane ideas out there. But I was a piece of shit to her, and she can take her excuses and shove it, basically. I suppose that affected me. But did I think I was a bad kid? Well, shit got fucked up, sure. So I’ll leave it at that.

Shit most definitely got fucked up.

The disbelief was particularly harrowing, like I had to clap TINKERBELLE for myself with people also denying that they didn’t believe me, because no one is actually evolved, flashing eyes at Obama, on that one. No one says, you know what? You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know why that story continued to hurt me, and I can’t imagine, really, with racism, just what people have had to endure, okay? Just microaggressions, um, I don’t know, because I found… to make a small parallel, to discuss architecture a moment, okay? It’s like the protests, immediately, boom, in my world, there’s a defensive response. Did I use WHITE too many times for you? Sorry. Did you say something about we’re all in it together? Can you also be ANTI RACIST? Yes. And I felt as the STUFF came up, as I took steps, yeah, on social media, who cares, it’s a TV channel, to step into the world… that I kept feeling knocked down… as if the world is designed to defend itself, on some level.

So I say that, not knowing if that relates, but I found this part… to be… confusing. Is there something wrong with me talking about where I came from? Publically? Am I not supposed to stand in it, with pride? You see what I’m saying? I found that hard, that part, just the defense. Maybe a person of color might be able to relate, though I can’t comment on that phrase, as I’m referring to slavery. A demographic. I mean with how the system defends itself. I didn’t understand, in my case, personal, why you’d defend the old story… so I hope the personal might reflect the political, I don’t know what to say, when I read that we’re all getting molested… in the NYTimes?

I had no one through that. I got over it. I found kindness from a directing professor. “Have you ever felt really alone?” Yes. I have actually. Have you ever felt alone with someone else? Yes, that too. I’ll get to something good, I’ll get to a good book. One I hope that Obama will read. I read his list. That’s my goal.

But I imagine that life still feels like life, on the other side of that, too, so if there’s anything I can say, it’s that, you’re still building your own life… and everyone makes their choices, but I’m alone, right now, 39, I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have a house, and it turns out these elements, to me, are what I wish I had, before the glitz and the glory, the phone calls from Tom Cruise — flipping out. OMG THIS STORY!!! I have to laugh. The SUITORS lining up, in Field of Dreams, like the line of cars… coming to date me. Okay, I’m here. The woman of your dreams…? Well, first sentence, “I was in a little sex scandal…” it began there. so I’m letting go… of… making it, though I’d like to, and trying to enjoy life, though I feel the — you know, the fatigue, of another restart, this time, it’s bulky, the bare bones, like laying down a foundation, like, I’ll get some rest, I’ll get stronger, I’ll keep going.

I suppose I could take it into a What Dreams May Come direction — where the real story might inspire stories of pirates… with the ghost of Barbara Harris… behind me… with an eye patch. On this ship. Maybe I’ll play some warrior, I don’t know, I hope I’ll get there if I can. That would be fun.

But first, I gotta do a self tape. I feel like posting the one I did, for laughs. I’m funny, I think, but I gotta get to logic. Maybe it’s okay actually. I can’t tell. I would do it again and play it a little differently, like the second draft, you make it seem like you knew what you were doing all along — because I actually like this script. This father and mother could be on a sitcom. She’s scrolling through mom influencers on her phone, and I think I did a good job, actually, and the character is: she can’t tell her child that Santa isn’t real… she can’t do it. She’s franctically trying to bake this woman’s cookies… the husband comes home, makes a joke about the TO DO list, the very long to do list that she’s franctically referring to…

She turns, ready to kill him. I did a close up. He retracts quickly, “is it the santa thing?” He hates Santa to begin with! “It’s more than that, you know it is…” He goes, “Are you on Mom Tok?” Or whatever, again? I’m saying that SHE GOT SPONSORED. THE COOKIE RECIPE WENT VIRAL FOR A REASON, but it’s a bitch to replicate! And then he wants to get dirty, sexual, and he pulls out a J, as in a joint. I laughed, I really did. I might just send it, I just dont know, I might just chose another take. But I watched Brit Lower, she really did her self tape, so I tried to follow her example, a close up, and a wide shot, I tried to really do it, put my hair in a braid. I cooked for 12 minutes and then cut…I think my death stare to him was good. I had fun. And whenever I do it like Barbara Harris, I go, yeah, that might be it. I’m going to use another take. This is good, I think. Wish me luck.

You see? Redemption in storytelling. Let’s see if I can get into something by the end of the year.

I just finished my scene at Columbia, like a baptism this man

Again, why go to NYU? This directing actors class took place on the 15th floor of an old church turned university hall… as the photo above shows, it’s a meeting of the daily life and worship. God and coffee. The professor, he was the gentliest man, just the kindest person, and it was so healing, though I couldn’t help but be defensive to his genuine gentleness. He has a process where he speaks to the actors individually, together, and he does a good job at asking questions without making you feel like he’s directing you, he’s asking you questions, curiously. He was present, positive, and reverent towards the actor. I was waiting outside with my scene partner as he was having a session with the director, and I got to know her a little better, she got to know me. She told me she’s — in the light of stained glass windows on the bathroom door, so the space was a meeting of grit and spirit, that she’s assumed her job, as a stripper, and her parents don’t know, but she found it empowering as someone who has experienced “SA,” she used an acronym for sexual assault to buffer it. She let me in…once again, probably a little deeper than she thought she would as I tend to have that effect on people. Everyone seems to look at her, she says, and cast her as a stripper. She gives that off, me, I don’t know what that means. As we stared into each other’s eyes for a long time the first rehearsal, I sensed energy, something I couldn’t place, a dare, a mystery, but I didn’t think that. As the next actors were rehearsing behind us, I said, “well apparently, I give off psychic…” Her face lit up, “are you?”

“I don’t know, do you think psychic when you look at me?” I told her a little about what happened to me the past decade. She said, “you seem very intuitive…” uh huh, “what do you mean?” She said, “you’re easy to talk to… it’s easy to open up to you…” okay, that’s not intuitive. But I have the ability to make someone feel at ease, and I have a natural ability to connect with people. How that makes me intuitive, that’s the question, but there you go… there’s a vibe I give off that people can’t quite describe clearly… and it’s rooted in an innate sense of someone you can open up to… I resonate safety, trust, okay. As the lovely young woman, as I do not — remembering that a shaman believes I am a shaman — believe in hierarchy or judgement. I do not care that she’s a stripper. I wondered if people do… people do treat her differently, but she loves what she does. I do not care about “the mask.” Chest out. I do not care about the lifetime. The path you are on… I’m laughing at myself. I do not look above or below a human being but rather — in the eye. So there’s a little of my expansive quality, pulling up my pants… but it goes to show that she thought I was intuitive based on the natural flow… that someone can feel… not exactly intuitive. I’m not picking up on her. She FEELS that way.

This very kind directing professor, he sat beside the directing student for one section of “the work,” remembering this exchange, he’s moving his hands, guiding the student. And she tried to dig into my personal life, like, did you ever feel, on stage, basically, in front of the class, like you were totally alone… “yes.” Recently? Yes. And the guide is there, friendly gentle directing professor, to gently remind her that “she’s telling you something personal and then you switched to the character a little too fast…” and so, I felt my own defenses arise, because that time —the past few years — it’s a touch too close, but it allowed me to open up. This directing professor had a wonderful note for me — about the exchange. He asked me to let it go, I know my text, I know my backstory clearly, and now, just concentrate on her… take in the space… and I ended up coming out of that class feeling much clearer…in the end, he slipped in with a smile, if we could do it one more time, “there’s just one more layer…” which is, the genre. “In the end,” which was missing from the backstory, which confused me a little, “maybe she invests a bit in this dream… Cinder-fucking-rella… because it means the fairytale might be possible for her…

So I’m “intuitive” but no one understands what that word means, there’s something that feels intuitive about me, like I’m drawing someone out of the other… now, if I can learn how to embody the ROOM like that, that would be ideal… and look, I’m coming out of a very dark period, so just learning to breathe into the exchange, I feel as though I always try and LOOK at the person and respond to them… but when I was walking up to the church at Colmubia, a group of students were hanging outside, and they all greeted me so warmly, like, “it’s you, I loved your audition…loved you…” and you know, I know they’re students, but it felt HONEST. They genuinely told me, before I can even act, really, that they enjoyed what I did. Not to say I haven’t gotten compliments as a writer, but none of them felt manipulative, for one, they felt normal, and they just said they thought I was talented at that. We’re not in some YOU COULD BE mindset, you see. Not before I did anything either. I walked into church feeling… in my element. Secure. Excited. I think I did a good job, I feel as though I can communicate nuance, complexity, I have craft, and now I get to let it go and work on just being there… I still have nerves, but I felt as though I moved through those after doing the scene a couple of times — that basic block is gone. Now I have to keep learning how to read scripts, read between the lines, think genre, if I don’t know, I got solid ideas as to where I might find the answers…

My scene partner and I got into a dashing elevator, and we ended up in the church, and so we admired it, I took pictures of what was holy and banal, and I just got back. Personally, I got in touch with just how broken I felt, so it was healing to be handled with sensitvity and care, someone who was obviously just in the room and trying to be kind to me and asking questions, rather than directing me, so he has a style, though he did wonder, “what’s the space like,” of course, how are you responding to it? Right. I worked out the cobwebs. So I hope they’ll keep calling me in to do these classes because it was educational. I had a chance to keep letting go and be in the space. So, who knows, that’s really the truth… leaving her on the subway…

Who knows? I have no idea what I can do from here, and I know the unknown is triggering, except that’s really the truth. What I do know is, I’m going to create my own work, that makes sense, and she has an idea too, and I wonder if she’ll ever do it. I think that’s the main difference. Again, I don’t know what to say about people’s paths, but I have seen people who have made their own work… as a means of breaking into the industry. I’m older, stuff like that. And I’m just trying to make it as easy as humanly possible, it’s me — playing a call in psychic. I was starting to think about potential problesm, but maybe there’s a creative solution, as there always is. But I can feasibly call JOSE, and say, I need this, this, and that. That’s it. Film this. Please. I hope to do it again.

I gotta go get my two plants, I’m getting more plants. This woman is selling all her plants, and I only want to be with the plants. I wanted a big palm but it weights 30 pounds. I can’t gauge how heavy that is. I got two less heavy ones, and I hope I just bought two lamps from the Upper East Side, wink, nice. Floral. I liked these. 1950s.

I think I’m going to get a adhesive wallpaper for my desk nook, though these lamps might change which one, but I think electric blue against black, I don’t know yet. I’m just getting pieces I like and building over time. I thought a bright blue shade. I don’t know yet. But it fits with my graphic garden vibe. I’m just going to get more and more plants and I’ll begin to spread into the living room… the first thing I gotta do there before I hit these… bathrooms, you guys, whoever is reading, these bathrooms need TLC, I’m going to have to scrap the heat pole, I’m going to have to deal with these tiles. Something. But first I gotta put a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and it’s a three bedroom, so it’s a large apartment to paint as one person… and I have to tackle one piece at a time. I’ll repaint the hallway to my room and then I’ll do the living room and kitchen, and I’ll do the other hall… I’m just renting… maybe something will happen and I’ll move again, who knows, but if i’m going to stay here a while, I’ll spruce it up. It needs better curtains, mirrors to bounce light, it’s a “woman’s touch…” Anyway, I hope those look nice, I can’t tell sometimes.

The other thing I’m going to try and do once I get my money sorted, I hope I get these couple of jobs I’m applying for, I’ll go back to gymnastics… and try to master a move. I took some years off, so I have to work up to it again, but I’m going to apply the same thinking I’m utilizing in general, which is just simply getting over the fear. I’ll spend some time on a trampoline, getting air, working on my tuck, staying present, and I’ll work from there. flipping. Do a flying cartwheel. I’m going to go back when I can and try to reach a goal. Chelsea Piers, we meet again… with the ghost of Barbara Harris, (I’m laughing), this time.

I’m going to get a tack board so I can do what Sean, a psychic, told me to do… which was get notecards as he watched me struggle to structure anything, he just sat there and watched me look at notecards… “put it down…” but I’m going to try and put up the scenes I’ve figured out up until this point, for EPIC, and see if I can break ground that way. For the moment, I can tell you in advance, that no one is going to understand when it became a lie, and I assure you as I continue, as was my experience, you’re not going to know wtf is going on… it doesn’t look good. And so, do I describe the death match I was in… with anybody? I’m not sure, yet, since rage was an essential step for me. I don’t know what the structure is. But it would seem intuitive, yes, you see, to question the lie… except I think most people are going to go, “wait what?” But I’ll let that be. Graining away from that. It’s just, I feel everyone except anyone I know, unfortunately, is on my side…

So how to describe a break down of this nature? So this is what happened… I woke up… I would think that’s what I would do, unless I keep it tight on our relationship, since it’s a story that’s between me and Angelica Leibowitz, a real opponent, psychologically. She was a Boswer. A monster I had to defeat. I was going to collapse, really, and it was a simple question… that came to mind… which was, if this were my child, what would I do? Fuck the wise phrases, “he didn’t mean it maliciously…” now that one, that necessitated a whoopee cushion. A strange pose, maybe a little relief… funny face. I had to reject her.

So, this is about the investigation I launched, undercover of course, when I was nine. So, at the time, it was… learning, fascinated to strange logic behind a story like that, using my mother, a working hypothesis of mine at the time, as a mirror. She reflected the truth. So I don’t know for the purposes of this story…what I should do, because something has to change, and I’m trying to stay tight on the game, tight on her, I’m trying to understand her…and I don’t know, when we get to the spectacles of playing for my father, and she said she didn’t want to send me to foster care, you’ll see what I mean, how much truth was reflected. I don’t know what to do with it, I like the idea. Beverly Hills Tennis Club, this amazing Brazilian mother, and I’m investigating this scandal I was in… I might end up just needing to transition to — wait what? Was it true? Maybe that’s the end. Man, when he took me home, my father, to mirrors being smashed off the walls, and our conversation…ended on, “she was jealous?”

Please!

Of a four year old? Shocking. I heard my voice, I broke down, “I don’t have a room…” I didn’t have a room. What do you do with that? That feels slightly off topic, like maybe I should stay tight on the tennis club. I don’t know if my conceit is totally working for me, or it’s making my life more complicated. But I like the idea of my undercover investigation at the club, Angelica Leibowitz my opponent, savior, and a girl’s desire to figure out if this happened to her mother… trying to understand her. Maybe after the happy go lucky dances for this man at the door…I should…move into… was it true? Angelica, in a total shitshow, just decides it’s not true, because Dr. J is a liar. Okay. Based on nothing, in other words. That was shocking, coupled with her asking me at the club “Was it true, or it wasn’t true was it?” Casually. Truly. And as an adult, by the time I got there, the story… wasn’t the same.

“You weren’t sure?”

Which changes the DIMENSION of her play here.

And then, she said she wasn’t sure about how my mother handled me…

Waking up to all this? “Excuse me?” And I got some asshole talking to me about “realiable narrators?” NOBODY asked a question. It was a goddamn nightmare.

I have to figure it out. I just thought the location of the Beverly Hills Tennis Club + some kid investigating a sex scandal she was just in, as it was a situation that also included arranging schools… just the image of Dr. J’s limo… ascending the hill of Lycee Francaise de Los Angeles… absurd. And you see, why do I remember…a chocolate bar, for example, it’s okay, I can talk about it now without YEARS of being SHUT DOWN. Where am I? I remember a post it from my father with a chocolate bar in it, because of my report card… so why? Was I home again? Where did I sleep?

Shit like this.

And then, I remember waking up at some deranged Christmas party…where Dr. J is dying in a single bed, the one that was supposed to be mine, I didn’t see my father all evening. I didn’t even think of getting him… so I don’t know what to say exactly because — I have no idea what this was. In the car, when I interrogated my father, he didn’t mention that I was home sometimes. And presumably we’re putting on these spectacles… and then I go home a few times? Ever want to punch a woman in the face? Dr. J. Can someone explain? I cannot even look at a picture of my parents.

So what do I do… and the assholes in my life, excuse the language, who talked to ME as if they KNEW what this story was without ASKING a question. I could SMASH all their windows…in a cool way. Just blast them out — in one motion. And like, I feel better and better over here. What that MEANS? I do not know.

What would the EPIC guys say to me? Is it cool that some PI psychologist… decides to do this… I adjusted it to be more about…figuring her out. I conduct a psychological experiment on lying over the impending release of Mortal Kombat IV. You see something is wrong with my father… the question is WHAT? And thn I go into his phone call, the happy go lucky dances… the spectacle of all this to ENYA, of course, because I might as well make a statement. Let the Brazilian Jew sportstars show us what they can do… we will turn the foyer performance into something truly spectacle starring Jose Leibowitz. And from there, BREASTS at my door, she says, and I tell you of Dr. J’s appearances… the money runs out… I just don’t know what the switch is… because NOBODY, I believe, is going to know what to do…

He doesn’t APPEAR innocent.

So maybe I should get to a point… and figure out what to do… because who gives a shit about my undercover investigation? Imagine? if your child was investigating this? I mean, “are you interested in forensics?” Looking at myself. If it’s about psychology, then my break down makes sense, since, I get the feeling that everyone is following me… is it true? I just don’t know how to structure this, because they are dramatic writers… not to say it can’t work, but that’s a “good twist,” was it true? Except in this case, it’s a twist for me… do I let go of the investigation? Or just have some bridge scenes there. Like, start at the club… just go into it… and cut back where I need to…

I’m going to leave, get my plants, order my board, and just stare at notecards… I want to crack it. I feel like I can’t do this, and it’s driving me crazy. For the moment, I’m sticking to the club. I want to sell it as an EPIC kid, going undercover. I just don’t know if I’m supposed to stay at the club… channel rage… the love songs…

Just picturing a racket smacking the ball to the guitars in Power of Love. That song cued my exit. Whenever you reach for me, fists, I’m gonna do all that I can… and we end at the best party on earth, somehow… with Brazilian Jews, the Jews in attendance—amazed. They were the most moved by what they were seeing, this was important, and they didn’t even know why I was there.

As I go along, I imagine what needs to go, will go, and I’ll figure out how to do it language wise… I guess, because my experience at one point, it was practically shamanic, in that, the realization I had that he didn’t KNOW what was being said, you see, it kept disappearing as a thread… wait! My whole world collapsed. Hanging onto dish soap, in my mind, in their kitchen. Needing to rapid fire through “she said he said, it happened!” I went through a whole event. Why am I home? It was horrific.

So maybe I’ll break form… somewhere in there… and right now, the lambada, it’s pretty central, as sex even became good, imagine? And they were Jewish, too, so what do you do…with what can really happen to a person? And the lambada was born from oppression, so it’s a dance of liberation. I’ll keep figuring it out.