It’s just, these men who came into my life, why they had a need to help, I don’t know. Not everyone is like that. They were instruments or gears that turned in a world that brought about my end. As was the most painful, there were wild stories, beliefs, and moves made that weren’t exactly aligned consciously. Why I would need to live for free at thirty, is weird, why that would be necessary to write. I read that Margot Robbie’s mother — her mother — took out a second mortage so she could pursue acting, or concentrate on it, however, she might not have had the family problems I had, and it just didn’t work. Not to say that I can’t be a writer, it’s just that I think life has more range, it was an odd set of characters around me who had — the guru should have known — a negative impact on me. But of course, he has no responsiblity, he’s just THERE, innocent, like my father was, like my mother was — no responsiblity, it was always mine, solely. And he thinks this is going to help me. His help. His Wizard of OZ presence.
There was nothing positive about that relationship. Nothing. I lost myself completely. This man had no right. No right to tell me who I was, what my life meant to me, literally ZERO — right. I let him, evidently. I wasn’t fed as a child, cared for properly.
I went down a tangent again.
Anyway, life goes on. I just feel the weight of my choices and the city in ruins… not understanding at all what the hell I was doing, because why was manifestation my problem? I didn’t exactly have that problem. Some film producer in TURKEY heard it, the story, and said, hm, wanna try conceiving a movie about it? Was it that hard? I swear, that experience in Turkey was divine, God smiled upon me, like, carried me randomly across a bridge — sit down and watch how this man acts around this story. He’s not getting into my personal life. He’s handing me a movie bible. I wasn’t ASKING for help, you see?
It was not welcomed. I was not a toy. I was not this guru’s patient, pupil, friend. So — I got upset again, trying to clear my head, trying to understand why that childhood story of mine became a focal point, not so much with the slytherin, but why am I there? When I came from a background that would suggest that you shouldn’t be casual with me, nor that, I should get too close with a problematic person, no? Not the time. Giving me drugs… I made my choices, of course, but I wasn’t aware —
Anyway, I’m off again, to start over, I mourn the direction I took, one that stripped me of my personality, and what was wrong with it? What was wrong with any of it? Would YOU like to have someone feeling around your INSIDES the second you meet them? Is that how YOU live, guru? I hate this man. That was not evolved, it was juvenile.
So does the future write the past? Am I supposed to AIM to be famous in some capacity? I could be a success, big whoop. Anyway, I hope that’s the case, now that it’s my problem. I have no money. I have a clearer head, I never really had a problem with HOW it works, doesn’t, I didn’t understand this man’s obsessions. I didn’t understand why I had to become “the one.” Drove me nuts. Here goes my forties. I’ll figure it out. I had money. I didn’t exactly come from unfortunate circumstances… I didn’t exactly need a community, not one like that. So my stupid throat still hurts, and it’s bothering me, the strep. But at least, on stage, there’s a very nonattached, clean relationship. There’s a group of people, and I’m finally on a stage, which has made clear a LINE, between the public and private worlds. Stay away. I’m telling you, so I still have to clear my head of ridiculous channeled suggestions of connecting to some future audience, of being PULLED by some UNREAL idea. The future. That brought me nowhere. But I am here. I don’t know what to say.
I’m working on a piece for EPIC right now, as I’m still figuring out the book, but it’s going well, and I feel like I might be able to tackle a story of it. Again, sometimes, I just don’t feel like the best writer, not to say I’m bad, but I don’t always feel like this was the strongest card I could have played… and what do you do? When you’re cast out to sea, in the pitch black, like you don’t know where you’re going, though I keep coming back to a focus— of where I’d like to be. It’s not waiting tables, exactly, so again, I have to rebuild. Please don’t tell someone to spend their IRA, okay? Or speak about money as if it’s not REAL, who gives a shit if you can meditate more money into existence? Absurd. I told my friend — who introduced me to this guru— and I just don’t give a shit. My anger is primal. What she does with it, what that does, not my problem. So — I’m off, to memorize menu descriptions, and to keep pushing, keep pushing, I’ve come this far… with this… at times hilarious story…where I was in a sex scandal, became psychic, I mean. But for the moment, with EPIC, I’m just going to concentrate on a tight slice, where I question everything I thought I knew… and I’ll end at the lambada party. That makes the most sense.