It’s all gone a bit strange. I’m much to poetic for my own good, and for your enjoyment I think, so rather than write the 20 or 30 different rambling emotional posts about each one of the colors of my conflicting heart full of shades, and tints, I am going to try my hand at “blogging” and summarize, with links (where appropriate) and include music, news, medical advice, thoughts, emotion and sex too. Hotness. Read on…
The server appears to be fine after my mad rush of repair and diplomacy. I actually think the culprit is the size of my database, and the activity here on the server. Nothing to do about that but clap my hands and say yeah.
Yeah
So I’ve been doing something called [removed by my doctor's request.] I was, as you would imagine, quite skeptical at first. But I gotta say that this process is amazing. It’s not typical therapy, where I whine about my feelings at $90 an hour on a couch somewhere. There are no meds, and no bullshit. My doctor is an elderly woman with a thick german accent who feels that the artistic temperament is “bullshit.” In that she believes that we can have both order, and creativity. There is no reason in the world why we have to choose.
Frankly, this last year (or six) have been so goddamned hard on me that my heart is worn out, and I can’t really deny that my behavior is self destructive. Doesn’t matter if I’m talking about work, money, friends, politics, repairing the past, paying my debts, or the truest, deepest love I’ve ever felt in my life. Makes no difference. I’m feeling free, and happy. Things are in motion and I’m serious about the things I am doing, but I am also broken, hopeless, and somehow detached from the reality of my situation. You just can’t love someone who isn’t prepared to love you. You just can’t work 120 hours a week (usually more) on things which don’t pay your bills. You can’t live on love and hope. But somehow, to my way of thinking (subconscious or otherwise) I seem to believe that this kind of love is what I deserve… no hands on my face, no lips to kiss, no words exchanged… and this kind of work is what I deserve… little praise for my effort, no pay for my labor… and most of all that ultimately I’m just nothing, no one, and I should just leap off a bridge. ‘Cause everything I feel is a distortion, and there are no echos in this valley.
Needless to say, it’s about fucking time i took the opportunity to check some of this stuff out, and run it past a doctor, see what can be done, and how I might be able to pick up the pieces of my life and find someone who actually wants to put their hands on me, look into my eyes, and love me. Find some work, or a process of working which pays off in a measure I can sustain myself on. Find some warmth from this cold, and dependent path I am starving to death on.
So far I am blown away. Way away.
Music is flowing out of me like crazy. I learned a long time ago that if you don’t create every day then it gets stuck, and it comes out wrong, or bad. Like in a relationship that’s over, or broken, and you stay up all night talking about talking, fighting, and having the same conversation over and over again… this is the ego’s best replacement for sex. It’s a bad trade if you ask me, and I’m never gonna go for that exchange again.
I’m not saying that if you have a lot of sex you aren’t ever going to have an argument. That’s silly. Even the best and most thoughtful of people sweep things under the rug. We want to please our partners, we want to be agreeable, until we can’t be anymore. Sex, at least for me, is such an intimate and beautiful form of communication that it is also a fantastic measure of the relationship. Personally, I have changed deeply over the last 20 years, and I no longer have any interest in casual sex, or sex for sport, or ego validation. I am far too well versed at not having any sex at all. Maybe this is a byproduct of this tantric passage, but I would rather go without, and honor my love, and my heart’s truth (of course working on myself and learning more about how i divert my issues and ambitions into instant gratification and conquest) rather than “get some.” Not interested. Sorry love. I want to be met, and nothing else will do. Maybe it will never happen. Dunnoe. In my present state of mind and heart, I’m not sure I care.
So I am working every day, writing, composing, remixing, looking for work to do, photographing, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, and going out into the world. Since last week’s complete freak out the trouble on this server has been a gift in many ways. I’m walking nearly 10 miles a day, thin again, and feeling great about my body, and my appearance. I could use a little more hair on my head, and a bit less on my back, but that’s life for a middle aged man who will probably never really grow up all the way.
But you never know… I’m a very late bloomer. So anything is possible. I’ve got faith, and hope, and willingness. The rest, I’m glad to say, is up to the universe.
5 Comments
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Sunshine, you rock! I need to find someone in L.A. for emdr therapy. Good for you. The last “therapist” I had was a truly brilliant con-man who was more without boundries, and had more insanity with his finances and sexual dynamics than I do (or did) in spades. It was like having all my issues reflected back to me in a fun house mirror.
I got out - but not before my association with me shattered one 20 year business relationship (when he tried to attach himself as a consultant when I wrote a proposal for a job I never wanted to begin with, so out of it I was) and a friendship when I tried to inform the woman whose house he had moved into like a some kind of hermit crab, and who had really fallen under a cult like spell with the guy that she was a victim of the “Long Con”.
Nevertheless, older, wiser, and happier having figured it all out before more damage was done, I feel hopeful and believe me I know what you mean about being a late bloomer.
But this year seems so full of possibility and adventure, love, joy, and connection that it’s hard not to move forward.
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Interesting that you’re trying EMDR. That’s why I come into downtown SF on some Mondays. My coach incorporates EMDR into our sessions. I find that it helps neutralize reactionary charges, leaving me very clear-headed. The revealed truth isn’t any more convenient than before the EMDR, but there is some peace of mind that comes from discharging the excess static.
You’re such a beautiful and talented man. Your early years were dark, and you’ve learned so much. Because of that, you’ve also served as a compassionate inspiration to many. You always will. And now there is a new level awaiting you. More fertile ground for you to do your best creative work. Love in abundance. May your path be clear and deeply satisfying.
I believe in you. Looking forward to your next evolution and hope that you will never stop writing poetically here. I love your writing. Expand upon it. It’s the expression of your unique viewpoint and the intimicy with which you write that makes you a great writer.
The very thought of you dispensing blog-style summaries of “medical advice” and appropriate links to the full-body fungal disease search engines is obscene. If you feel that you *must* shake up your repertoire, at least continue to write a good short-story version for us. Oh, how I do love your short stories. : )
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I ditto Jaya on all the above!
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The universe will provide.
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Thank you.
I realize that I’ve been in a very strange space for a while now. Holding my breath, laughing, crying a lot. Acceptance comes slowly, and not without my own reaction. It’s hard to accept and carry on. Very hard for me.
I don’t like to write when I am flooded with emotion. I prefer to write when I am clear, and calm. So that I can either retell the story from the pictures I see in my head, or work out the issue I am wrestling with. I never write at people, or ideas, or themes. To me, fiction or even my diatribes, are as honest and pure as I can make them. I also am generally much more creative when I have a muse, or a dialog at the very least. Presently my muse is amusing herself… and I am making music, and trying to pick up the pieces of my life.
I have some footwork to do before I can scribble out another tale for you. More stories will come. In time. I trust that.