Babble Scrabble.

Today is a cluster fuck of bubbling and babbling nonsense. If you are looking for literary genius and related themes, move on. Not today.

I feel like I have no ownership over my own space and time and everyone seems to own a piece of me, so I wanted to see what this all adds up to in the grand scheme of things.

If I was devoid one attribute, who would leave? What would it take to cause a burst of disinterest? People are so easily defined and categorized by one attribute or another, what would mine be? What, if added to my profile, would propel me past mediocrity into the next realm? Is it adding something or ultimately ridding myself of something; someone?

Some times... I think the ultimate power is immortality. People always think you're great once you're gone... the only problem is... you don't get to dance in your own success once you're gone after everyone has caught on to your greatness. It's like you have to have a disease or something beyond your control that propels you into greatness... only now, you're stuck with disease to contend with while you grow your successes. Ughk, life...

Things I have noticed today...

I hold my breath a lot. I'm often walking past people who seem sick or smell and perhaps, I just feel like if I hold my breath, I won't be affected by them. Being a singer, my senses are really sensitive... My ears cannot tolerate sounds too loud or too piercing. I can detect tones people will usually drown out and they cripple me. The same way smells can make my throat close up. People brag to me all the time how good they smell... All I detect is an over-abundance of perfume. I can taste it like Clorox...and it impairs my breathing. People with half a bottle of perfume can hug me and I can smell them on me for days and I can't sing or speak properly.... The best-smelling people don't have to douse themselves in cologne. I miss loving the way people smell. I miss smelling pheromones on a person. All people smell like now is chemicals. I have been taught to keep people at bay and now I detest the smells of others. Now, I crave silence and smell-less places where I can sit without stimulation. Sometimes, I feel like I am stuck in a bubble of other people's choices; cigarettes, perfumes they like to wear, foods they crave: steaming, loud piles of trough food, music they like and play loud enough to impose on others... The more I assess, the more I feel like a recluse. I want so badly to have a turtle shell that I can retreat into as needed that drowns out the rest of the world.

Some people imagine Heaven is a giant land of unicorn dust where re-connection with previously mortal souls takes place. I imagine it's a still, cool place... quiet and airless with room enough to reflect on the life once lived and to have time to decompress and ponder which life to bounce into next. I think about the people famously lost and if there was a light switch that suddenly flicked on and then off and they were in a different realm... or if everything just goes black and you simply cease to exist, except in the minds of others... but if you do not exist to feel their loss, does it really exist at all? Their grief? People process their grief so variantly. Some people broadcast it loudly, share it on FaceBook and tag people, call people out... This expression does little to salve the hurt from whence it came. I only think about the utter disappointment my kids would have in me. I don't think they'd miss me as much as they would only process the ultimate act of death. They wouldn't see how hard I worked or how much I loved them. It's the way people become associated with their diseases... Suddenly, she isn't Mary... she's 'the woman with cancer'... I'd be the mom who died. Might as well stay and remain the one who got away, the girl with the voice who shoulda coulda never did... the mom who was never there (she was working), the wife who was never emotionally or physically present (she was working, she wanted out, she got stuck in samsara)...

Someone asked me recently to communicate to them as I do to my other friends. I realized how shallow my communications truly are. I speak about her impending baby with her... I speak about the band and bookings with him. I talk about the kids with them. I speak about his problems, his insecurities, his hopes and his philanthropic endeavors with that guy. I speak about patients with doc. Sometimes, we even talk about colleagues, but it's all centered around work. With those folks, we talk about whatever is 'trending' on FaceBook... And with her, we talk about everyone else's perceptions and expectations and how to assimilate more to be more like them. But it's always the same conversations. And nothing is all-encompassing. Nothing deviates far from the usual pre-prescribed banter. Unless someone dies... and then we all talk about it... Well, until it doesn't matter any more, and then it's back to them, or this or that...or that thing. So, communicating has become an artless expression of prefabricated words for the sake of un-stagnating the shallow waters in which we all swim. Adding someone to the communique queue seems like more senseless babble than its worth.

I dislike when people ask me to just talk. It's demanding of me to formulate thoughts and feelings I am being told to relay inorganically and it becomes one more chore.... one more pointless attempt at communicating where I end up over explaining my intentions behind the words we must use to convey feelings and themes already felt and expressed before that could never quite sum up the unusual dialogue in my inner being. My communication style doesn't translate to English well. I'm caught in a Samsara (which makes sense that this is my name)... over and over again, the process of communicating, dying, eating, existing, perishing...coming up for the same gulps of canned air with promises that something will be different soon... and it never is...disappointment, hope, inflate, deflate, inhale, exhale, sigh.

So, we live out the promises we made to others, to our kids... and we keep up the facade and tell them they should keep trying and smiling so maybe they have a better shot at it... but in essence, we're all stuck. We are living for someone's expectations. We are living at the hands of someone bigger than us who says we got to live the way society prescribes. "If you can't love him, you'll never love again. If you don't give towards this endeavor, you will never receive again. If you said you liked her once, then you owe her your every glance, thereafter".

Samsara... stuck. So much to say and no one here to hear... Everyone is listening and no one is hearing and no one will take responsibility for the pieces of they are forcing to decay.

No one tries. No one keeps their promises. Everyone hovers from their own needs, their own curiosities, but no one comes through.

Waiter, waiter... wait, I need a refill... ??  ??

I'm the proverbial play dough machine pumping out fun but no one fills me back up and they hit me to get out every last drop and kick me for not working right, but no one fills me back up. People give only to get back...well, keep your condiments of compliments, I don't want to owe you a squirt. Everyone has their hands all over the thing that's left untouched.... This under armor has guarded away anything good from penetrating me and reminding me that I am someone to be loved and provoked to love in return and yet, not.

Illness is so easily defined and classified by biological and psychological dissimilarities and dis-assimilation from the norm. Prescribe for it, say a prayer for it, lock it up and tie the arms behind the back and mind the stab wounds as you cast it out to padded cells so no further harm can be inflicted upon it... Keep it there until she has to play nice and normal and unaffected so she can be released back into the fray of shit and soulless souls that reap the rewards from regurgitating the madness. Don't deviate. Don't NOT assimilate. Spin in the same circles of sadness with a smile so they rehire your rewired ways and pay you nothing for nothing.

I'm losing my mind, peace by piece...