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Me in the most matter of fact voice possible: “I WILL shank you with my toothbrush”
Jay: “..but you haven’t sharpened it yet”
Me still rather blasé: “well, it will hurt more this way.”
Jay: “ with that end?” *pointing at the bristles*
Me: *shrug* “So I can brush my teeth with your gore.”
The real reason I put up with my mind numbingly boring job: I can joke with my boss plus I get away with SO very much…We have fun. Besides, I’ve already trained my coworkers to be scared of me. Which is always good, right?
Good thing I go to work about an hour and fifteen before I'm technically late. It's going to be a LONG day.
Gypsy is fueled by the desire to infuse creativity and balance into every aspect of her life. The idea of “Balance, unity and control in mind, body and spirit.” constantly drives her and keeps her grounded. Always the Artist; Gypsy sees beauty in everything she looks at and is always on the look out for how to leave her mark on the world. She values communication, confidence honesty and creativity and tries to surround herself with the kind of people that have these types of qualities.Gypsy is the one that people always seem to come to for a listening ear and an honest and objective perspective. She enjoys witty language and silly antics and has a quirky sense of humor with a fondness for satire and cynicism. Gypsy tends to be rather shy at first but what awaits the person she’s becoming acquainted with is quite an exotic charisma and playful spirit. She loves a variety of different things, indulges in many unique hobbies, loves to explore and is rarely caught without her hula hoop or her favorite set of sock poi (or two!). She loves nature, making chainmail, painting, taking photos and doing anything creative and/or artistic. She is the founder of an amazing organization called Creative Motion that is centered around motion, dance, expression and the joy of skill toys.
Ok, ok! It’s time to come out of the Techno-closet. I’m a Hippie Raver type—there, I said it! You all knew I was a Gothic Hippie Artist….I’m erm…broadening my horizons. Or something.
Fine…whatever. Just don’t tell Voltaire.
[aside:] Don’t worry dearest gothic industrial music…such as Cruxshadows, Zoromancer, Das Ich and the others! I have a big heart and could never stop loving you my sweet. It’s not cheating—I love you both. She means nothing to me, we’re just good friends. *holds up her rivet-head equivalent of the Boy Scout oath (stomp?) “Goth’s Honor!”*
Stomping boots in UV lights? Black-light reactive hair falls? I can probably work something out. Look out…Gypsy-Hybrid! LA scene asks—I’m exploring my cyber-goth tendencies. Or something–My rivets find out and I’m shoe-goo. Oh dear, maybe I should rethink---
No worries, though. It’s not like I’m trading in my leather corset and spikes for candy beads and P.L.U.R. *shudder*
I’m a gypsy…I’m nomadic…what’s wrong with it?
Oh geeze *bites nails* I’m going to catch so much flack. *sighs* but I can’t help it---
[WARNING: read this with as much, if not more, irony and light heartedness as it was written with. I’ve run with the Anit-PLUR crowd for so long that I’m never going to hear the end. Most that know me well will probably understand the irony and silliness in this. I mean it, though. It’s not that I want to get all PLURry or anything…actually the only thing that bothers me is the whole I’m-drugged-out-of-my-skull-so-much-so-that-we-mask-our-one-dementional-juvinile-behavior-with-a-bright-fluffy-façade-and-bubble-over-with-cutsie-fake-flowery-ooze. Otherwise…I’m a fan. Just like in every group of people…they’re a certain “kind” of person that makes the gypsy fight homicidal tendencies. Anyway….yay techno! Let’s dance!]
There...finally the tears of release...oh...nevermind. I just can't quite cry. I feel alone...worthless...and distraught...like there is no hope, love is lost and my firelight has gone out. What else is there?
I'm suddenly scared of the darkness....the darkness that lurks in the shadows of my mind. Ugg...so melodramatic...I just feel like.."what's the point"
*lost my hope, love and firelight*
We’re going on week three and I’m still not in the place. No worries, not for much longer. I’ve made other arrangements. I’m moving to the new place Thursday, and I’m lucking out with an amazing deal. But…if you’re interested in the saga, if follows….
When last we left our heroine she was bravely enduring the backyard studio anxiously awaiting the completion of her humble castle-fortress….yeah, she’s still there. After shuffling things around, putting up a few pieces of mutilated sheet rock, laying a few square feet of tile on an uneven floor, and moving the refrigerator out of the studio where I am staying and into the place to “measure” with my food still in it and leaving it unplugged….Alan, the landlord, left town. Supposedly, to work on another job with a couple of guys abandoned with orders to finish up what was left. They walked off the site with his tools. My guess is that he hadn’t paid them so they took out their wages in his tools. That was the 28th. The place hasn’t been touched since.
Friday, a week after the mesmerizing vanishing tool act and day 14 roughing it in the studio behind the house, I came “home” before heading to east Texas to spend the weekend with Monkey and his family (Hearts for them, btw) to take care of a few things. What do I find but a strange man parked in the drive way. He looks rather thick and burly. Someone you wouldn’t really want to make angry in a dark alleyway. He doesn’t look happy. The plot thickens.
The large scary, scowly man is Joey, the OWNER of the house that Alan is ripping to shreds and “renovating” (read “destroying”) without permission. He’s furious. The place is TRASHED and Alan hasn’t paid him rent since July. Joey filed for eviction on Alan Yesterday.
I have found a cozy little apartment that I’m moving into Thursday and Friday after work ( talk about a weekend…what with MMM fest on Saturday. Yikes). Today I started investigating what it will take, if I need to resort to legal action, to get my money back from Alan. It’s all been a very trying, aggravating, and absolutely ridiculous experience but I’m taking a few well earned lessons from it and doing my best to move on with as little damage as possible. If Alan cooperates I’ll only be out one stolen extension cord, one fridge full of spoiled food, and the cost of wasted time and gas. At least it makes an interesting story. I need to write down the story of my past year and a half and recoup my losses with the reapings of a best seller—but who has the time. This heroine needs a vacation.
Anyway…I’ll keep you all up to date as best I can as the saga unfolds.
I think I'll watch Garrett's scales of poi video again, since he left it here. When I watched it with him before I wasn't watching very cloesly. I was taping a hoop. I'd like some exercises to work on and practice to help me.
Today's favorite (so far...it's early):
C= the woman that works next to me in my department
J = my boss
C - Talking about a spreadsheet or something she's working on and isn't exactly mastering: "I still can't get it the way I want it. I want to sort by [this, this and that] and then use all three collumns to search...."
J - "Yeah and I want to ride a unicorn to work...."
I couldn't help myself I just bursted out laughing. I got this mental image of him sitting in traffic on a unicorn looking around with this dopey look on his face...or even more fun, road rage on a unicorn...I think this job is makin' me a little loopy.
It’s me…only I look much more beautiful lying there than I ever have looking back from the mirror. It’s my funeral. I trail my fingers over the eternally sleeping featuers of my face. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of my own dead body. I look so peaceful. Then, without really thinking about what I’m doing I climb into the casket and lay down with my corpse. I curl up to her and hug her—trying to melt into her—to rejoin two halves of hopelessly broken whole. As my living skin touches the cool flesh of my dead self an overwhelming sense of loneliness washes over me and I shudder. I begin to cry…I cry tears of pain and loss…mourning and distress…despair and confusion…but more than anything I feel a sense of loneliness that makes me sob myself to sleep.
I jolt awake to the feeling of movement. I feel myself being drawn downward and when I open my eyes I see the faintest outline of the inside of the coffin. I’m alone and trapped. Franticly I claw at the inner lining and bang on top of the casket. I hear voices above me, chatting idly to one another…they seem oblivious to my cries. I hear the scattered thuds of what can only be dirt landing on the top of the casket. …somewhere around here is about where I start to wake up…yesterday, however I don’t think I would have woken up then if it wasn’t for Garrett nudging me awake stubborn kiss, soft caresses and the purr of “shhh, baby, you’re dreaming, it’s ok, wake up”.
No wonder I’ve been feeling like a zombie lately. (I’m not sure if the pun was intended)
I just feel really lonely…I don’t know if the dream is a response to the feeling…or if the feeling is a response to the dream. I also wish I knew what all of the rest of it meant.
He spun forward circles at his sides and had me walk up to him. The fire sung to us with the most beautiful voice, a song given to them by each revolution of the poi. He held out his hands so that I could place mine over them and feel the movement of the circles. We were in sync; both of us together and one with the fire. He pressed even closer to me, had me close my eyes and then kissed me gently. He slid his hands away and when I opened my eyes I was spinning the fire. I wasn't scared or nervous...I had fallen into somewhere else...someplace within myself ....A further experience of "sinking into skin" as I tend to say about that sort of feeling. Then on top of that there was this other feeling...It crept over me with a sort of warmth and light that filled every part of me...strengthening me and grounding me...it wound and coiled in all of the darker places of my soul...washed over me like a raging river. Then finally it wrapped itself protectively around my heart and settled in....it was an amazing experience...I think they call it falling in love.
I doubt I looked as graceful as the fire felt but that will come with time. Monkey said I looked good with the fire…it FELT good.
Anyway...I figure...a while back I shared my frustrations about wanting to burn...now that I’ve gained the experience...I thought I'd take those that care to follow on the journey with me. There is no way I could completely put into words everything that I felt and experienced in those few moments while I moved with the fire but I have a feeling that many if not most of you know what I’m talking about. I knew I’d feel this way---if the passion I had for the fire before I got to hold it myself was any indication—but actually FEELING it….is beyond words to describe.
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