So, that's all well and good, my current philosophy.  How it shapes my material lowercase-r reality?  Much less idealistic.  Matter is hard to shove around.  Ideas fly hard and fast, but the material plane is stodgy and slow moving.  Recognizing where the pain is coming from, where the stress is originating, that's what needed to be done. I had to write it all out.  It came from that no-mind deep inside me, and even reading it over, I can't quite explain it.  I know.  Now I can apply it to this plane of existence, and start shaping my life a little better.  Till yesterday, I was sinking.  I may not be quite swimming, but at least I've stopped panicking enough to look around and figure shit out.

Something else that matters- I didn't choose this path.  My reality is killing my idols, shredding my safety nets, and pushing me forward.  It's ugly, stressful, messy.  Like giving birth.  I didn't enter into this consciously.  It just is.  Once I recognize it and attempt to explain it, now I can figure out this whole new mindset.

Irv has a wonderfully simple third person perspective.  He shrugs.  He reminds me that as long as he's known me, I've done things like this.  Moving on and up.  He says "you're always collecting new ideas and experiences, and using them to better yourself, how is this any different?"  It isn't.  Just, my navigational tools must come from inside. I can't, right now, rely on other's teachings, or symbols, or whatever, to get me through. There is no magic pill.  I can find comfort in the old terminology and systems, sure, but I can't rely on it.

Luiz, as predicted, is terrified.  He read half of Principia Discordia and determined that it was bullshit.  That's ok, like I keep telling him, it's not for him.  Unfortunately, in reading yesterday's whole explosion, he caught some terminology he disagreed with and kept using the term "bullshit" in relation to my writing.  That discordia is bullshit, or that now all of a sudden I think all the old teachings are bullshit.

That's something he really doesn't get, about me.  I have never looked back and been embarrassed at my path. Same with writing. I look down through the years at writing even as far back as 20 years ago. Spiritual beliefs  as far as I can remember, and I never say "That's such a mess! I am not the person I WAS back then!"  Which is more his style of continuously reinventing himself.  I just add.

καλλίστῃ

Deep in my blackest center heart, I'm an atheist.  When Chris lumped me into his "theist" friends like Pike or Luiz, I blanched.  Lie down with dogmas, get fleas, I guess.  I embrace the philosophy of Discordianism and to a minor extent Thelema (although that's just discordianism with a rulebook, which is the antithesis of discordianism, really) because I know I am the god of my own world.  I control my reality, and I accept the consequences, as well as the benefits of every scrap of it.  There is no divine Other.  There is only Me.  When I was a child toying with folk magic, I knew instinctually that I  had control over the outcome.  When those love spells failed, even at age 13, I knew why.  I have never thrown up my  hands at any part of my life and wailed "WHY" or holyfuck the worst ever "WHY ME".  That mentality infuriates me.  So, I embrace the concept, because of everything I've learned so far, those hit the closest to my own philosophy.  Not religion.  Not "spirituality".  Philosophy.

A lot happened today.  A lot of soul bearing problem-solving demon killing.  Demon, because it's a short word for "the evil voice that comes from the ugliest recesses of my own mind and works to undermine every shred of success in my life"  so, we'll use demon, even though it has many bullshit contexts.  One thing Luiz said, was "How's that discordian thing working out for you?"  I love him, but he can't see three feet in front of his face, so to speak.

I explained it to him like this:

Every "system" I have ever learned, every "religion" has only gotten me so far.  Born Catholic I learned that there was some concept of divinity, and so on down my long line of tried and discarded religions, from Satanism to science, from witchcraft to Buddhism.  Each system has gotten me a little further with sorting myself out, my moral codes, how I explain existence, but nothing has ever taken me there.  If I have to explain what there means, then the whole rest of this body of writing won't make any sense, so I'll let it lie.  Discord strips all the fences away. All the symbols and systems and circles.  No more alphabets, no more numbers, no more giving names to things.  Everything about existence becomes a tremendous ocean.  Do I have the strength to drink it down, every salty drop?  Or will I drown?  That's life's ultimate test.  I've tossed aside all the systems.

He's having a hard time digesting it, in fact, he won't even pick up the apple.  He's afraid of the wellspring of chaos.  I am too, honestly.

The cards don't work for me anymore.  I can read with precision for anyone else, but for me they're so many pebbles on a blank field.  I've been lugging my experiences with religions and all their trappings like some kind of cherished resume, maintained and curated.  I've been clinging to my herbs, runes, stones, semantics, symbols, god names, demon names, angel names, candles, color associations....blah...I clung to all that like a security blanket.  Nothing has gotten me past the ladder.

I have been repeating so glibly, and with rote memorization my method for reading tarot. Say it with me now, kiddies, "The books, numbers, systems to read, the symbolism will only get you up so high, like a very good ladder.  When you take that leap of faith into the things that aren't outlined, when you read the things that aren't shown on the card, that's when you're really reading the tarot.  When you can step off the ladder and fly, then you're doing something."  Of course you're making progress, as you ascend the ladder! Everyone but everyone needs to climb a little, even the most famous fables, like Jesus and Buddha, had to hurt a little, and learn some shit.  I can say very truthfully, "Gosh, Lisa, you have come soooo far, from those old days of being Catholic."  Shit, when I considered myself a satanist, I could say that very same thing.  It's true, all true!  But not all of the truth.

Even Crowley, my go to-lunatic, a guy who I think may have got it-really got it, could only write about it using bucketfuls of artless bullshit.  His own ego couldn't let this knowledge go, he had to write prolifically of it at any chance, and by doing so, naming it, literally, and separating it from his true self.  He named it "Aiwass".  I blame drugs. By doing so, he just built another step on a well crafted ladder, for seekers.  A very VERY good step, filled with things to contemplate, and "hmmmm" about and theorize, and postulate.  Numbers to explain the whole UNIVERSE.  Secret societies, degrees, titles, funny clothes, and the backing of old white men that call themselves "magicians" throughout the centuries.  Hell..he even named the very ladder of which I speak. (Choronozon) That's so fucking meta!  Crowley's god-self must be CRACKING THE FUCK UP right now.  Oh Discordia, what a hoot!  I suppose my own ego needs to write, too, although I won't blow through my family fortune to become published.

The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life was climb that ladder, then kick it aside.  I've been perching at the tippy top, for awhile. To embrace discord is to dive into that ocean.  That "ocean" of which I speak is my true mother, father, self, children, my true existence, my reality. The place from which I was born, and the place I'll return to to be born again.  Ocean is the only word.  A great infinite, scary, bitter soup of the reality, that I, God, have created.  Not reality, but The Reality.  I throw aside all the systems! I embrace chaos! Only then will I know my true limits! Only then will I have known temptation!  Do I drown in that wellspring ocean of chaos?  Or do I drink it and allow it to become part of me?  Can I channel it, and own it?  Do I float along keeping my head above water?  Only without my life raft of "religion" can I know!

So, yeah.  Religion. Ick.

I wish Blogger didn't make me title every post.

I've been writing a lot about surface annoyances. I think it's because I need a reason to get near this window  to write, but when I set fingers to keyboard, I chicken the fuck out.

I'm splashing in a wading pool floating in an ocean.

Dots of thoughts

• I love how the most deeply emotionally damaged people I know are the ones that think that they're absolutely normal, and everyone else around them is fucked up.  It seems like the further down the spectrum of fucked up, we get, the deeper the inverse.  It takes a really nuts and bolts totally sane and rational person to admit that they're fucked up.
• I'm so into this Henry Miller book.  Crazy Cock.  It doesn't hurt that we went to Webster Hall this past week, which used to be in the same neighborhood. I was checking out old pictures from the place, of drag shows in the 20s.  Enchanting. I feel like I visited a slice of history.
• Chris loaned me a book, Earth Abides, and I'm also quite psyched about reading it.  He's mostly into sci fi, so at first, I was like "ookaaay friend, I'll read this because you want me to..." but it's not sci fi, and it's awesome, and it's sitting on my nightstand waiting for me right now.  I love when I have good reading planned for months ahead. (Not that I dislike any genre, per se, but I do have things I seek out, and I go through "moods" when I read stuff.")
• Getting nervouser about the review "mandatory meeting" with Jeff on Friday.  My nose was a little stuffy this morning, because I think Bella was sprawled on my face last night, and I was paranoid that I couldn't smell a few jars.
• Less nervous about the foot thing.  Irv has been way better, he's been booking things for us to do all during the month of November, stuff that's going to be epic, like the Anthrax show, the Manowar show, and Asbury's beerfest.  I feel like when I have that to look forward to, I can look past the actual surgery and look forward to good things to come after.  The lollipop always DID help after the doctor visit.  Well, less nervous till I think about it directly, then the nightsweats start again.
• Still not talking to my mother.  She keeps poking me on Facebook, for whatever reason. I poke her back.  Not angry, just for a total loss of words, I don't breach.  I sort of brought it up in a sweeping note to my dad, but he didn't even acknowledge that part of the note, so whatever.  
• Luiz's computer is finally back, and after a day of futzing with it, fixed, so maybe he'll be human again.   Woops.  The machine just died as I typed that.  Back to being a dick.  
• I love hanging out with Michele.  Even a simple day of Red Bank, cupcakes and tacos, and I feel soulfully refreshed.
• The weekend was equally pleasing, though way more chaotic.  I did have some serious anxieties at Leah's party.  Too many people packed into a room. I felt trapped, because I couldn't suavely get up, without sticking my ass in someone's face, or wobbling into someone's little plate of appetizers.  Then I had my usual "No one wants to talk to the sweating fatty on the edge of the couch, everyone's staring at me, and I am so out of place here" set of thoughts/feelings.  I got over my stupid self and managed to have an alright time, even though I really was woefully out of place, and no one really did talk to me, except the party rep, and she was cool as hell.  Definitely had a better time gaming, and hanging out in the morning, in spite of the five hours of loud, shiteous morose formulaic radio-acceptable pop "rock" music that I hated in the 90's and hate even more now.  Bad music just infuriates me. There's no reason for it, not when there's so much good stuff out there. 

Snippets

A dream from a few nights ago:  It was very cold out, with lots of snow on the ground.  For whatever reason, everyone was out grocery shopping in a "national disaster" kind of way, and a store I knew to be Shop-Rite (that looked like no Shop Rite I've ever stepped foot in) was mobbed with people.  As I was leaving with a cart half full of groceries, I felt a presence behind me, in the bottleneck of the doorway.  The crowd was slowly trickling through the door, and this presence got stronger.  It was my mother, and Earl, all bundled up in layers of wooly looking sweaters.  Their cart was brimming with paper bags of groceries.
I didn't speak to them.  I went through the door, and stood off to the side, looking for my ride, which wasn't showing up.  Somehow without speaking, my mother offered me a ride home in her van, and I accepted. I find myself inside their van, which on the outside, looked like their current dark blue dodge caravan, and on the inside looked exactly like the old blue and white Chevy touring van that my mother drove for almost 15 years, my whole childhood.  Once seated on the plush blue couch in the back of the van, conversation started, but I don't remember it.  There was talk of our silence towards each other, and I think she apologized.  She was acting extremely maternal. While I remember Earl in the grocery store, he wasn't present in the van.  During the course of the unremembered conversation, I kept turning up articles of my clothing, a favorite bra, a favorite pair of pajama shorts.  Comforting things that I wear now, that aren't lost, but seemed so, in the dream, like "I've been looking for these shorts forever!".  It was stifling hot in the van, which contrasted with the icy deep snow outside.

A dream from last night:  There was some kind of house party, that started in a public place, like a high school.  There was a group of people there, all from my past (blank faces, but it was determined that they were all grade school peers, appearing in my dream as adults) and James.  The crazy guy that Phil introduced me to, in real life.  I must have dreamed about him because the last thing I read on FB before going to bed was about how he played the lead in the play Mr. Roberts in his town playhouse, and I thought about how charming that is.  Anyway, a large group went to his house, which was a perfectly adorable white clapboard house, with a manicured garden and a white picket fence.  There was an above ground pool around back, and this seemed to be the centerpiece of the party. Everyone was extremely excited about it, and went diving in with abandon. I hesitantly got up to the edge of the pool, and discovered that all these people were frolicking around in two feet of water.  I went inside his charmingly sunny kitchen, to be alone, and read.  I was feeling the same way as I did in middle school, which amounted to "I don't understand what you're up to, I don't see what fun that could possibly be, you don't care what I'm up to, and I don't care what you're doing, so I'm going to separate myself and go read."  But I remember looking up with anxiety every time the kitchen door opened, preparing to get hassled and made fun of, just like I did throughout grade and middle school. A few people came into the kitchen here and there, but when the tide of people finally came into the kitchen in bathing suits, and dripping wet, that's when the mocking started.  It wasn't the brash in-your-face ridicule I used to face, but a more snide, subtle and psychological assault to make me feel alone and singled out.  More catty, or something.  I took myself outside to the front of the house.  There were other partygoers outside hosting a yard sale.  I joined them, and did what I could to help manage the sales and feel useful, but I still felt very alone in a crowd.  My dad showed up and I tried to sell him tribal looking wooden carvings, like the kind they  have in Africa or the kind we saw in Jamaica.

Non dream:  I finished Brave New World yesterday, and I feel richer for it.  I'm going to continue on that path and read more classics.  I went on a kick of reading trashy novels for awhile, but that got stale fast.  With this rut I've been stuck in, lately, reading thick, dense deliciously rich and brain-healthy material is a healthy form of escapism and mind expanding goodness.  Up next:  Henry Miller's Crazy Cock.  Then I'm going to start on a few books that Chris recommended, one called Earth Abides by George Stewart, 1984 and Animal Farm by Orwell, Slaughterhouse Five by Vonnegut, and Dying Earth by Jack Vance.  I still have a handful of Pratchett novels in my Kindle that I've yet to tackle, and I might read them between those other books just to lighten things up.  

Luiz just called me out for "needing a hobby".  He was chafing at the time I spent on FB this morning, after work.  In reality, I skimmed the updates from a few people, and commented on two status updates, one about a friend and his longtime girlfriend breaking up, and one for Mindy's pinched neck nerve.  Then I spent about 20 minutes on Serious Eats skimming headlines and posting twice there, too.  Once contributing to a discussion about nut butters besides peanut butter, and asking for some recommendations for myself, and one totally free-of-virtue post on a McDonald's breakfast thread.  He heard me doing these "inane" things, and got annoyed about how much time he perceives that I waste. Immediately, because I wasn't spending direct time with him, his brain assumed what I was doing was mindless gossip and chatter.  Even if I was, who cares?  I got defensive, and said "just remember before you assume I'm wasting my time, that I read ten books to your one." After I explained to him in detail what I was talking about, he was like "OH, well, that's ok, I just couldn't relate to why you spend so much time on FB"  Thanks for your permission, pal. In retrospect, I feel lame that I had to explain and justify and defend.  The idea of me "needing a hobby" no matter what context, kind or cruel, deserves a hearty "fuck off" from me, and nothing more.  I hate when I get defensive.

I seriously fucking hate that shit.  

A little back

I just skimmed back through the last few posts.  Spark is out.  It didn't last.  Since I hurt myself in July, and all the shit hit the fan around then, with my mother, dieting is the very lastest thing on my mind, and contributes overall to my stress.

I also feel like I've been being a bad friend to people, in relation to being "Everyone's Rock" because I've been avoiding most people, and not really being a good listener.  When I'm stressed, I become selfish or something, I don't know, but how can I listen to someone whine about relationship problems when I Have My Own Fucking Problems.

Verge

I need to write.  I have no real way to alleviate stress, otherwise.  Walking is out. Driving is out.  Retail therapy is out.  At first I thought I didn't know why I've been avoiding writing, but now I do.  It's too big.  There's too many things going on right now, and once the floodgates open, it'll be hard to close them.  I will start with a list of things that are affecting me deeply, right now.  Right this minute.

Alden- He's depressed, he's self defeating, he's getting abused in school.  He practically begs for this abuse, and can't/won't do anything to fix it or try to grow up.  He's stuck in a childlike rut. He refuses to grow gracefully into teenagerhood.  He's depressed.  Just like his grandfather, and his father. He is a victim, and he likes to stay that way.

Irv- He's a complete defeatist.  He's stuck in a long rut at work, and in spite of everyone wanting him to take a white collar position he's keeping himself in a dangerous dirty place in work.  He's not progressing.  Every day he's more and more angry and frustrated, quick with his temper, and quick to take it out on us, mostly Alden.

My foot-  Surgery definite.  I'm terrified.  I'm sick of being in constant pain, sick of being immobile, and being in limbo yet I am paralyzed at the very idea of even a simple surgery, and now it's going to happen for sure.

My mother-  We're not speaking.  This is not some shallow "you call me first" bullshit.  This is "I told her exactly how I felt about her and Earl, and how I've felt my whole life and she swept it under the rug and continues to blame me for the shit going wrong in her life, and I refuse to be apart of that mess."  So, rather than torture myself, she stopped calling me, and I stopped calling her.  No mistake, she's not dialing me either.

Money- Stemming from the mother thing.  She had been handing over my father's pension money to me, since I moved out of the house.  At first, since she was married to Earl and he was working a lot, she felt weird about taking it, and felt that I could make better use of it.  That's what she said.  Well, now I realize that she was doing it for other more shady reasons, that are too long to get into on this list.  And now she stopped with the pension money. It's very complex, but the bottom line is I'm broke now.  I work, but it's not enough to cover the monthly bills that I am responsible for, and have a little financial freedom.  Even with the bit she was giving me, it was just enough that I could afford the bills and little luxuries now and then.  Now, not even that.  Irv has never paid for my personal stuff, like books, music or anything, and I won't ask him now.  I have no money for gifts for the holidays.

I am on the verge of tears every moment I'm alone, and often when I'm not.  I'm constantly tired, sad, angry, I can't sleep at night, so I take long naps, or I fantasize about taking long naps, because I hardly get the chance to.  I'm drinking quarts of coffee a day.  I quit drinking booze because I can see myself turning to harder booze as an escape.  It feels too good to get drunk right now, that's just about the worst thing ever. Same with Xanax.  I'm finding myself eating more. Lots more.  At least I can still shop for groceries, right?  I'm faking it around my friends, who have problems of their own and definitely do not need to hear about mine.