A Simple Truth

Part of me really wants to sit down and fine tune and publish this essay about anarchism and ideology and dissent that has been floating around in my brain and on my hard drive ever since the fucking elections started rip roaring through town and startled people into making assumptions about my attitudes, motivations, convictions, demeanor.

Meanwhile,
Part of me is really sad and sort of incredulous that I can't find episodes of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo" streaming online, as I would eat that entire season for breakfast right now.

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I should really delete this blog.

Blase is boring as fuck

Impulse tattoos are the bees knees.

Startling self discovery at 31 is fucking hot.

Oh yeah, that whole massive life changing thing I did

View of our house from the lower field

People have suggested I blog about this new phase of my life: living in the woods, working on the farm, homesteading and other general socially isolating activities.

I am thinking it over, but am generally disinclined to really commit to the project. I've found that I immensely enjoy being more cut off from my phone (which doesn't work here at all) and the internet (which works more or less, when it wants to). I am trying to be really deliberate in how I craft my days, how my time is spent. I have all this space to be very thoughtful and intentional in how my energy is expended.. writing more letters, taking more pictures, teaching myself new things, cooking quality food with friends, etc. So I am not sure how important spending time in front of this bright shiny computer box is going to be when the dust settles.

But I have been really cut off, and not great at staying in touch. And a handful of you lovely folks don't have the good ole facebook account, and so, for you all, here are a smattering of pictures, and perhaps later in the week, some words to go along with them. Maybe.

Just know that, in every way it could be, its amazing, and satisfying, and pretty, and basically is just a big huge happiness generating factory.

Dora at the pond

Bryan in the brooder with our 22 chicks

Bryan and Kate ditching the field

All the baby seeds in the greenhouse!

Zendo garden field & cabin

Sunset at the pond

Dear Self

Self:

You promised yourself you weren't going to make any emotional decisions during these first few weeks of not smoking.

So fucking stop it already.

Love,
Tori

Quitting, again

I am quitting smoking, again, tomorrow.

My plan for this go around is to

a) set up a series of self pampering rewards for each week smoke free
b) making a big list of reasons why quitting is awesome and necessary.

I want to make some of this public, as I feel it will help with accountability.

So far, on the Reasons List:

1) Babies! (Smoke free womb!)
2) More energy!
3) Clearer skin
4) Getting back into running
5) Smelling and tasting delicious
6) You know, that whole... cancer thing
7) Dolla dolla bills ya'll
8) $$$ = tattoos, new clothes, and vacations. Oh, and shoes with no holes in them! Maybe even glasses!

Rewards List:

1) A pedicure
2) A facial
3) A massage
4) A really nice, fancy meal
5) Tickets to a play
6) Buying little presents that make me feel fantastic
7) Money saved towards traveling!

Any other suggestions?

Idle Thoughts

You're a beautiful boy
and I've a bed full of wolves.

New Tatoo possibilities... which lyric to choose?

"WHEN I CRAVED I ATE HEARTS OF SHARKS"

"MY LOVE HAS NEVER LIVED INDOORS"

"AND THE BLOOD RUNS CRAZY WITH GIANT STRIDES"

"I OWE EVERY BELL THAT TOLLS ME"

Michael Ruppert

All from "Collapse"

"Local food production is perhaps the most fundamental key to human survival in the collapse of industrialized civilization"

"Community is what will save us. You will fail as a rugged individual. You will survive as a member of a tribe or family."

"We have to get through the anger phase. How we get through it is going to be crucial. The way we're going, under the current government, monetary rule, the only kind of anger that's going to be produced is the destructive kind, born of absolute frustration and bitterness that nothing that's being sold to us as being a solution is making us feel any goddamn better."

"As far as political parties go, they're all anachronisms, they're all products of centuries gone by. The human race now is only going to be concerned not with an ideology, but with what allows them to survive. Capitalism, socialism, communism, are all terms that need to be tossed in the trash can immediately, because all of them were created on the assumption of infinite resourced. Not one of these ideologies, which are now dead dinosaurs, archaic fossils that are no longer relevant to our way of life. Not one of them recognizes that there must be a balance between growth and the resources and the planet. So forget the idea that you can have as much as you want because until mankind surrenders to the fact that it lives on finite planet and it must have balance with that planet, with the resources and animal life and all the other life- there can be no happiness for anything. Anything. Its all about getting balance back."

Z.M.S.

I wrote, recently, on this pinata type homemade sculpture, this art project we were told to write the things we hoped to let go of in 2011, I wrote his initials. And the minute I did, I felt awful. How can I ever hope to let you go? What would that cost me? And yet- I cannot offer you something better. I cannot offer you any glimmer of health or hope. As clean and good as I feel now... you are that one raw spot left, and as much as I'd like to offer you solace, I don't even trust myself yet with that.

How much do I long to be that safe space you run to?
Oh my. More than anything else I've ever hoped to comfort. More than anything else I've ever tried to be strong for. Do you know what that means? I have been strong for so many things. So. Many. Things.
And yet, for this, I can't.

Maybe you could find comfort in that backwards vulnerability. You mean that much- to mean so much.

Its so strange, when you can predict heartbreak.. and yet, with every utterance of your name, it comes. I didn't know, a heart could shatter so..

Prep Cooking and the Art of Meditation

Spending long sessions in the kitchen by myself multiple times a week these last few months has at least one surprising outcome: a glimpse into the meditative qualities of cooking. Since I don't do the "art" part of cooking, just the mechanics (chopping, measuring, mixing, etc) I tend to zone out into a methodical rhythm, which leaves plenty of room for my mind to run laps around itself.

I come to startling conclusions at work (I also come up with song lyrics there!).
It is a perfect venue to perfect the art of articulation. Its like therapy, but with more potatoes.

I made I plethora of bad decisions in February. The unexpected return of a severe cycle of manic depression caught me off guard. I haven't had cause to doubt myself in quite a long time. Aside from the murkiness that always surrounds how I feel about Zach, I have had a pretty clear grasp on what is good for me and what isn't, and my will power has usually been sufficient to maintain behavior that aligns what I need for my mental health.

There always remains that last, hardest, oldest level of unhealthiness to overcome though. Seeking out bad treatment because some part of my brain stubbornly maintains that I need to be humbled (my sick, pathological homage to maintaining a the sexist status quo, a female punishing herself for her femaleness). Refusing something honest and healthy because of that whisper that "there is no possible way I deserve it". Trying to find reasons to cry, just to prove that I still can. Etc etc.

Old demons rearing ugly heads, they are so familiar, and that familiarity breeds comfort, and that familiarity breeds contempt.

The difference now? I can name them for what they are. I can look them in the eye and know them for what they are. I don't hide them in new labels, or by shirking responsibility, or in glibness. I am always sad when I make these old mistakes, but I'm not ashamed anymore. There was a recent moment where I really lost a good dose of my self respect, but I am gleaning it back by identifying the well-worn path I took towards my mistake, and by embracing the process of healing.

And now? Holy moly, do I feel good. A solid state of good. Do you know what I'm talking about- that goodness you feel stabilizing you, that goodness to the core of who you are? Yeah, that's the one. And I'm building on it, by taking smart risks, that can lead to honest vulnerability, that can lead to sincere appreciation for all that we have, and for all that we are, that can lead to dancing, and holding hands, and building lives, and love, and love, and .....

Man. I really need to give those potatoes a raise.

mom, the internet ate my blog post

I just wrote a long, lovely piece about running, and happiness, and manic depression, and the future, and the internet ate it. So we get this quote instead. It's Steinbeck.

"For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment. I [do] not want to surrender my fierceness for a small gain in yardage."

Pretty much my mantra, even though I am old and dont smoke and rarely drink and like to GO RUNNING!

Also. I asked a boy to take ball room dancing classes with me.
And I might get a really silly song lyric tattooed across my chest, which is fitting considering the two other song lyric tats I already have.

Its pretty impossible for me to stay mad at one of the few people in the world who knows where I'm ticklish.

There is this sharp tingle of clarity around what happened between us. It was one of the few healthy relationships I've ever had, which made it foreign.

Which made it awesome.
Which made it terrifying.
Which made it special.

And its weird, and unlike me, to say this and not want to throw up: I miss you.

Moffs Law

Stumbled across this the other day. I wish I had found it years ago because YES! 100 X YES!

"Of all the varieties of irritating commentS out there, the absolute most annoying has to be “Why can’t you just watch the movie for what it is??? Why can’t you just enjoy it? Why do you have to analyze it???”

If you have posted such a comment, or if you are about to post such a comment, here or anywhere else, let me just advise you: Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Shut your goddamn fucking mouth. SHUT. UP.

First of all, when we analyze art, when we look for deeper meaning in it, we are enjoying it for what it is. Because that is one of the things about art, be it highbrow, lowbrow, mainstream, or avant-garde: Some sort of thought went into its making — even if the thought was, “I’m going to do this as thoughtlessly as possible”! — and as a result, some sort of thought can be gotten from its reception. That is why, among other things, artists (including, for instance, James Cameron) really like to talk about their work.

Now, that doesn’t mean you have to think about a work of art. I don’t know anyone who thinks every work they encounter ought to only be enjoyed through conscious, active analysis — or if I do, they’re pretty annoying themselves. And I know many people who prefer not to think about much of what they consume, and with them I have no argument. I also have no argument with people who disagree with another person’s thoughts about a work of art. That should go without saying. Finally, this should also go without saying, but since it apparently doesn’t: Believe me, the person who is annoying you so much by thinking about the art? They have already considered your revolutionary “just enjoy it” strategy, because it is not actually revolutionary at all. It is the default state for most of humanity.

So when you go out of your way to suggest that people should be thinking less — that not using one’s capacity for reason is an admirable position to take, and one that should be actively advocated — you are not saying anything particularly intelligent. And unless you live on a parallel version of Earth where too many people are thinking too deeply and critically about the world around them and what’s going on in their own heads, you’re not helping anything; on the contrary, you’re acting as an advocate for entropy.

And most annoyingly of all, you’re contributing to the fucking conversation yourselves when you make your stupid, stupid comments. You are basically saying, “I think people shouldn’t think so much and share their thoughts, that’s my thought that I have to share.” If you really think people should just enjoy the movie without thinking about it, then why the fuck did you (1) click on the post in the first place, and (2) bother to leave a comment? If it bugs you so much, GO WATCH A GODDAMN FUNNY CAT VIDEO."

the physical effect on the emotional

been punchy, in more ways than one, i.e., the hitting kind and the bizarro brain kind. I attribute most of it to my new, nicotine free relationship to sugar, but I think there is more going on. I've had this self reflective paradox of feeling like I'm being bratty, or wanting to say bratty things, but then it strikes me that I DONT THINK IM BRATTY but that OTHERS would define my actions as such (As in: I would never fucking call anything bratty because that word makes me want to throw up in my mouth a LOT and instantly calls to mind a mental image of a super smarmy 13 year old) but others would probably mistake my "stating of an opinion" for being "a brat". Or a bitch. I could actually deal better with bitch.

The paradox is that I get mad enough to want to say something, and then realize the universal eye roll and dismissive tone, the "you're being a brat" tone, so I shut up (the fucking shame cycle, oh sneaky sneaky reinforcement of the status quo, there you are again!) And then, I get even more mad that I let myself be shamed into being silent. Because I should know better (see, look how it pops up, even here..) but more importantly, because there isn't anything shameful about being mad and saying so.

I had a interesting conversation with tanya late the other night about the few people we know in our lives who've never been ANGRY, and as such, there is this gap in our ability to connect to them. And I mean angry in a variety of ways, in the "if you're not angry you're not paying attention" way, and in the "passionate" way and in the plain old fashioned "I am rooting tooting mad" way. I really despise the notion that people should strive towards calm, or an incessant inner peace, that anger is some how an intrinsically bad thing- mainly because while I am a primarily self identified happy person, I am not a calm person, and I can be an ANGRY person, and I am really okay with that, thanks. And it makes me wonder what it must be like, to never have anything make you ANGRY.

On one hand, I think, how lucky. On the other, I think, how sad.

I'm not sure where to go with that, only that it tied in with a train of thought I've mulled over for years but weirdly popped back up in an unlikely place recently: the notion (especially historically for women) that having feelings is some how inappropriate or unusual or inconvenient. This is illustrated most for me (and I've read some lit about this too, which was really surprising and completely touchingly reaffirming) when people tell me, seriously, to calm down. I hate being told to calm down with this overwhelmingly intense level of hostility.

But all of this requires more research and reflection. The root of it, most likely, is that I feel I've let things slide, let all those things which truly matter go astray for a really long time. I've felt dismissed and adrift and been talked down to and talked over and unchallenged and the worst part is my level of consent in all of it. Totally gross. Meditation upon remedies begins tomorrow.

clean

2 weeks today, no smoking, no drinking.

Nicotine affects how your body metabolizes sugar.

And booze is just trouble.

Since kicking both, I've had both
a) a huge surge in energy
b) a holy new experience with sugar (hey look body, we can metabolize it all bys our lonesome now!).. which might correlate to the aforementioned energy surge.

I don't eat sugar very much, and now maybe I can't eat it at all because my sensitivity to it is INTENSE. No more bubble gum! No more tangerines! No more satanic snacks!

I fake hi five fake audiences at band practice while running around in circles and mock ripping off mock track suits.

I box my roommates, whether they like it or not. Some lovely girls from Beacon Hill want to start a fight club, and, depending on my wrist, I may just join them.

I quite literally bounce up and down the hallway.

Worst (or better?)- I can't sleep.
But no one is awake to fist fight or write songs or make out.

I need a sober lunatics with sugar problems support group. I also need to NOT eat chocolate of any kind after 6 pm... like a GREMLIN!

I'd say that's that

I have been thinking lately alot about starting a project called "heart on the sleeve", in which I make a bunch of easily applied (read: velcro) patches that have simple emotional statements you wouldn't necessarily say out-loud, and affixing them to my sleeve as different emotional/ personal thoughts arose. I nixed the idea because its adorableness makes me sort of sick, plus I felt that explaining what you were trying to do would take longer than the application itself, and thus would detract from the overall impact of the action. It felt a little obvious, I mean.

I have been also thinking about starting a writing/reading series called "overtly confessional: sharing too much is caring too much" in which, yea, you could read stuff beyond journal entries... thoughts you think that are minute and inane and you would probably never write down in the first place. these little tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments of being. those thoughts you think that make you unique. But I haven't because I think I might be the only one who would want to read at it.

Both of these projects are excuses, metaphors, quick fixes, what have you, for having a crush. That is, I want to share myself with one specific person, but I specifically don't know how, and they don't know me, and its my habit, to have these intense feelings that lead to intense work/projects/trips/plans, these big dreams and imaginings and happenings and the "they" don't ever know that these fictional city-scapes and maps and dimensions and ideas are being constructed around them. Its my bad habit, because this distance is safer, and that constant rush of anticipation, of glances across the room, the agony and heart ache that adds such a silent drama to every chance interaction is addictive.

So I start heartsleeve projects and confessional rant nights. Because I have this energy set to explode. Because I want to share myself with someone, but I'll share me with the whole world instead.

Field Notes

Instead of sleeping tonight, I decided re-reading drivel from those times before was a better idea.
randomness from my journal, 2 summers ago.
In which I talk about sweat...A lot.

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I am attuned to your faults. I can see the lines and cracks,
your continental plates of past mistakes, they are
always grating along side one another, a constant of pressure,
begging for eruption.
But you poor, broken boys: you are men now,
and it grows harder to find melancholy endearing.
are you looking to falter? I don't think it counts as
tragically romantic
when you do it on purpose.

------------------------------

there is possibly
something rotten
in my mouth, or else,
blood- spoiled- to taste like
the worst sewage spilled from
the worst city
my feet are blackened with dust, grit
clings and nests under all my nails, dried sweat
is like a second skin. I molt- it peels.
my subterranean skin growths are rampant.
Rising, rebelling, in all the spots I want to be touched.
inner thigh, slope of my cheek, it seems
even my body is fist fighting my desires
with its own defensive
disease.

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you are shaggy haired and covered in some strange sheen:
callous youth tied tight into an older mans tenderness.
it makes for a tricky combination, one I was once
mistakenly enamored with, I was
driving towards your failure, I was
speeding.

-------------------------------

how would you know, these things I've
howled loose?

-------------------------------

smoking too much. limbs heavy with whiskey and fatigue.
the humidity creates damp pockets out of my body.
my right ear is clogged with what feels like
a waxen cockroach pissing saline and sludge.
through all this, though, I'm feeling better about
the curves and sweat and sway of my body-
its smells and motions,
its dirt filled disgraces,
its heavy pull, and all
its desires.

--------------------------------

these days
time elapses with such meager effort
seasons and minutes seem to hold the same shape.
all these memories, most carefully stacked then shattered-
what pieces of us now do they account for?
how much of our past
are we made of?
and how far since have we traveled, with these minutes
stretched like seasons between us?
and I need to tell you
what little difference distance makes
and I need to tell you
just how much I've missed you

No conclusion (yet)

Lots of talking lately. Important talking, the kind that leaves you thinking for days, puzzling over the unanswered questions on the bus ride home (staying up late to write about them), and finding correlations to and from random other subjects in your life in bizarre and startling ways. The kind of talking that makes one really appreciate people who critically think, and connect. Makes one want that kind of talking always.

But its painful talking too. Its those dang growing pains- the processes of shedding one skin in order to make room for the new. And while I relish it, I feel that.. so much of what I think is creating this lifestyle precipice, this narrow walkway of "decision"- a cutting edge, and a rather unforgiving one.

I think a lot about motivation (s) and/or the lack thereof. I think a lot about how you are affected by what you believe, how you are affected by the community (global and local) you are a part of, and how all of that shapes or causes or IS your motivation to action.

And, in turn, I think about the capacity for a complete lack of response. I know I've been in that place- overwhelmed, or depressed, or caught up in the all-consuming minutia of "me", and maybe I'm biased, but I feel like that is a stage you pass through as you age- your sense of self importance is humbled by experience and you find yourself within the larger framework of a human system- symbiotic and equal to the world around you. And when you pass through that, you find the ability to see how your everyday actions ripple into millions of lives, usually lives you'll never see, and that motivates you to analyze your ripple-making magic and measure the impact of your waves- are they flooding the shore? Can you lessen the damage you cause? Can you at least acknowledge that you're causing damage at all?

But if its age/maturity/growing that gets people to that place, and not some other series of factors, then the next question becomes: when? Because I feel like I'm watching the clock on behalf of some people I love, and I'm not sure how many more minutes I can count down.

And this is nowhere near finished. But I am completely near bed.

Some musings on friendship

I know its been forever since I last posted anything on this. Most of the time I forget this/these blogs even exist. I have also been having amazingly meaningful conversations lately, often in the most random of situations, which has made journal processing less pertinent. Still I suppose updating this has its place and its point, and, though I doubt any still follow this (if any ever did), I feel like I am finally reaching a sort of synthesis of thought, a compilation of a series of strains of ideas, that can finally be made public and opened up for a larger form of discourse. Or maybe, more importantly, public discourse can offer new insights that only aide in further conclusions being drawn, and new ideas being generated.

It was realized last week that this year marks the 10 year friend anniversary for my core group of friends and I. Really makes you feel the years, doesn’t it? And its interesting, on a variety of levels, that this is the decade mark, for a lot of shuffling and changing and thought has been spent these last months centered around notions of friendship, meaning, intimacy, and relationship building, without me even aware that some of my old friends really are, officially, old.

I feel like the last year has gone far in terms of my ability to define what people mean to me, what I need from those around me, and what I have to offer. As I learn more about myself, how I react to emotional pulls and pushes, how I respond to and process information, I consistently find myself ever re-defining and re-evaluating the relationships I work to maintain. And they are work: more than ever before in my life, I feel I have a true understanding that real relationships- be they friendships, familial ties, working partnerships, neighbors, or lovers, require constant striving, problem solving, thought, and effort. At this point in my maturing, passive co-existence is no longer satisfying or healthy- that is to say- going on as we always have simply because we always have is unacceptable. If we want relationships with depth, with substance, with purpose and with a future, we must explore our interactions with one another- are they beneficial? Do they offer support, solace, amusement, a shoulder to lean on? Or do they simply subtract- do they drain your emotions, do they only cause discourse and stress, are they vampirical in nature, are they stagnant?

For example, I have a few close friendships with people whom, despite the amount of time spent in one another’s company, and despite my heady feelings of closeness, I have realized really offer little in the form of emotional support for me. That is, I feel like I am expending a lot of effort in supporting them with very little return emotional support. By emotional support, I mean active listening to my concerns, aiding in my ability to process events and emotions, or just being a solid person to go to when I feel the need to vent/complain/cry/rejoice. BUT- they do offer a ton in different ways: they are project partners, they are entertaining distractions, they are collaborators in idea generating, etc.

After coming to this understanding, I then went through a period of time spent in determining the healthiness of such relationships, and, for lack of a better word, the worth of them. This was a hot topic the other evening, as a group of us gathered to inaugurate Ken’s new studio apartment. We were discussing these ideas and I used the word “investment”, which led to a whole avenue of discourse around what we all mean by “investing” in relationships. For me, it means that the work I am putting towards a relationship is mutually beneficial- that I am bringing something healthy and necessary to the relationship as is the other person involved. If it’s a friendship like the one described above (one person = emotional support, the other = project partner) is the emotional support I am offering a fair trade for the non-emotional but still important support they provide? I don’t mean to imply here that all relationships at all times are comprised of equal out puts and inputs, nor do I mean to suggest that one should keep a running tally of what they give and, in turn, receive out of a friendship! But I do think that one huge factor of critical thinking and personal evolution is evaluating the time you spend with the people you chose to be around you, and part of that is summing up the various pluses and minuses in your relationships.

What I determined is that yes, its ok for me to maintain some close relationships with people who offer little in terms of emotional support or sympathy, because I am blessed with a great emotional support system- and one that has been evolving, growing, and solidifying for the last 10 years! That is, I have a lot of emo-isms to offer because my needs in that arena are currently being met. This is especially important to me when I think about the future of my romantic relationships: knowing, solidly, that I will not come to a romantic partner with a debt of emotional needs, just waiting for that one person to satisfy, because my friends are doing a damn good job of sustaining me, takes a sort of emotional load off.

It also serves as a good working model of what I need in new friendships and relationships. By evaluating what is healthy in my existing relationships, what makes me happy, what areas need improvement, and what I can offer my friends helps me to see those traits and equities in new people I meet. It also offers immense clarity in evaluating relationships that I think trend towards the unhealthy, and feeling confident and secure in my decision to end those, if necessary, and also providing methods and tools for working on them, if that seems important. This was recently helpful in examining a turbulent relationship that I was feeling a ton of anger around: I was able to sit with my friends and, based on discussions of our interactions and history with one another, determine why this relationship was so dramatic and stressful and, after a long discussion around “investing”, articulate why it needed to be dissolved, and the best method to go about doing so.

Anyways- this is just one avenue of thought I have been working my way down lately. I’ll have more thoughts on friendship to come soon, but think I have done enough rambling for one afternoon.