Stories About Death While Living
I apologize. If I could, I would bake a million cookies and shove each one through the CD slot to feed each and every one of you. You. Are you still out there or has a two week disappearance been marked as a self disemployment?
If anything, I have been employed and simply said, it takes the life out of the most vibrant. Mind numbing, soul sinking, work. That's not all that bad though, don't get me wrong. It's a nice distraction from not being able to eat quiet right or think quiet smoothly. As many scars as a bodies has and as many ridges as the brain may fold is about half as rough as bad juju can get you.
Change is coming, the storm is brewing, and the caldrons of green-eyed witches are brewing just as the pumpkin spice lattes of white bitches. The change is social and it starts small, like the age under my eyes that darkens a pigment each day but not really noticed until my blood shot eyes appear at a family dinner. Then it pulses outward, first tapping the directly affected, then tickling the witnesses, until attacking the encompasses like blue veins that stretch through the body popping out just a little too much to be considered human.
In short, I've had the case of the bad juju. Bad juju, what is bad juju? When thoughts you believed were longer forgotten and locked into an asylum where they belong manage to sneak out with white masks and straight jackets. First, they come a'knocking on the cranium checking that there's someone still home. Second, they come a'singin prison tunes no man can understand. They serenade and marinade the mellow weavings of an unprotected brain until it melts. I can't think straight. I find myself distracted with thoughts and thoughts and thoughts almost restless. But no inspiration comes from it. Just thoughts, words made into sentences and sentences made into means. Even if the inspiration comes, it's dark. Words I don't want to write with messages I can't portray. Like a storm of heavy thunder keeps bounding and bounding rattling any footing.
Fear not! If I have found a way to type a post, I have found a way to keep moving forward. Right about time considering I'll have my first ever speech this Saturday at the Castle Rock Writer's Conference. I promise I will regularly write as I have found an answer to my juju turmoil.
Never have I ever did I think I would be complementing Colfax but a lovely woman in an herb shop changed my mind. Herbs and Arts has become my nook. I hide there when I'm ill.
I've learned some thing while I was away. Aroma therapy is great for the senses. Sage, Lemon Suckle, and four other scents I can't list have filled my car settling my nerves. Jasmine also works great as well as prairie flowers. Different teas add intimacy to the day. I prefer herbal tea with honey --adds warmth. Sometimes simply reconnecting with meditation helps.
Luckily my juju is gone and I'm not dead yet but half way, maybe this was Dante's limbo?
If anything, I have been employed and simply said, it takes the life out of the most vibrant. Mind numbing, soul sinking, work. That's not all that bad though, don't get me wrong. It's a nice distraction from not being able to eat quiet right or think quiet smoothly. As many scars as a bodies has and as many ridges as the brain may fold is about half as rough as bad juju can get you.
Change is coming, the storm is brewing, and the caldrons of green-eyed witches are brewing just as the pumpkin spice lattes of white bitches. The change is social and it starts small, like the age under my eyes that darkens a pigment each day but not really noticed until my blood shot eyes appear at a family dinner. Then it pulses outward, first tapping the directly affected, then tickling the witnesses, until attacking the encompasses like blue veins that stretch through the body popping out just a little too much to be considered human.
In short, I've had the case of the bad juju. Bad juju, what is bad juju? When thoughts you believed were longer forgotten and locked into an asylum where they belong manage to sneak out with white masks and straight jackets. First, they come a'knocking on the cranium checking that there's someone still home. Second, they come a'singin prison tunes no man can understand. They serenade and marinade the mellow weavings of an unprotected brain until it melts. I can't think straight. I find myself distracted with thoughts and thoughts and thoughts almost restless. But no inspiration comes from it. Just thoughts, words made into sentences and sentences made into means. Even if the inspiration comes, it's dark. Words I don't want to write with messages I can't portray. Like a storm of heavy thunder keeps bounding and bounding rattling any footing.
Fear not! If I have found a way to type a post, I have found a way to keep moving forward. Right about time considering I'll have my first ever speech this Saturday at the Castle Rock Writer's Conference. I promise I will regularly write as I have found an answer to my juju turmoil.
Never have I ever did I think I would be complementing Colfax but a lovely woman in an herb shop changed my mind. Herbs and Arts has become my nook. I hide there when I'm ill.
I've learned some thing while I was away. Aroma therapy is great for the senses. Sage, Lemon Suckle, and four other scents I can't list have filled my car settling my nerves. Jasmine also works great as well as prairie flowers. Different teas add intimacy to the day. I prefer herbal tea with honey --adds warmth. Sometimes simply reconnecting with meditation helps.
Luckily my juju is gone and I'm not dead yet but half way, maybe this was Dante's limbo?
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