skysurfer.media

Elliptical Attraction

2005Mar09

Games of jealousy

Resistance designed

To be released –

A controlled inevitability

…and with so much passion

Ricocheted arrows

With a recoiled touch

Make a pass

Held back and drawn close

Without any need for reason

Elliptical attractions

Ebb and flow

High and low

With not much in between

Today is a season

Found in frozen ground

Physical orbit magnetic

And gaining speed

There’s an anticipated collision

Distant eyes flirt

Play with the heart

Reaching out, but

They don’t touch

Holding out, until then

March 9, 2005
Recurring

2005Mar05

Swirled words on a Saturday night,

Mixed emotions,

And blended time frames.

Artwork creating being

Recurring, episodic acquaintances

Friendly, but challenging

Destined transience

Planted seeds

There’s a shifting in the energetics of the situation

Motion, emotion

Memories of promises to come

And dreams of wishes made true

March 5, 2005
Motel Evening

2005Mar03 (Poem)

Motel Evening

Slow drive went quickly

With a race to get home

Too fast – Too far away

It wasn’t quite an escape

Caught by the net

(Or was it a web)

There was never a predator

Or malice behind smiling

The laughter didn’t have to be

Nervous (hiding from failing)

Antidote to an imagine disease

Could have been some other place

Some palace guarded by a stone face

(Cracked open and undisclosed)

Assured discretions unpalatable

After unnecessary lies

We wove along the road

And we weren’t even there

Hypothetical trysts gone wrong

Never saw the point of no return

Could have gone faster

Could have been truthful

We could have jumped into something

Not so make-believe – could have had more

We might have pierced the thickest veil

There was fog and the wind felt torn

Music only lulled our already hidden dreams

Crystallized wine soothed unmassaged muscles

The glass was real, but the sound was not

There was nothing there to want

Imagination was just a game

And play became so serious

We took a break from living

Promised not to tell a soul

And stared into each others eyes

We tripped over ourselves

Truest desires most often stay suppressed

Nothing to risk, nothing but a valued possibility

March 3, 2005
Motel Morning

2005Mar03

Thursday morning with Jen in Grants Pass [motel]

How could my one isolated experience with Leticia, nearly four years ago, still affect me? Still celibate six months after just seeing her in passing. I had to see her again. I thought I was going crazy. I was crazy (maybe still am).

If only I had known she was coming, then I only would have been anxious. I never expected my closest friend to hide such an important thing from me. Was there supposed to be a surprise? I kept saying I couldn’t know when I would see her, but I broke when she neared. The whole world came between me and my love when I sank into self-pity and doubt. I’m still defining myself. I know who I am, but my persona shifts still reactively with each new person. I still lack a good social identity. I still feel I’ll have to leave Humboldt but I’m moving intentionally slow. I want something to break open in the world so I can see her once more.

She completes me – I can’t get this out of my mind. I don’t want to be with anyone else. There are so many women I’ve known and so many more I don’t know at all. Leticia, I know only a little. It concerns me greatly that she doesn’t want to even talk to me, that she thinks I’m crazy. But I feel her at any time, at any distance. Dear God, please, I need to have Leticia in my life. I don’t want to let her go into the past. As a memory, her image is etched as if I only met her yesterday. I want to be the most important person to her, and she’s not interested. She knows (she must by now) what kind of person I am, that I won’t settle for even second best. I can’t.

My thoughts on casual sex are conflicting. I haven’t the will to invest my time in another person, but I really need to get laid. There are plenty of women interested in me, and plenty of people who believe in free love in Humboldt. Every bar has untaken women leftover each night. Prostitution in Eureka is like fast food. All the college girls dress up for shows and art gatherings (and there are so many parties!). There is even a surplus of women who need a place to stay. They all walk by and I do nothing. No one knows how easy I really am. Maybe I come across as picky (Leticia or no one!), but the truth is I’d fuck just about any woman who would crawl into bed with me.

March 3, 2005
Struck Dumb

2005Mar02

I am struck dumb by the repetitive nature of my emotional trials. To this day I struggle with the same issues I wrote about four years ago. It’s not with dismay that I reflect on the depth of my own thought, but with awe. I cannot define myself. I thought I could. But with a resolute spirit, I thrive on, continue to combat my challenges, and grow as I may with each new experience no matter the daunting similarities that threaten to disempower me. I have conquered so much, and still I find myself feeling that I’ve made no progress. It’s such a small consolation to now have a laptop (blessing that it is) when I consider all that I’ve lost, nearly had, or still need. So many repeated themes: Money, Sex, Food…. Primal urges to be sorted out.

March 2, 2005
Another Rainy Day

2005Feb27

Another rainy day, a cliché of self-righteousness – or unresolved sorrow sewn tight by years and miles – a challenging friendliness to everything today, but my journals are complete (all in one place) and I’m back on the task of transcribing. Still no clear vision of what will come from my truths.

February 27, 2005
February’s End

2005Feb25

There have been so many thoughts, many lost, and with too much repetition or hesitance on my part with some. Women, love, life, art…the list goes on – I have to make a separate folder for each theme! The work I’ve set about doing is to heal myself, but the ramifications involve others. I’ve spent the time I needed to separate myself from others, to make myself physically healthy again. Now the pieces are falling into place (still too slowly for my taste) and while I process these journal entries my soul anticipates a finished product – a cohesive story, maybe a letter, or a mission statement. It doesn’t matter what it’s called by others. To me, it’s a metamorphosis of being. My life has undergone such a change – my escape from alcohol, codependency, etc… Hell, I’m single again – for the moment, maybe longer. My emergence (alive) into the society I was such an ugly part of remains a source of constant misunderstanding and gossip. Yesterday someone said “Why’d you do it?” as he walked on by (I still get snubbed all the time) and I have the feeling I didn’t do whatever it is he’s talking about…. Par for the course in this backwards place of rumors and reputations and social politics. Humboldt is a popularity contest. Words this last month are legion, legacy, and legend. (Root- leg?) I mostly just walk, write, and eat these past six months. Alcohol was not easy, but anorexia and abuse issues nearly killed me. I manifested my worst fears, out of a pattern of self-abuse. Now I live with the life – and identity – I created, for better or worse. I am a committed person, perhaps too personally driven, but with an unbreakable faith. Transcribing these journals has been the tearing of the cocoon (the opening of Pandora ’s Box?) and what will ensue is still as of yet unclear, but there’s one thing for certain and that’s the resolve that will come, hopefully, with Leticia. Whatever the result, I know I will sleep well again. Dreams, rubies, butterflies and dragons…. It’s hardest to write about the worthlessness, my low self-esteem, and failures in general but they are the shadows that punctuate a flash of light. A spark or bolt or flame does not matter. I cannot wait to compile the poetry, and to count the number of times I wrote about my love for Leticia – I have no other choice but to express my truest feelings as I establish my self as valuable and belonging. God, truth, trust…. These are parts of who I am. For now I am enshrouded. I am protected but alone. Now, though, my struggle is refreshing like coming up for air even as I still kick my legs. It’s the gentle rip past the immediate point of no return…. It’s what has begun that cannot be changed. I still feel the aftermath of near-death and my body has yet to become completely healthy. I still need to quit smoking and start drinking more water, but it’s easier from here on out. I still miss Leticia, but I know I will be happy with the outcome of this entire situation.

February 25, 2005
A Transient Forever

2005Feb23

Another episode comes to an end with another journal entry transcribed. It’s amazing how pompous my speech was, how compulsive or disjointed on some days. There is so much to sort out but never a doubt that I love Leticia forever. It is too bad I fell into such doubts about being together, but in the end I think this will be powerful information. I’m charged with a purpose that is becoming more clearly defined by the day – my sense of it was always clear, but my effort had largely fallen into passivity (from depression) and my social interactions I all but destroyed out of missing her. Now I still pray that we will be together but I’m no longer destructive. I almost killed myself and I still have decisions to make that will affect me and my family from then on. I never did kiss that girl the other night, but there’s another. Transient affections are easy to find.

February 23, 2005
A Kiss

A kiss,

It’s true, will tell so much. Amazing amount of sexual energy these days, and such opportunities. I’ve met Jennifer and am moved by her passion for life. The sex would be good and we both know it, but there’s mostly indirect conversations that tantalize with possibility. I think I’ve already decided to be with her, if I can. We are in agreement about needing to maintain sovereignty, independence, etc. She must be an answer to prayer. I need someone and would love the chance to spend time with her on a more intimate level. Instant connection. Should I go for it? Of course, I said to my last lover, but to no good end. Maybe I need this, I say now – something healing, yes. While only time will tell most things, soon I’ll kiss her to find out.

February 17, 2005
Where Lightning Strikes Water

Where Lightening Strikes Water…. February 16-17, 2005

It’s a good title for the book I have to write. I’ve finally purchased a laptop and can now begin transcribing my random journal entries. They’ll fall into topics, much about Leticia — life and love, of course. There’s so much work and I’ve only just become happy about not burning it all. Inside those volumes are concealed some heavy truths (truth – another recurring topic) that may serve to heal, or explain…. might even threaten some current foundation, mine and others. This piece is the first to be written now that I’m digital. There’s a pile of chaotic thoughts, ready to be ordered, and a story that is inevitable to emerge.

Ah, the story…. We dream the dream. What I find I thought may be the Truth – editing is like painting in the missing puzzle pieces but the power of the presence contained in the raw material is irreplaceable. There’s a commitment to writing, that same resolve to some mental tension is binding. Does one dare to re-open a thought? And how could it be avoided, but through burning the pages. And then the writing; all for naught. The passages have to be reintegrated and in doing, they become changed – a part of the current story as well as the past only more defined. And what a climax! In reality, I’ve blocked out much of the detail. And the story has yet to end. Leticia is still alive, and so am I. The Book of Unforgotten Sorrows may not exist.

I still pray each night that we may be together again. I am a fool, maybe, but still true to myself and truly lucky to be alive. I don’t have anything but time to sort out the events of the most climactic parts of my life. And so recent! I’m still feeling the aftereffects of the shock. Wake up, Indigo! It’s been seven years – more than a dozen that I knew her, nearly a decade of searching out a dream, finding love near death, and the illnesses, betrayals and predators. There are obsessions unleashed; rubies, rain, and words. And there is God. The ultimate manifestation of a manuscript in some style will no doubt carry a message that is destined to express my love.

Indigo Michaud

February 16, 2005
2004Jul30

2004Jul30
There is some point not influenced by the masses, some contrast not influenced or affected. In the longest chain of action/reaction the first step is an action always and while projections may be reflective and thoughts abstracted, there is some floating point that is insistently null – the root of it all, and I am that.

…. And my sparrow arrives
Blind flight, focused destination

There or here I write as a way of self-validation, but I cannot write everything – my choices, my imagination, is limited by the isolation of my journals. I have painted my way into a corner of sounds in my head. Being need not be dependant on any one person (not many, either) but nevertheless remains interdependent. This is by definition of who we are that any one of us has an identity.

Breakthrough!

To be self-validating is not valid. I need no excuses written or spoken for my existence. I am intrinsically dependant on myself…. The detachment of which should not be sought [severance is harsh].

Mercy is healing through sharing.

Thank God I am regaining balance! Please God continue to guide and protect me as I prepare to soar. I’ve only just surfaced from my sleep and trust that the people I meet will be valued. Help me with whatever challenges I may face and allow me to hear your voice clearest. I advance in surrender –

August 30, 2004
2004Aug25

2004Aug25
Particular feelings of guilt and shame – no one to turn to but for those who say I need help. And it is intrinsically self-destructive to act alone. I can leave behind a letter, as feeble and cowardly as it is to leave. I think I have no choice. Yes, I’m in the midst of a tantrum. This is karmic. The discomfort I bring others by my very being is a direct manifestation of my abuse. I must transform my feelings into useful action or my experiences will have been all for naught. I am an artist. My identity is linked to my expression. Of course I’m unheard of, but not to be trusted as a result? And there’s the question. How much can I trust myself with? There is not a cohesive whole among my support. System-wide social eclecticism. What more can I do but cry out. I have become a writer and soon I will have become completely Indigo.

August 25, 2004
2004Aug24

2004Aug24
It’s made out to be the victimized are held responsible, that my personal goals are considered to be as inadequate as I feel I am. I know I have to earn respect but I’m being offered token apologies at best. Such a strange predicament. I’ve tried to tell anyone who would listen about my needs (and that has been my undoing), but there is no one who understands. Sure, these thoughts are frightening, but the only consideration I receive is from the questions I raise – and now people question me to the point that no one really talks to me. It’s a rejection to my validity that obscures real listening, promotes all the assumption. And who should I talk to. I cannot even write Leticia a letter. I want to tell her I love her – and say goodbye. I need closure even though I’ve held out for so long with the hope that someday she would return. I don’t have any choice but to leave – she’s the only reason left to be here and while I lash out at what remnants of abuse remain, I acquiesce – tempt God to prove me wrong (that she will come) – with no choice but to accept that she is gone. I know I’m dramatic. And unpredictable. I’m too passionate, perhaps, but this is my reality. I’m true. I write too much and the respect of keeping my feelings to myself is that everyone seems to be afraid of what I’m thinking. I repeat: I’ll tell anyone, just no one knows. No one’s listening. They translate what I say to what I must mean and cannot appreciate the finesse of connotation vs. literalness because they are coming from the approach that I am crazy and that what sense I make must be deceptive. Have these people never been honest with themselves (those that are still learning talk mostly about themselves, but few seem to reach the point of emerging as purposeful beings), or are they only concerned about my role as it pertains to them? I don’t consider there to be a division between people. The us and them fails logic. I, of course, have never felt a part of “the group”, or culture, never had a sense of belonging. Many times I’ve been lured to feel at home only to be exploited and then rejected and I will not allow that to happen anymore and the mark I’d like to leave is to remove the authority of an abuser – to make my point before I go. This is a personal thing and also selfless. I want my life to be exemplary of the individual in community. I am a valuable person and I demand that my needs be met. I have a tendency to command respect, rather than ask, and there seem to be many who are offended by my sense of pride. Arrogance, they say. Maybe. I really don’t have a choice but to go. I’m already behind on my life’s work and God knows I need a vacation – more like a whole new start after an intermission. Maybe, all I can leave behind is a letter addressed to whom I did concern. Should I express my pleasure in removing my presence. It’s by default, anyway! I would prefer to live here, happily ever after with Leticia, but without Leticia I don’t want to stay. I know best how to start over. I wish there was another option – something not so second-rate Humboldt. I have the rubies – romantic but for those who think my love is corrupt. How crazy is it to fill these journals. Talking only seems to get me in trouble…. But then again, who knows what will happen in the next couple of days.

August 24, 2004
2004Aug20

2004Aug20
No one cares, or if they do they remain unwilling to do anything about it. I’m 33 with a yearning that will kill me and for a woman who does not want me. This makes me undesireable and a pain in the ass to be around. No one likes me. And so I write. Leticia, I love you. I’m sorry I have not been able to design the perfection in my life that I want to share with you. As I struggle with my own self-doubt, I fear I will never see you again. This last connection I have to you is also turning sour. What direction should I be moving in? I can’t give up, try as I might, and there’s nothing left to do or leave behind, not even the chance to safely send a letter. Dear God, please guide and protect me tonight and henceforth. Please, bring love into my life.

Yes, my thoughts are frightening sometimes. Sometimes, they frighten even me the thinker. But surely the answer is not to numb the brain of thought but to express or otherwise utilize them in a safe way – constructively. Or confined space for explosions, etc. They may crucify me; My reputation has suffered terribly at the hand of my self-pity. No one wants to talk to me, but everyone talks about me. It’s not that all the people spend their whole day discussing me, but that what is said is such the topic that people get quiet when I walk into a room. I overhear such fearful things…. I’ve been demonized. That weird guy. He creeped me out. Crazy. But, in fact I’m really just misunderstood. It’s true. I’ve done enough research to know what’s happening as well as any professional but I lack the socio-economic backing. Therefore, I am unable to engage anyone in an equal manner. I know, but cannot talk. It’s as if I’m back in the same abuse dynamic I came from. It’s almost exactly as if, though I’m not doing anything wrong. I guess I wasn’t doing anything wrong as a kid either, but socially taboo all the same. And the guilt that’s dished out by others! Like I don’t already carry so much! How much shame is necessary? I believe they are going to try and humiliate me, but they just don’t know. I am humble. For God’s sake I gave up my life and dedicated my work to that of God’s will. They’ll call me psychotic, or psychopathic, or just psycho. I should not want to be in a place I am not liked, nor should I want to do anything but for myself. Well fuck y’all motherfuckers! How can you sleep at night not knowing you children are safe. I understand why Leticia left. I am not naïve. I know I may never see her again. And there’s nothing I can do but write a letter with nowhere I can send it. Ughh! I have transformed myself enough! How much more do I have to learn? Should I just stop trying to be so perfect? I’ve found no wisdom on this subject, only inspirations to keep me moving on. I can do nothing to change this world and the mere fact that I want to threatens the worst of people. But I don’t want to find a life of searching out those who trust me. That has to change. As it is, my reputation precedes me. I’m getting branded a sexual predator, obsessive-compulsive, pitiful and therefore undeserving of compassion. The people are compelled by sensationalism and gossip. Bad news, second-hand is somehow sweeter. And there’s a feeding frenzy on the ills of others. I’m so close to understanding. I know what I am not (though I felt that way – evil, even manifested a few too many negative things in my own life). What a tremendous time this is! Do I have a chance to achieve my life’s dream? To make a difference? At what personal sacrifice? I’ve already given up Leticia. I had to, and it took two years to get over it (only to be branded obsessive and, hence, I cannot get a date). Yes, maybe it is inappropriate to be with anyone else as long as I want Leticia. I finally learned that, but there should be no lynching for my liking of sex even if my self-esteem was as record low. Yes, I was needy. I still am. But I’m no longer looking and now people are worried. Wonderful –

August 20, 2004
2004Aug19

2004Aug19
Pity – Piety

What contrasting connotations these words now hold…. To be so devout – homely and homeless. Passionate, driven, and useless. Priceless as a result of being invaluable. Unwanted. To be pious in this day is not sought after or admired, but to be pitiful draws people like parasites. Zealots are terrorists and revelers are obsessed. Addicts. Make the world a richer place. There’s a marketplace of dreams, a predictable customer, customary confusion in an atmosphere of need. There’s a marketplace of dreams, a predictable customer, customary confusion in an atmosphere of need. If you got an ill, we got the pill, our drug of choice is the best advice, and we freely give it. Just trust me! Fear is like a cancer, a mythical horror-story, growing and gaining speed. Psst. Here! Quick! Look, you can’t live without this. My pity is your lesson in compassion. I don’t know who you think you are. Hey, check me out. And there’s a whole lotta bullshit for sale in nice shiny wrappers. There’s just not much call for the pious and the devout.

And so continues this ad nauseum journal…. I have been saying that I’m done with writing, that even though I won’t burn my own books it’s time to move on – photography, gems, etc. need more attention. I need more attention, but I guess I just cannot stop. I’m still so separate from this culture – the epitome of being marginalized – I have perhaps become dependant on the sense of objectivity this affords me. The fact is my social reality is quite subjective. I’m at an interesting point in my life. I am finally wearing the rubies close to my heart and as emotionally isolated as I am, there is abundant magick surrounding and my spirit is fed daily what love it needs. Still, no stability, or focus on a definable flow. The block, I think, is social. My contribution – my teaching – is unreceived. I funnel my energy into these books! Ah, but now my broken heart has been mended (mostly). I am so sensitive (and extreme, a no doubt intimidating combination), but strengthening daily. Good music tonight and rest. Tomorrow should set the tone for the rest of the weekend, perhaps the month. Tonight could even show some unforeseen event or connection. Should I feel so untouchable? People treat me as if it is they who want to be distant from me, but it is my social phobia that should be challenged. It’s good for me to have people close, but I live in the reality I create and it’s been maybe my greatest self-deprivation. Intimacy with others is perhaps the most important personal need. Rumors and reputations are always to follow a person with character. It’s too bad my character is so questionable (too questionable), to the point of pushing others away. With the right ingredient to make me palatable, I would be quite interesting – something to quell the fear people have so they’re comfortable. A woman would have this affect on my character (it’s what I became used to), but (as a result) I am threatening because I am single. I rarely share my writing so no one’s sure they want to hear it. I tend to speak the truth, but most would prefer to avoid it. No one knows who I am.

August 19, 2004