wtfu

I often have dreams where I'm cussing out people I know from church.

        Last night, I had a dream of that nature. I let a few people (whom I know in real life) use my phone for something, and when I get it back, the glass is shattered, pieces falling off in my hands. I tell them it was just a scratch before - how could they be so reckless with it?! They don't listen to me, don't even look up at me, they respond with some kind of "Oh I'm sure it was already like that."
        WELL, I get enrAAAged... even now I can feel the rage surging through my heart (just from a dream!?). I'm in a group of people all sitting at tables, listening to a speaker make a presentation. I stand up, phone in hand, press my lips together firmly, grit my teeth, clench my jaw, flare my nostrils, and violently chunk my phone at the front of the room where the presentation's display shows. It breaks into pieces and I walk off as people finally acknowledge me and try to usher me out of the room.  I have embarrassed them, apparently.

        After that, I'm in a different room full of tables around which people sit, but these are different people. From what I gather, they are sororities and fraternities. I sit at the end of a table where a fraternity sits. A whole row of attractive young guys sit in front of me - I'm still unnoticed, but I don't mind it in this setting. After some time, I stand up, feeling a little scared without having my phone, since I destroyed it in the previous setting. I walk over to one guy with dark hair, a plaid shirt, and some wide-ish rim glasses. I tell him I want to go to NYC with him.

        After that, I'm in NY without a phone. I look at a map to see that I'm in Brooklyn. I keep telling myself that it will be fun to be on my own, to couch surf and meet different people and find my own way in life, but inside, I'm a little scared.

        Later on, I'm traveling with some people, a girl is driving, and I suddenly think "I'm usually nervous when other people drive. I wonder if she's a good driver." Then she starts swerving and I start telling myself to wake up from the dream I know I'm in.  I think to myself of all the ways I could try to wake myself - I pinch my cheek, but nothing happens, I can't wake up. The road just kept going into the dark night. Eventually I did wake up, but not because I made myself. I was trapped in that dream until it would release me.

RAGE. I feel it every day. Apparently it makes me feel like I don't belong in church, among the churched, but I do belong with God, and I don't belong in a dark world, trying to find my way without anyone. I want everyone to feel my rage. I want them to wake the fuck up, honestly. Wake the fuck up. Life is perfect for a lot of people, but they don't know it. They think that because they got in a fight with their significant other about paint colors, life is hard. DAMN. wtfu people. wtfu.

to the end, through the end

Dream I had last night:

        In a plane with prisoners who will soon be executed. The plane drops everyone off at a platform where the prisoners will receive their injections. There's 4 of them - 3 guys and a girl. One guy is older, maybe in his 50's and a little country; the second guy is younger, maybe 34, Hispanic, tall, skinny, buzz cut; the third guy is even younger, late 20's, blue eyes, blonde hair, a little pudgy, but attractive; then there's the girl, who I can picture, but cannot describe, it is too vague an image in my mind.

For the sake of clear storytelling, I'll give them names:
Older guy - Randy
Hispanic guy - Nick
Younger guy - Sam
Girl - Sarah

        First, Randy gets the injection, then Nick, then Sarah, then Sam. Nothing happens initially, as they all wait for the effects, then Randy says, "Hey! Did someone turn the heater on in here?" in all seriousness, with the sound of paranoia. At the same time, I watch as Nick waits for the drug: he sits and waits, nervously babbling about something, trying to not be scared, and it hits him. His expression chokes as the realization of death sets in - he can feel his body shutting down. He pulls a white blanket over him and settles himself into what's coming next - his face sweats beads, and then shouts, "Yo, y'all turn the heater on?" with the same serious, paranoid, terrified tone as Randy.

        Randy chuckles at Nick's repeat of his exclamation, but we don't laugh because this means he's getting closer to death. I turn to Sarah, who's sitting back with a white blanket. She says she doesn't feel anything, that maybe the drug won't work on her. I look sympathetically into her face and shake my head; it's not possible for her to escape death. She looks down at the ground, mournfully accepting this fact.

        Then I go to Sam, who's sitting at what looks like a picnic table, staring off ponderously. He decides he wants to get right with God, so he says something like, "God, I accept you. Take away my sins." then repeats it at least once more. When his injection kicks in, he sits back in a chair with a white blanket draped over him and talks to me, about what, I don't know.

        Randy and Nick are there for murder, something awful - they know their guilt, but Sam is there because he exposed someone of sexual behavior, someone high up in the justice system. It's like he had a website of gossip and this guy became a target. The guy didn't want his image tainted and sent Sam to prison on some BS charges.

        I look into Sam's eyes as he talks about what he did. I'm attracted to him, but I don't feel heartbroken for him, which is what I would expect myself to feel in that moment. I knew I was comforting him until the end. I was comforting all of them by just being there with them, listening to them.

        Then 3 people in suits and lab coats come down a hall, outside the room with the dying prisoners, carrying tubes of something to stop the poison. They say they're from the Food & Drug Association and they don't say it, but I know they're there for Sam. He may have done wrong, but he didn't deserve death for it. They set up all around him and connect a caulk-like tube to his arm; they begin juicing him up with something that will stop the poison and restore his body.
 
        I watch it happen and think that maybe I can get together with this guy now. I picture us kissing, like in movies, after he gets his strength back, his life back. But that doesn't happen, and the dream ends.

        I could tell I was trying to make it happen, trying to wake up enough to change the ending of the dream, make it better for me, but I couldn't do it. The picture wouldn't change. Thing is, most of the time, I do change endings or create endings, and can do it easily. Certain dreams just won't take my meddling.


Later, I dreamed that I told my sister about this dream while we sat at a picnic table next to the chain-link fence of a prison. There was a female guard standing in full gear and a huge pit-bull barking at anything moving. I told her that my conclusion from the dream is that I should be a prison guard, but said I was joking. In my mind, I considered it though. I thought that maybe someone should be there for these people as they die.
                   And maybe someone should be.

Maybe when I'm an old woman, I'll do it - visit death row inmates. There's something so heroic about loving to the end, through the end. I wish I could do it now, but I'm too pretty to go to prison. Something inside me longs to love people who are dying - people with terminal diseases, AIDs, cancer, or people on death row. I want them to know they're not alone, that they're worth loving even though they have nothing to give, because it's true. I hope some day that will be my life. I want to love so badly.

Louis Louis - Teitur

          If I could chain myself to this room every night, I would, I should. The set sun, close of day evokes a being in me - one that's possible or impossible, depending on the day, to control.

I'm so fucking sad. And, so fucking hungry.

IT'S ROARING. Its roaring hurts.
Its roaring aches my insides.

what would a little drink do?
what would a little sip cure?

If I didn't hunger, would it stop hurting?


I don't want to be hungry forever. And I don't want to be numb, unless that's the only option. I have to believe that's not the only option. When I don't, the being in me destroys the roaring sip by sip.

GOD! It hurts


I want a Daddy.    I want a Daddy!
All I've ever wanted is a Daddy, and look what I got for wanting one: addiction, abuse, abandonment, rejection, pain, sorrow, pain, sorrow.

"I get to love you through whatever comes.
    What a privilege."         He sings that to me.


The pain subsides, soaks back into the ocean of sorrow weighing my heart.

                      I'll never have a Dad.

My chest physically hurts right now. I'm sure it's a coincidence.

Now I'll go to my device-ive distractions.
There's no happy ending to this story.
Not today.


"Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you."

Somebody at church today had a word from God, a song: "Louis Louis."   My heart jumped when I heard the two identical words, connecting to a song I've loved since 2007, a song by Teitur.

I'll listen to it and see if God speaks anything to me. Maybe it has to do with that verse: "I know you."
Oh well, let's listen and see.

-I'm a delight. I have a lot to offer the world. This word from God, this song is an invitation out of hiding - the world needs my "music." The line says over and over "Come play us a song." I'm unique.


My mind and heart are ships with rudders and wheels, but then there's the wind.
I forget the wind. I forget my sails.
My tools maneuver well only when they work with wind and water.
A ship does more than turn; it sails.