"care less" to succeed more

id rather be terribly conflicted and overstimulated
but desperate? its excitement that comes off as vanity and flippancy is it
am i really screaming so loudly with a polite update in passing
do i really gain credibility by doing nothing
is that really how they do it

not easy being a free spirit terrified of losing control, yet definitely one who hears her drum only.
one day ill be an artist, but if i can survive within the corp system just a few more rides around the park
a bit more whiplash, splinters, blasts of misty breeze, sunburn and vomit
i'll consider it a wild success

El Futuro

Javier

yo tambien estoy emocionado de unirme a un equipo ya muy exitoso

nos va a ir muuuy bien, ya verás!

Patricia

the world is unlimited in LATAM, amiga!

you are going to a big playground

Boisterous on a Friday

I feel boisterous like I want to go to an amusement park and get on the stage in the middle of the park and sing karaoke.

It's a special kind of boisterous.

I run at yellow lights!

I run at yellow lights!

If I am a leaky velocity oozing fire hydrant, and someone has put a big board on me to keep me from spraying all over the traffic especially as they wait at those lights, well I'll run all over the street!

I'll find some mold! I'll grow something bold! I am water, dammit! Physics is on my side!

I run at yellow lights!

I am waiting for you, wet and drying on the other side.

The danger with old mod chef's coats

Hands in the pockets, phone in the hand. Let go of the phone, let it hang. Krapp! On the sidewalk again. What's happening?

These pockets have no bottoms. Just like that.

Advice from Kaarima's mother on how to treat chemo symptoms through diet, as I held myself because kaarima was moving

Silium - dehydrated seed
Linasa - grano 2 tsp con agua y tomar todo
Fibra natural

Aloe /sabila 3 aloe, miel, 1/2 kilo, licuadora, 1a taza de tequila o aguardiente. Toma 1a cuchara len mañana en el referí, una en noche. Remedio para cáncer para limpiar el digestivo. Ayuda del alcalinidad de la sangre.

Apio, pina, perejil, toronja. exprimidor.

1 Vaso de agua, Mañana, cebolla rojo, ajo, 3-4 limones. Limpiar el cuerpo. Para cambiar la alkalinidad, porque esta congestionada. "kel escorpionazo". Fuerte pero ayuda en purificar.

eat vegan

La reprimida intoxica ...tiene que aprender en salir las emociones

Yoga es mejor

Types of angst at 26

Sustainable, realistic angst. Terribly responsible angst.

Limbo questions, getting right down to the matter as a single person in the world:

Which is better- being excited about the present or having hope for the future? What restlessness is healthy, and when does it get toxic? What is abandonment? When is adventure escapism, thrill-seeking, and when is it confronting reality?

How much should I go out of my way to show my friends I care about them, if we neither have enough time for each other? What am I saving money for? How often does my posture offend people, when I put my feet up and knees to my chest in every chair I sit on? Why do awkward butterflies turn into emotional crush butterflies when you put the right music on?

I have Feelings

I have Feelings.
So cool!

Trembling with excitement

My brain is hopping out of my seat.

discouraging people

make me sad.
Everyone
should be encouraging. Discouragement should always be replaced by momentum, faith, sympathy, and humor. people who are incapable of this, stay away from leadership positions. that is all.

what inspires me in latin airports

i want a little two year old son with light brown skin and a paperboy hat.

Why I wish the Internet could be more like the very conversational tropical birds outside my window as I snooze

They have a far better relevancy algorithm for search results. They are amazing little machines-utterly mobile, feed off of their own infrastructure and even help it thrive and reproduce (passing seeds). They are effortlessly social. They are full of delightful surprises with their complex song, which is subtle, expressive, and at once minimalist and graceful, while attention capturing and detailed.

I think i am high on water

I hate drinking water! I never get thirsty. What is happening.... this expressive, nervous, thoughtful energy, in my headphones, bottle after bottle after bottle.

when lace falls apart

it becomes so sexy, so decrepid, and so cool
like baby coral pressed in a book, or like skin
that has been stretched until the cells make patterns, and the individual molecules separate
revealing flowers you may not have noticed, tiny stitches
you have no idea how came to be

and demented, weak, delicate shapes
that had been withstanding the skin and force, twist, and bloat of your body for years!

oh no, I don't want to throw this away, though god forbid the naked bare skin be exposed in large soft patches where the lace broke, tempting to reach in
it's too cool! I'd rather stretch it until it breaks, and glue it on a board with rubber cement, to eternalize its stretch, and strange cellular structure, mutated, glued, full of skin and weak.

Imagine an entire wall of old lace, stretched and broken and flat, glued behind glass, disintegrating, faded and unraveling at the seams. Imagine it kept taut for eternity! beautiful pinks, taupes, golden with age, gray with dust, rose with washes- the synthetic fibers as stretchy and parasitic as neurons, the the stiff cotton ladies' lace as stale as cornbread snowflakes, crumbling like dandruff.

up there it would sit on the wall like a brain of secret paralysis, modesty, sex, and delicacy.

the hungarian boy

was quiet but not shy. he did not know what to say. he had learned to not trust people, not because he had been betrayed,

but because people often did not understand when he said certain things.

the boy had uncombed hair which uncombed itself under hoods, leaning against walls, backs of busses, and when he was truly happy, the palms of his hands. his eyes were small and hidden, though people would notice him from far away (only when he wanted them to least).

When he was happy, people didn't look so much... it was when he was put in a box that his small hidden eyes glowed with a cynical, discerning roughness that pierced through any flat environment.

the boy was a chess genius, and smiled at his mother, though often had too much energy to handle her. mental restlessness to listen. Occasionally he would walk out of class, blatantly disrespecting authority. he was easily unimpressed and dangerously hard to read. he was sexy, even if he was just eleven or twelve. he felt extra sexy when he stayed still with his shoulders hunched over, when he was angry and tired and his brain was worn down enough to not give a fuck about anything. he loved himself then.

he liked the ties, because he respected feeling sophisticated, but hated the way his pleated pants felt when he sat down.

He wanted to play with the old men in the park, but feared their rotten breath, so he watched them from his window. his favorite was the lively man in mustard wool who would smirk and touch his face when he was frustrated.

he couldn't sleep at night, so would close his eyes and imagine conveyor belts and fresh fruit and making out. when he dreamt, he dreamt of infinity and controlled states of near-doom and vast oceanic halcyon. he was little, but he had a real swagger - yet all of his forcefulness came from his delicate, passionate face.

he was a chess prodigy at ten, playing for the president and hosted on trains all the way to st. petersburg and switzerland. By twelve, he felt useless, lost, full of presence, and smarter than ever.

he wasn't sure if it was the best part of his life or the worst part of his life when he was thirteen, and decided he didn't care to be the best 13-year old chess player in the slavic lands, probably because he wouldn't get it, but mostly because he had given up long before he tried.

my comfort place

i am back

- its been a long time - i forget how beautiful this music is

in my comfort place

a little bit crazy

with the hair on my arms ajar, sweeping, chilling, shaking

soft high harmonic voices, waterdrops and davcy synthesizers - it's a safe spot where my breaths are more meaningful, my energy is thoughtful, where eye contact is charged, where patience is not empty - but rather, Really a virtue because the feelings and the energy is sustainable, without emptying itself

It's being back on the wavelength

it's like crying after a funeral, watching the beauty of the thousands of sun-lit leaves

angles are beautiful, textures are meaningful, and time is presently intense and dashingly destructively celebratory and delicate and rejoiceful

it's good to be back, stroked again by chills, kissed by my own live brain

The Flower

I stopped the man because there was a blue smeary painting with gorgeous layers, a sign that just said "bliss". I wanted to buy it, and I could buy it, because it was small and on the street attached to a woven wire fence.

"It's not my painting... people just leave them here." Oh no, I can't take it then, because other people (I waved my arms) need to have it. I looked at him very seriously. The bliss stays on that fence.

The bearded man had a look - which all San Franciscans recognize - that he was about to say something unexpected. Oh god, what was he about to say. He looked too inspired. He said something about living in the moment, but way more intense. And then he said,

"Thank you for bringing that color into my life." Just, Wow. Thank you.

My flower is fuschia. The mexican lady who sold it to me said it, too - I was called to it by that color. I was called to it. In her yellow and goldenrod walls, by mexcian damsel with a guitar, smiling with us ca. 1940.

"Look, look at these walls I have! Its.... let me find it... the color of this cerulean here." Oh wow. Wow wow wow. She lit up. This is the flower. This is the bruja flower.

A bum pulled out his magnifying glass to take a look. "I love Orchids." This one is so beautiful. This one is really... wow. I'm not going to bother you, but I would climb a tree just to take a little piece of a flower like this. He is talking about for his mojo. He's from the deep south, he said.

What should I name her? I asked Adam. "Darfur," he said. Oh god, what a depressing name for something that is supposed to bring happiness. Really? I was just looking at the map. I looked up, and the only map he could be referring to was of San Francisco. Seriously, Darfur?

Dah-fuuurhh. I let it roll, softly, like french. Dah-fooorhh. Its a a soulful sound. This little flower.

Back in bed, this flower is my valentine. It's the only one I need, seriously. This orchid is so vibrant, so unbelievable fuschia that any other color near it, the more brilliant, the more blindingly passionate and invigorating becomes the combo. This is the flower to eat papaya nearby to. This is the flower for the inside of tomatoes. For deep, black hair, for brilliant green grass, or green parrots, for medium gray wet stones.