Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

my eldest son bought me this computer. It does all kinds of cool stuff, I will not ever forget when he was born.He has bought me warm sweaters and come to visit and playfully and joyfully played with my with my step sons. the warmth, the energy was beautiful.Sometimes beautiful can turn ugly. Douglas county have been holding the twins hostages for over two years, I had a shrink that meant well I suppose, that had me on seroqel three ntimes a day, limicital and zoloft and diazapan and klonopin. Everybody[my few close friends} told me I was slurring my words and falling into things which I did not believe them until one night I was a foot a way from my partner and he told me he wanted to understand me but he could not. I could not make myself understood. I decided before I went to sleep to stop taking that medicine. So I did. It was a horible experience. I could not wear clothes, I couldnt not eat and had to move from piont A to piont B with careful navigation, my partner could not even bring ne a cuo of tea.He had to go to work but asked if I was going to be ok.
He went to Roseberg and ..............i cried for hurt feelings that I had not felt in a long time.He saw his kids and they went hiking and I was weak and lonely. He told me he did not have any money so I loaned him a hundred dollars leaving myself 80 dollars and no cat food. I got sick in the market, I learned alot that weekend with no supplies and kicking on the couch alone. When I asked him for the money back for the rings I hocked] so he could have gas money to see his kids, then there was the the saving account with a mere 150 dollars in it, i closed to loan him money to go see his kids.When I asked him for it back you would think I was evil or something.
I asked him for twenty dollars last night and we got into a full on fist fight,I do not know why I am the bad guy. I am now responabile if the evil douglas county does not give him his kids back? It seems like desrution carefully planned to ruin us. I have to put my neck on the chopping block for yet another nueropysciatric test. I feel like the gun is pionted at me. I have bumps all over my head, he has scratches on his back. I got some hair. There is tension in this house you could cut with a knife, I will never tell him when I get any money again. I am trying to get off these fuckng meds and everyday he reminds me that I was awful on the ones I kicked. Now he is telling me I am nodding while watching tv. That has to be the most boring box in the house. creative energy.I was drawing and he wanted me to watch tv. i wanted to go to sleep. Television is boring. I love these t-shirts on Portland State students that say "kill your tv"
my partner and I come from different worlds. I love art books, art supplies. plants, beautiful pottrey, sculpture and space and alot of it.He likes tools and approaches the world with a practical piont of view, he understsnds how things work, how they are made,
the things around him and how they work. I like kissing and beingmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhumming with love. sometimess I think he is not attracted to me at all. I love him so much and all this passion with no where to go. No wonder I became willing to take meds ,

deep breath in, wowser.

hope you're ok.

this is a heavy litany here, but what better way to dispel demons...write what you feel, 'cause in the end it can only help...
when we are dealing with a lot of weighty issues, we need a release and poetry I've found can be your best friend....I particularly liked the 2nd line, "It does all kinds of cool stuff, I will not ever forget when he was born.".......it's an odd combination of thoughts that for me carries a lot of emotional power......on one hand random talk about a computer, but the reader is given this surprise, almost subliminal message, that defines the mother and son relationship....keep writing, CS ....til the tension eases and beyond........

Interesting title.


I sit there and listen to her lie to her husband on the phone. She is so quick to lie, so is he, so is her son.

Not sure why I am posting this to you CS, I like the way you open your veins and let the words flow. Maybe it reminds me of myself. I am a sucker for the "confessional" style.




"All our failures are ultimately failures at love" Iris Murdock

Watching this woman struggle with her unhappiness, I suppose it is like seeing my sister myself. I think there was a book about feminism called "My mother myself" I think my sister needs a sister, a mother a female friend. Sometimes a brother is not good enough.

Women can see each other better I think.

I can not tell you how crazy I am about money. I just had to put my dog down because I did not have 350 dollars to save him. I am a fool, I have given my money away, never saving anything.
A hard lesson for me. Money is power I suppose, in a relationship between a man and a woman. But I know less about women than I do about money.

THere is a blues song called "going to keep a dollar in my pocket"

I wish I could find it again, I heard it on some radio station.

So later we are talking and she is saying there are two kinds of liars, those who lie because they have something to hide and those who are pathological liars who lie for no reason. I asked her why she lied to her husband, she said because it was easier, than she laughs and says I guess I am a pathological liar. Her husband is deaf, hard to talk to him on the phone have to shout, she was over my place when he asked her where are you, and she said she was home, she said she lied because it was easier than to say she was at her brother's.

I love it when we laugh together, I am storing up good times together.

for a couple months before my dog died when he was still doing pretty good for a 16 year old dog, I would lie down on the floor beside him and pet him and treasure his companionship thinking these are the good old days. .

not sure if there is a mind body duality or not,
I am smart enough to figure it out
if there is then it seems everything I am writting these days is my brain saying good bye to my ass

thanks for rambling
pardon this one.
in cyberpalship
jt

btw
someone mentioned demons
I was googling for a definition of the word apophenia Nothing to do with your post, well not this one specifically but I found this link

Unusual Experiences

I only mention apophenia because you once wrote a piece that seemed as if you had opened the hood on my skull and looked in side. It was very spooky. Your post had nothing to do with me, yet it seemed as if it did.

you got moern-ized
I got homeginized
pasteurized
and catagorized

there is line from a country song
"highbrow people loose their sanity
Kind of how I feel about the Book called
Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance

Because of what you said about "well meaning psychiatrist"

was he well meaning?
are you sure about that
or was he dead

"we must now eat beautiufl women"
anne sexton
Was sexton a a martyr to the priests of freud?

There is a bit in that book (zen and the art of...) about a motorcycle shop that butchers his motorcycle. Hard to due it justice but it went something like this about people who show up for work but whose self awareness is out to lunch, they go through the motions but they are not really there, just doing their job, just going through the motions.

[quote]It was a turn-off for Anne Sexton to be pigeonholed as a “confessional poet”; nevertheless, even she admitted, eventually, that she was the most confessional of all poets. She told us what it was like to go crazy, to be institutionalized, to fail as a mother, to love as a mother, to obsess, to peek and sneak, to live in a female body, to turn a female gaze on a man’s body, to love, to lust. A sculpture called “Woman Wailing” was featured on the cover of one of her books. She told. She told.

Anne Sexton’s signature confessional poems are very well known; therefore, I have chosen to feature poems which have a more uncanny quality; they dwell more in that cloud of unknowing readers of this site know I like to visit. Do join me in Anne’s personal cloud.
http://katebenedict.com/lectio/sexton.html

SaW is right I think
keep on writing CS.

Today is a very strange day for me, most poeple think of JFK's murder but I remember it as the day that I came withing a pubic hair of murdering my mother.

All that woman ever wanted for me was to be happy.

DId I ever tell you about the time Anne Sexton saved my life?

you got modern-ized
I got homeginized
pasteurized
and catagorized

there is line from a country song
"highbrow people loose their sanity
Kind of how I feel about the Book called
Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance

Because of what you said about "well meaning psychiatrist"

was he well meaning?
are you sure about that
or was he dead

"we must now eat beautiufl women"
anne sexton
Was sexton a a martyr to the priests of freud?
Or was her last shrink trying to cash in on her bitter fame.
I know one psychiatrist who practices the art of medicine
He is a healer
But I think he maybe an exception
I hope not, I hope there are many more like him.

There is a bit in that book (zen and the art of...) about a motorcycle shop that butchers his motorcycle. Hard to due it justice but it went something like this about people who show up for work but whose self awareness is out to lunch, they go through the motions but they are not really there, just doing their job, just going through the motions. A lot of doctors like that too, I am afraid.

It was a turn-off for Anne Sexton to be pigeonholed as a “confessional poet”; nevertheless, even she admitted, eventually, that she was the most confessional of all poets. She told us what it was like to go crazy, to be institutionalized, to fail as a mother, to love as a mother, to obsess, to peek and sneak, to live in a female body, to turn a female gaze on a man’s body, to love, to lust. A sculpture called “Woman Wailing” was featured on the cover of one of her books. She told. She told.

Anne Sexton’s signature confessional poems are very well known; therefore, I have chosen to feature poems which have a more uncanny quality; they dwell more in that cloud of unknowing readers of this site know I like to visit. Do join me in Anne’s personal cloud.

Sister Kate Reads from her Personal Canon

SAW is right
keep on writing CS.



more ramble

Today (in 1963) is a very strange day for me, most poeple think of JFK's murder but I remember it as the day that I came within a pubic hair of murdering my mother. It is also the day she died, twenty one years later. November 22, 1984, which was---Thanksgiving Day.
I keep looking up the word abreaction. Freudian jargon, I can not remember if it is a good thing, I can barely remember the meaning of this word.

There is also a band called Abreaction, or at least there are about four pages of video's about the word on YouTube.

No idea of what this is about, early in the morning and I am pretty wired, can't sleep, which is very rare for me. I usually love to sleep. I am pretty sick, that could be it. Got a cold or flu or something. Miserable cough.

Here is an interesting link about the word abreaction it is called The Baby and The Bath Water



All that woman ever wanted for me was to be happy

all hope is well with you
stranger don't be
in touch keep

sincerely
jt
et al.