| He's got a punch like Joe Louis, and other charms that I admire |
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[24 Sep 2009|11:58am] |
I am repulsed by religion for its primitive, superstitious way of reasoning (or rather not reasoning).
Though I consider myself an atheist, I am equally repulsed by stripping the beauty and mystery of life away through a lifelong series of speculative questions, experiments, conclusions...
Is there such a thing as mystical atheism? If not, I will create one!
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[15 Sep 2009|08:09am] |
I went to Oktoberfest with Brandon, Kendra & Amin this weekend. It was a blast. We ate a shit ton of terrible food, drank too much delicious six point German beer, and danced like assholes. Amin is in the black shirt and boots dancing like a Russian robot and Brandon is the one that looks like he is having an epilectic fit:
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[08 Sep 2009|03:39pm] |
I went to the doctor and told her I was having a problem with being exhausted and moody and unable to focus on anything once again. First thing she does is push a month's worth of Cymbalta (Duloxetine) on me and says, "Take this and come see me in a month." This astounds me. I go from being on Adderall, which ended up eventually throwing me into a state of panic and anxiety along with the sordid events of my life at the time I was taking it, to a Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, which is used to treat anxiety and depression. I actually sat across from one of those well-polished, 40-something pharmaceutical representatives who frequent doctor's offices courting and romancing them in hopes of selling a product. I sat staring at her suitcase ornamented with several different prescription drug names that sound more like planets and less like something that could really help anyone. I have little to no faith left in my family doctor, who said, "I want to see what Lyndsie is actually like, so take this and we'll see if we can't get a calm, more balanced Lyndsie to show herself."
What if I like crazy, unbalanced, overly-ecstatic, often melancholy Lyndsie?
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[30 Jul 2009|08:20am] |
Last night over a casual dinner the veils of my supposed stagnant, carefree nothing and my million imitations of self-evolution were removed from my face by an old friend. They were cleared away like stale smoke. And oh how I wept for the loss of my sterile security!
And so in the swelling moments of being completely torn down and dissected, stripped and left naked with the abyss, I find that my time is now without weight, moving like autumn leaves on water. Here's to joy.
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[21 Jul 2009|08:08am] |
My desire for the communion of companionship with others is completely drained dry by constant struggle to connect, to recreate the union I desire with myself. I have denied myself the very basic need to exist in accord with myself. Instead I fling myself into anything that burns and aches, anything that feels different from the monotonous rhythm of day after day after day working, wave crashing into wave, the repetitive beat of the small, rapid heart.
I can see that his one desire is to conquer my need to deny every weakness that makes me fear men in general. By his mere presence I am looking into the face of a rabid fear, a feverish pounding in the chest and head. There are men on this earth with hunger so huge it becomes a heavy weight that cannot be lifted off the heart in their presence. I need somewhere to crash for like a week. Badly.
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[09 Jul 2009|02:53pm] |
Dear friends and used-to-be's,
I'm pretty lonely these days. I guess that's what I get for being sort of a self-centered cunt and more than a little crazy lately.
Love,
Lyndsie
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[01 Jul 2009|10:08am] |
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I feel like I need to sleep for ten years. Back to the comfort of the small uneventful days that bottle up easily and explode under pressure.
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[29 Jun 2009|08:05am] |
I have dropped from 163 to 135 pounds in a few months. I have no appetite and I am anxious most of the time unless I've got a few glasses of wine in me. I have little to no motivation to do much of anything anymore except in short-lived, fervent little explosions. Most suddently and strangely I feel perpetually and surprisingly threatened by men with their flattery, offers of friendship that come off as eventually sexually suggestive, and the burning suspicion that most men I meet really just desire to possess me. I've got a fire in me that keeps telling me some sweet, simple woman will be my salvation, but I think that is just another desert mirage.
I've got a hankering to escape. He told me to make sure I become the change before I change my location. I'm working on it.
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[28 Jun 2009|01:42pm] |
It's strange to realize things about yourself and about life that have really always been there, but only seem to truly exist when you acknowledge them fully.
I have almost always had a difficult time just being okay with the vague and alien nature of my existence. I've never really adopted a concrete religious or philosophical worldview as many people I know have to made sense of things. Life can only be described to me as mystical at best. I feel like a small hairy warm-blooded creature struggling against the currents of an uncontrollable body of water. I AM GOING TO DROWN IF I DON'T RELAX AND RIDE THE CURRENT. Something about my life just catches me sometimes and stuns the hell out of me wherever I am, whatever I'm doing...I have to stop and ask myself, "Am I really here? Holy shit." It's like waking up on another planet, one I don't particularly care for, one with hard polished structures jutting up violently everywhere, one where smoke and filth and manufactured waste spills out of things like shitting wherever you stand, one where people give you serpent looks for being a stranger, where men and women socially conditioned to a certain view objectify other people for their own needs and desires...and one where people enter into arbitrary contracts called relationships not as a means of survival, but due to useless philosophies manifesting like mold on food that sits too long in the ice box, becoming prey to disease.
OUR CULTURE IS KILLING ANY POSSIBILITY FOR UNTAMED BEAUTY IN LIFE.
Have you ever seen a plant placed just outside of reach of a pure shaft of sunlight? It will grow toward that light and bend and strain to taste the warmth and splendor. Sometimes I feel like I just can't reach far enough toward the light.
I've always told myself, "Well, someday I will find a companion that understands how I feel and we will be so content together, like well-oiled parts of a small, tight, bright machine." What I was really seeking was someone to control and comfort myself with simultaneously, someone to focus on besides myself. That is not love and it is not liberation.
I'm tired of distracting myself with projects. I'm tired of thinking I need to be anyone other than the moment and consciousness I am RIGHT NOW. Mostly I'm tired of living in the city. I want to start over. I want to be reborn a million times in a million places. I want to go somewhere with vast expanses of space filled with silence & mountains & birds of various colors. The best thing anyone ever did for me was take me to New Mexico for no other reason but to show me another kind of beauty and fill my heart with love from a land of the spirit and undisturbed earth. I want to go back. Tell me a way and I will do it. Next time you leave friends take me with you. Call me up and say, "Let's start over. Come with me."
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| The Hunter Gatherer |
[21 Jun 2009|11:33am] |
ONE
Some of us still
carry it like a spear
in one hand-
a small feather that sits
on the spine
(electric with innate delight)
In every alien action
they're making
plans for the coming years
I am only making plans
for when my lover gets here
(what present delights we share!)
TWO
You say I live
according to the flight
of a sudden or slight
feeling.
I feel it swelling
in Summer
all around me,
the Wetiko
skyscrapers,
street lamps, business suits,
the aged desire to plant seeds
for every facet
of this short life.
THREE
I don't feel it anymore,
breath, bread, lover...
We've worried ourselves
into this wasteland,
where fault is the flower
and pain buries the seed
far too deep
to ever taste the sun.
FOUR
As a young girl
they told me
it was my curse
to cast aside
(when I traveled
aimlessly from toe shoes
to paint stains,
from female lover
to long married man,
from Keats to Hemingway to Rand)
but nothing is a curse
when you live & crave
color, the subtle shape
living and breathing
beneath our hands.
FIVE
And love failed
was never gained
in the first place.
Who can feign
gather breath, blood, love
in the frail
net of the mind?
Nothing is left of this love
but a craving
like the parched Earth
waiting for rain,
a lover lingering
by the station
for the last evening train.
-Lyndsie Stremlow
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| Nothing is Entirely True |
[16 Jun 2009|07:58am] |
He said to me, "...if you love me, let me go." And so I will.
Sometimes entire days can be laced with a vague dread. In retrospect, what seems like unmeasurable amounts of time can be knotted with this same feeling. I need to remember that it has nothing to do with him now. What I tried to build for us was filled with hurt and confusion, mostly confusion. I still don't know what it means to me to love someone with trust, without restraint, and with honor. I've spent so much time exploring what love means to me I missed the point entirely. I don't let it touch me. Nor do I simply let it exist without my permission.
I've been getting more and more sick and blue since Saturday. My mother went into a series of three serious surgeries yesterday morning at 8 AM. She's not in good health. I was genuinely worried that Sunday could possibly have been the last time I talked to her and it was a day I was not proud of myself, nor did I think she could be proud of my foolish actions lately. She called me yesterday morning on the way to the hospital to tell me she loved me. I said I loved her too, but got the faint feeling that we don't ever really feel the potent purity of love until we are presented with the possibility of someone's absence. That's not entirely true, though, as nothing is entirely true.
I can't help but feel at the end of a relationship, no matter how sordid or confusing or hurtful, we are cast out into the world in a new shape, like a rock tossed about on the sea coming back worn a little more, but perhaps newly polished.
I only strive now for the experience of pure joy I find in spontaneous creation, music of the moment, the undeniable qualities of shadow and light...
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[09 Jun 2009|08:25am] |
G.,
Pussy spanking, eh? That sounds like something I saw in a bad porn once. Equally repulsive was a man spitting into a woman's asshole and getting aggressively aroused by it. The banal and truly novel may turn some people on, but I prefer watching people who look like their in love fuck. Love and understanding turn me on. So does nature. So do women with small pear shaped breasts and armpits like peach skin. So does writing emails while I'm supposed to be working.
Smoke Signals
Got your email
what travelled
on a synapse's
silent spine
to reach me
inevitably electric.
Your words peeled
layers off a palpitating
point of silence,
like undressing
the supple white
of an ivory ripe breast
or onion.
Your words wake
to shapely lines
like arranging atoms,
deciding every dendrite
will explode
parading the possibility
of a sentence sensuous.
Flooded from our mouths:
the drunken trails
of smoke soaked in wine
that pause on the tip of lips
and slowly begin to unwind.
-L.S.
I'm free most evenings after 5:00 PM. I'm also free on the Sabbath day. Maybe I'll come by some evening this week with a pretty Polly to have a drink at your bar. Remind me where it is again.
-Lyndsie
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[11 May 2009|08:05am] |
What I did this weekend/guess who is obviously NOT a runway model HA
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[01 May 2009|02:09pm] |
I
All day long eyeing
the frantic figures
skitting to class
and passing like dead leaves
on the yellow summer grass.
II
The one great pain
of my life
is that I was not born
a man.
All the girls
with slender white arms
and hair so black
it swallows all light…and women
in their mid-forties beautiful
like dried flowers,
the ones like my therapist
Linda with a deep voice
and short, yellow hair
(and a peculiar curl around
her forehead)…and the sorority girls
sounding like the broken trill
of a high-pitched flute,
but Christ how they smell like
the most expensive Spring!
And this is not to mention
the poetry I’d write them
just so they would sleep with me.
I would spend more time
reading Neruda and less St. Vincent Millay.
Dorothy Parker would be
A bitter old bitch and not a sister.
Oh how I wish I were a mister!
-L.A.S.
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[13 Apr 2009|09:58pm] |
We create our own reality,
but this is hard to see
because we are victims of our
own culture.
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[08 Apr 2009|01:22pm] |
"The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities."
-Sophocles
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mrsnothing's journal
