The Juxtaposition of Everything

wordpress blog stats

fractal

Your poor brain becomes a cathouse where fractals copulate with exponents.

                                                                                                                                                       
It’s not exactly a win when you get a respite from the Black Mirror episode you’re trapped in (that involves an evil circus) if it’s because you got distracted by your own petty problems for a second. Today I woke up from a nightmare into a bad dream that wasn’t a dream. In the nightmare, my petty problem — let’s go ahead and call her Petty Goblin — intersected with the clown-in-chief who’s been ruining everybody’s day. Petty Goblins have personalities, just like cats and dogs. And sometimes cockroaches. My Petty Goblin is kooky and manipulative all at once, with a big-ass chip on her shoulder. I’m not thrilled with dream god Morpheus for sticking two assholes in one nightmare for me, thus leaving me bone-tired on a day I have to deal with the fact that both assholes actually exist in wakefulness.

I tried to appeal to her splotchy heart: “Please help me not hate you.” But so far Petty Goblin has got more splotch than heart.

I know, I know, I should be better than to worry about Petty Goblin. But dammit, I’m sleep-deprived and looking for empathy in places where it can’t be found. Like in the abyss of a bottomless well. The well can’t hear and even if it could, wells don’t care when your soul has a boo boo. Or in the three eyes of a purple alien who doesn’t speak English, much less understand human emotions — female human, at that.

So once in a while I take the low road, where a surprising amount of empathy can be found, and treat my blog like a glorified diary.

Those who choose can always teleport to a happy rainbow of a post or a slightly salacious one about why I don’t want to marry the man I love.

Oh, you’re staying to watch as I stream-of-consciousness my way out of late night angst? Cool.

Let’s start with the squid ink. It won’t make sense to you; it’s my stream of consciousness, after all. A word salad tossed with delirium. After the preamble and torment — three months overdue, in fact — the squid ink didn’t work, instead dripping blotches on my naked skin. So I’ll still look the immature brat trapped under an old lady’s scalp passing myself off among everyone else’s salon hair. Nuzzle. And did something hatch in here? Why are there gnats in the “dead of winter” where there is no food, and is that why the Exceptionally Tall Man took away garbage that wasn’t full?

I don’t kill them. One is crawling on the side of my computer screen. It looks calm, like it feels safe, so I’ll let it be right. We are simpatico, me and this gnat. Finally, some empathy.

The world is different now. No one is quite sure in what direction, but everyone agrees: nothing will be the same.

“Don’t be afraid.” / “Be very afraid.”
“This is bad.” / “This will end up good.”
“Make calls, hold a sign, give money.” / “Nothing you do can make a difference.”
“Look at this outrage, now look at this one, and now this!” / “But the nuances!”
“You post too much politics, don’t buy into the hysteria.” / “Your posts are too frivolous, these are dire times.”

I had one decent inhale/exhale today when I read this take on how what’s happening isn’t the fuckos taking control, but a dying grasp at the end of their era.

At the millennium’s turn, I was alone and newly transplanted to California, desperately in love with a bong water aficionado to whom no one smart would’ve entrusted their heart. I didn’t know anyone or even my own mind, so I sighed a lot and felt sorry for myself, accompanied by tears, snot and all. I even visited a Tarot reader who drew the Sword of Something Bloody and Deathly and condemned me to a fate of sorrow by birthright. Yawn. For real. Because I cry “joy” when I see birds fly, so fuck off with your sorrow (and each damn sword drawn at every. single. reading. I’ve ever had for “fun.”) To her credit, she told me I might benefit from a shrink. Can’t you shrink me, kind blonde lady, with your scary cards and soothing voice? I guess she couldn’t, so I went into the neighboring Bodhi Tree bookstore with its incense and crystals, and bought a book called Positive Magic.

The book said, we’ll be transitioning from the Age of Pisces to the Age of Aquarius and we’re all going to be fucked for a while as we trade faith for reason, and convention for innovation. Insanity and extremes will abound as some of humanity scrambles to hold on, even as the rest rushes to let go.

I keep thinking my out-of-print book was on to something.

When you have a racing mind with no off switch, not even in sleep, compound it with an addictive barrage of 1’s and 0’s speeding at you faster and denser than anything witnessed before by humanity, then plopping our whole lot into the epoch of half-truths, fake news, alternative facts and red herrings, your poor brain becomes a cathouse where fractals copulate with exponents and their orgasms mushroom in eternity mirrors.

In this semeny, mathy petri dish of madness, Petty Goblins take on new meaning, as in, no one should allow time for them. We all have one form of Petty Goblin or other. Bad job, unfair boss, marital bickering, infuriating neighbor… My Petty Goblin is invisible, a figment of my imagination, according to the well-intentioned (but oblivious). It makes me want to leave. (Where?) Aren’t we supposed to separate ourselves from that which hurts us? That answer I don’t have today.

The only answer I have is, whatever fight we have inside needs preserving so we can use it to steer the good people of the world to the good side of progress.

I’m no longer the little girl from the year 2000, gasping at sword illustrations. I invite you to laugh with me at Silly Pains and Petty Goblins, because we’re certainly not going to cry over them. And for me, the good news is, your today is my yesterday. Right now, I’m probably on an airplane taking me to where women are good to each other and men aren’t oblivious.

At least for the weekend.

And also, I have no idea about the men.

Only about the women with salon hair. (I’m still streaming my consciousness.)
 

Follow Gunmetal Geisha

transparent

Follow GG on FacebookFollow GG on TwitterFollow GG on InstagramFollow GG on PinterestFollow GG on YouTubeFollow GG on Google Plus
 


Sign Up

   for new GG posts

GG◊  Thanks for your comments, shares and likes. Most of all, sincere thanks for reading.
◊  If you enjoy and want more GG, do sign up!
◊  You can also follow GG verbal and pictorial missives on TwitterFacebook and  Instagram.


WordPress informs me that below this paragraph, some random ad might appear unless I spring for the no-ad upgrade. If so, apologies.

Advertisements

7 comments

  1. Reading this was a great start to my day…just the right amount of reality through pretty sheers.

    1. Thanks so much fro reading it!

  2. Timely, though I understand that’s from my perspective. From yours it’s not a choice, not something you can say, “Oh good, I’m feeling this right now, it’s applicable to what’s happening around me.” 😛 Very much a fan of your writing style, whatever the subject matter. Thanks for sharing!

    1. Your comment means a lot to me, Sean. It’s a gift to be told what you’re doing might be worthwhile. Thanks from the heart.

  3. There is something obscurely appropriate to this streaming of your sleep deprivation addled brain (delightfully so, BTW) about the fractal beauty of Broccaflower. It is confusing when Petty Goblins and Slouching Rough Beasts are playing “After you – No, after you” in the doorways of our consciousness.

    1. This is an apt description as any — I love being understood by you no matter how obscure I’m being! Thank you!

  4. Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
    G.G. streams her consciousness.

Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: