I can see back now. . .I'm seven again, its late, i'm laying in bed in Aldea, the student housing of UCSF Med/Dental school. My mom is laying beside me, I'm crying uncontrolably, and I don't know why. . .the pain is so deep, not pain, grief. . .the words aren't forming from feelings yet, and they've only started to 16 years later. I'm telling her how I want to die. . .how I just want out from this burden. . .and as the crying subsided, i remember feeling like drying ground in the sunlight after a hurricane, like it was all a bad dream. . .but the imprints of the dream were real, evident, they linger in apprehension still. . .like the storm might come back to catch me unsuspecting. . .and my mother playing with my hair as I faced away from her, towards the wall, her words still echo, "oh, jay jay, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. . ."
When I was 16, I talked to a complete stranger about my natal chart. I was sitting in the attic, a dimly lit room with off white carpet and wooden walls, a soft glow at night time. She was in Houston, my father arranged it. . .
. . .she told me of a nothern node, she said I was a spiritual leader in my last life. . .I was thinking back to those words at work tonight. . .maybe the northern node doesn't represent what you were in your last life, but inclinations in this life. Or perhaps my past life seeps through to this one, she did tell me I was a 'one-lifer', then again I've always been skeptical about someone telling me i'm important. . .its just been a dream of mine since I can remember. . .I swear I never had the happy, warm, protected childhood. . .I just don't know how to do that. Many times a day, I feel like meditating, about stricture. . .about wondering why I play games, why my fear influences me so strongly. . .
. . .I'd like to hold you, I've got my desires for something serious. . .something grounded, monogamous. . .it's own form of commitment. . .but I'm almost ready to tell you, break the seal of my mind and let the words spill out, but it might be too soon, I've always had an eye for the future, watching things progress in seconds when it would take hours, days. . .maybe years. . .
life springs up from the box, drink from the box, yeah. . .bruce lee. hang on, hang on.
Tina lives in Berlin, her voice so seldom on my machine, is here tonight and i'm on the market and when I'm on the market, words move fast and wild, clouds move thin between us, lack of skin, lack of salty skin, for a seed, of fat circles, smilin' smilin', her voice so. . .intentionally smilin', the clouds between us. . .and these are my intentions. Pushin', pushin', pushin', pushin', pushin'. . .push. . .up, up, up, up, up. Look at the (blonde), its carryin' something, its carryin' me, I'm someone I used to be, great plastic someone, blue pastic girl, look at your creed, its pushin'. . .pushin', pushin'. . .up, up. . .push, a little coffee for the unbelievers. . .the faces are watchin' her, she's watchin' the faces, watchin' her. . .
i've been this way for days. . .