These past two weeks have been rough. I have a serious unhappiness that I can not identify clearly enough to put my finger on. This lack of identification prevents me from being able to move in directions where I may be able to find “happiness” (speaking of happiness anyone ever see that movie? Damn, that movie is f’d up) this “happiness” thing doesn’t depress me so much as frustrates me, and I have been annoyed and bothered for the past two weeks, and honestly I’m pissin myself off. I feel like looking in the mirror and telling myself to get a life, but that’s redundant. Fortunately, there has been some pretty cool stuff that has cropped up and it is these silver linings that keep me going.

I think I need some clarification here in all this said, unhappiness stuff. I do know the root, this is all about me having dreams and wishes for my life, all of which surround writing and art in general, and I am not remotely close to those dreams, so everything I mention here, at least on this post, refers to writing. So, when I say, “keep me going,” I mean as an artist. Here is the root of the problem: I don’t believe in myself and this is a pretty hefty obstacle, my best analogy is to compare it to someone who is suffering from anorexia. No matter how thin they get or how many people tell them they are beautiful or skinny or too skinny, when they look in the mirror they see fat, when they pinch their skin, they see fat. They need perfection, they desire to obtain perfection, and until they do (which may kill them) they can not be happy. Their minds are warped in a way they cannot, even when they try, see their own beauty. That is how I am, but with what I do and about my brain. I’m fascinated by my own neurosis. I totally envy people who think or know that they are great at what they do, because sometimes when that voice is gone (it hardly leaves) I see my work and I think, damn, I’m good, I’ve got something special, but it never lasts. Hell, maybe every artist is like this, but they are good liars and fakes.

So, damn it, yet again, another long ass post, sorry, let me get back on track–

The silver linings. There was another Whisper Sessions poetry reading. I wrote about  the whisper sessions in a previous post. It is when three or more members of the Write Bloody crew are in town at the same time, and they put on a poetry reading. I believe Paul Maziar is the organizer of the Whisper Sessions. It’s been a great way to hear some new poets, some of whom do not live here, and to also meet some new writers. I’m not sure why I’ve gravitated to this group of writers as opposed to other writing families, because there are a ton of writers, and good ones here in Portland, but, I just I don’t know… something was missing. I talk like I’m dating or looking for the perfect relationship, and I guess I am. I mean writing really is my life, performing was my life, they literally hurt me. When I was acting full-time, I would talk about it like it was my religion, it would make me cry. I looked at a stage and a theatre like they were my church, I’m not kidding, it is crazy. Back to my unrealistic perceptions of a writing community, so, I like these folks, these writers, and as I said, I can’t put my finger on it. Not that I feel like I need to, and  I mean, I still feel like a complete looser and never expect to be a part of their community, but I get them. I don’t know if they know I get them, but I do. I get their poems, and their language. That is different then being friends or knowing people personally and away from the page or the performance. I get the poems, and the poems… Well,  that’s where the god damn lovemaking is! The thing is, after I watch a whisper session, I feel fucking inspired. I mean the f word was important in that sentence because it is THAT inspiring (and I use that word more than I write it on this blog, I’m like a sailor). Do I walk away thinking, oh I want to be like them or I want them to like me? No. I walk away thinking I want to write! Now! Forever! And this is a very good thing. Well a part of me thinks I wish I could write as well because I’m a freak with writing anorexia, but on a good day I can write in a fashion like them. I have the same passions; I write, I love, I look for great love, living is what everything is about, and being human gives me the ability to write and speak, and that is how I communicate my experience with being human to other humans, see similar.

This post is going to be a two parter because I cannot stay on track tonight. The point of all this rambling is that in the midst of my bothered week I got the opportunity once again to see and meet some of the writers from Write Bloody. I got to hear some great poetry, hang out in a tiny hot tub (once again) sleep on a circular bed, and have breakfast with a bunch of new people, and an old friend. I got to talk writing. Then as a result of this interaction, even though my mean voice has given me some fun insecurities to play with (wouldn’t be me with out the ‘voice’) I have consistently written something everyday. So! For my “to continue” or as Emily would say “stay on topic” I will follow-up with some details like who was reading, and where you can find them if you are interested in reading their work, and what exactly my dysfunctional brain has been doing with my new surge of inspiration… oh be sure to check back, it doesn’t get much more exciting than this!