Along for the ride…

I did it!

Yes, you have seen some of the images in the above collage already, in bits and pieces, BUT…

I finally made a collage that’s themed after my ongoing book series, Rock is Undead, without using anything copyright, unless you count my photo of the poster I have on my wall, of someone else’s art rendering of David.

But it’s still my photo?! Not sure how that works. I would credit the artist, but I can’t find that piece anywhere anymore, and the description from the seller has been scrubbed from Amazon. AND the artist signature on the print is SUPER hard to read.

I feel like the collage came out a lot less “gay” than the series… though I suppose “a lot less bisexual” is more accurate? The main focus of it all is the connection between Dorian and Jared. There are some spicy scenes with Jared and Haven, and Jared and Lenore have some sexy interactions. Still mostly about the two men.

Fetishizing much? Perhaps.

It’s dealt with democratically within the story, at least.

The guys fetishize girl-on-girl, right back, even as the girls in one scene are talking amongst themselves while Jared and Dorian are making out on the bed, wondering if they should interrupt or just keep watching.

Still, I am sure, it’s the epitome of politically incorrect. I am, at least, aware, and a member of the “alphabet mafia,” myself.

Likely guilty of no small amount of fetishizing, with my own dating habits. Eh, I’m not perfect. Let me tell you, the rare guy who wasn’t all about me being bisexual wasn’t as much fun to talk to. He was just kinda meh about it. I had lost my superpower! And I didn’t like it.

MANY years ago at a seventies-themed bar with my then-girlfriend, heavy on the lava lamps, disco balls, and general psychedelic vibes, a guy approached us and asked us if we could kiss again; his buddy had missed it. I didn’t mind, in the slightest. I tried to find the two of them in the crowd immediately after, with my eyes, but they’d melted into the background. Alas.

So, I am sure neither I nor my writing are for everyone.

The fiction all by itself has plenty potential to be patently offensive. That’s part of what makes it so much fun to write?! As much as I had at certain points shied away from writing about sex etc., it seemed like my spicier poetry fared a lot better with literary magazines. Maybe that’s just my perception. They do say sex sells.

ANYWAY… about my day:

After MANY many nights of ragged sleep, I FINALLY plunged deep into awesome sleep last night. So much so, that I was really struggling to break free of the dream I was having as the alarm went off. Took me more than 2 hours after that, to get up for good, and stay out of bed.

Parts of the dream were a little scary. Still not exactly a nightmare. I was onboard something that was maybe a spaceship. No windows. White walls and ceiling. Full of aliens or demons or some of each. And Sam and Dean from Supernatural were there.

There was a point where I somehow thought I felt Dean in my mind. I asked in my thoughts if he could feel me, too, and he looked at me and nodded.

So weird. Upon waking, that aspect of the dream brought back memories of when I was manic and delusional and believed I was psychically linked to Ian Somerhalder. Crazy days…

But… last night’s dream… there was something about how if one type of demon/alien was too close to you for too long, you would turn into one of them. Even if you still looked the same. There was someone that had happened to, who was locked inside a cell, filled floor to ceiling with water. I was forced inside but didn’t drown, because I, also, transformed.

In another scene of the dream, I *was* Dean (I role and gender swap in my dreams rather often). The alien/demon things had thrown something at me or at least in my general direction, that was corrupting the walls and ceiling and turning them red. Maybe as if they were on fire. But the effect looked really strange. It revealed that the spaceship or whatever was made of something like Legos. The bricks switched to red, bit by bit.

I eventually discovered I could even shift the pieces in the ceiling enough to reveal a patch of blue sky, but I couldn’t make a big enough hole to escape through.

That’s what I was dreaming when the alarm went off.

I drifted back in and out of sleep after that, until well after noon.

Apparently, it had been slow at work, and I was offered the chance to come in a half an hour or an hour later. I could’ve taken the whole hour, but I didn’t. I ran out of things to do, I suppose?

HOWEVER… with that little bit of permission to take extra time, I suddenly felt like I *HAD* more time to do stuff. I got a load of laundry started. Got nearly all the clothes I am keeping that are dirty into one load. Just hadn’t added in the ongoing portable hamper’s contents. But even that isn’t full. So I am downsizing QUITE a bit.

AND I loaded up the latest batches of clothes to be donated and took those to the thrift store.

THEN I stopped at the chocolatier/candy shop (because I would’ve been about on time at work, otherwise, at my scheduled time, not using up the extra half-hour or hour). I picked up some chocolate bars on their buy 2 get 1 free anniversary sale. I even took the time to BROWSE.

They had some really whimsical butterfly decor. I should have photographed that display to share, but I suddenly felt really shy about taking pics. Maybe because I was within sight of the area behind the counter, where some of the employees were waiting to pack up fresh candy for customers, from the glass case.

I also chit-chatted first with one of the employees (and made her laugh), and with someone else browsing the chocolate bars. I’m not typically super social in the wild like that. It felt good.

Foot traffic picked up at work after the manager left. We were a little busy for a bit. That got somewhat intense. Maybe I was still feeling a little fried from how much business we had done the day before, also with just the two of us there. I worked with the same coworker today.

It will be really really great to have the next two days off.

OH HEY just checked the time and saw 11:11. Angel numbers.

I was actually a little concerned about the extent of my scattered thoughts and panic at work, like it might be a smidge of mania, or a spike in anxiety. I felt that way yesterday, too, trying to do too many things at once. But in one case, the phone rang, as I was at the register with someone, coworker helping someone else, somewhere. So I also had to answer the phone. But they (coworker) returned, and I had them finish the sale. The call turned a little complicated.

I don’t know. It wasn’t AS busy tonight, but I still had moments where I felt like I couldn’t move fast enough, when I really should have just taken a moment to BREATHE and pace myself, and focus.

I did meditate before work. Hadn’t done that the previous two shifts, I think, because I was too short on time, by the time I parked. But it does help.

Left the engine running and the AC on this time, while I did so. It was pretty hot here today.

Got fast food after work, heading home, but promised myself I would FINALLY get groceries tomorrow. Listened to vampire music on the way home, which I had planned to do since my ride TO work, after Type O’s cover of “Cinnamon Girl” came on, in a different playlist. Peter Steele’s voice had me craving goth and vampire vibes.

I visited my parents before work, and snapped a pic using the timer on my phone, of me in my new jeans. My mom really likes them. She said, “Those are really pretty!” Then, she pointed them out to my dad. He was more impressed by my socks! A very intense shade of hot pink. He asked where I’d gotten them, and I told him I already had them, and had discovered them in a laundry basket. So yes, my mated sock supply has grown, exponentially, since I went through the baskets.

I’ll have to get a better pic of the jeans. I suppose I could share the one I have, here? I already posted it on Instagram. But I had lifted the shirt’s bottom hem a little, so it wouldn’t cover any of the embroidery on the jeans. I don’t think it would have, upon further reflection. Doing that, though, made the shirt sit tighter against my belly. I’m iffy about how that looks, in the pic. Still working on my weight loss. And that’s right about where the majority of my weight sits.

Drive thru was tasty. Again, not ideal for slimming down, but hey…

Kitty was a little sad I didn’t drop a single French fry. And she got all up in my space, on the PC desk, while I was putting the finishing touches on the collage above. I petted her so enthusiastically that she left (which had been my intent). We will, however, have plenty of time to bond tomorrow, I think.

We’ll see. There may be plans of some kind in the works for tomorrow or Wednesday. And, the grocery run. I could definitely still use some time to get more done around here, too.

I had considered poking at the remaining baskets of clothes and things I’d brought in from the car and hadn’t yet found spots for, with my surge of good-sleep and next-two-days-off energy. But then, I just listened to music and had dinner, and made the collage.

Now, I’m starting to get a little sleepy. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll stay up a bit.

I’m debating adding that collage to my Facebook page for my art and creative writing. It is VERY spicy content compared to what I’ve had on there in the past, as far as visuals. I may have mentioned the series, itself, on my page. I’m not sure. But I have a few extended family members and at least one former supervisor following that page.

Maybe I’ll think that over some more.

Because once it’s been online, in a public post, that’s it. It’s in the history of the page. Hm.

Moving on… I read more of Natalie Goldberg’s Wild Mind last night. I still have to do the exercise of writing about something you find difficult to write about (emotionally), and really diving in. I may have mentioned it? Spending multiple writing sessions over the course of weeks or months on it. Describing it in as many specific sensory details as you can.

I have a particular episode in my history in mind for it. Maybe because of what it is, I’ve been avoiding the exercise? But I did the other one. The 10 days of writing. Hasn’t been a couple weeks since I finished that, so I have yet to go back over what I wrote, then. You were supposed to do that, too, and tease apart any passages you could use in future writing practice.

Either way, the 10 day challenge definitely primed me for more writing. I made a lot of progress with Mystery Train after day 10. Just trying to puzzle my way through where it’s at now.

But she has some great advice for situations like that, and also for perceived blind spots in your work. The example is characters arriving places by osmosis because you’ve failed to describe the car(s). You’re supposed to literally write out, “I want to write about…” and continue from there. Or, if you are feeling rebellious, write out “I don’t want to write about…” and see what follows.

Speaking of traveling, in relation to my story, I suppose I should add something about how vampire-Jared notices the taste of smog in the LA air more strongly than he did as a human, and that the difference once you get out of the city is unbelievably palpable (I found that the case, when I lived there… the air tasted different, in Santa Monica, and so on).

I also got sick nearly immediately after moving in. That COULD have been just something viral, but at the time, I blamed it on air quality. I’ve heard just breathing there is like smoking two packs a day. Not sure how accurate that is.

That’s one of those factoids I picked up somewhere and can’t remember the source for.

I could also add a few bits about the traffic, imagery about the night, the climate… the cooler air at night. Which now will be all he knows. All great things to consider.

Heck, I could even throw in something about the Scientology center in Hollywood, since they head that way in one scene….

My friend and I had someone try to convert us, out front. I was lighting cigarette after cigarette just trying to keep my fingers warm, as we walked back to campus. Ah, youthful misadventures.

Would I mention the pervasive homelessness downtown, or the lower income areas with fabulously-economic grocery stores? They wouldn’t need groceries anymore, but they might pick up alcohol.

Yeah, I don’t drink, but my vampires do.

They’re having the time of their un-lives, and I’m along for the ride.

But life isn’t over, yet.

I just find myself sufficiently underwhelmed by my possible dating prospects, that it hasn’t seemed like much of a hardship to settle for fictional characters and fantasy. And that’s definitely been a boon to my creative productivity.

I’m not sure why I remembered him now. Maybe it’s just all the memories of California.

*EDIT TO ADD*

This section meanders, quite a bit, before settling on who I was actually thinking of. Because you need some context, to get to how I met him.

There was a campus squatter who was dating a student who lived in my dorm, down the hall. He bummed around the Bible discussion group. I think that was how I met him?

I dabbled with Bible study here and there.

Don’t judge me.

Was he bi? I think he was. I seem to remember him telling me he felt safer with guys, at first, when I had said I had only had a girlfriend, so far, because after seeing my parents together, straight relationships just looked unhealthy. Those may not have been my exact words, but that was the general gist.

He and I had a moment. Nothing especially romantic. Just physical. By the time it happened, I was over my crush on him and interested instead in a BEAUTIFUL Peruvian New Yorker stoner boi. But New Yorker dude stubbornly refused to give up his long distance girlfriend, or cheat. After looking him over too closely for too long, I just needed SOMEONE. And, bam, squatter dude was there.

Later that school year, a woman who lived down the hall from me and my roommate, had a bad breakup, that I kind of used to my advantage.

She and squatter guy later got together, after both having been with me, first. Sad day.

I didn’t even introduce them. It was sheer, unfortunate, bisexual coincidence.

When we were all out in the city, I think it was him who introduced us to a whole mess of homeless LA peeps, including the guy I was ACTUALLY thinking about, who inspired this whole tangent. A long-haired guy named Jay, in a trench coat.

Yeah, he was homeless, but he was so hot.

Nothing happened. I have no idea how old he was. Maybe too old for me.

I would’ve been 17 or 18 at the time.

But he had fun walking up to strangers passing by on the sidewalk, announcing to them, “Hey, she wants to **** me.” Which had me cracking up with laughter.

I wonder what happened to him?

And to squatter guy and breakup girl?

I tried looking her up after much time had passed. She may have given me an address? It was so long ago… But I never heard back.

Last I knew, they had shoplifted engagement rings together. Nothing super pricey. I think it was more the thrill of taking stuff, and his bad influence on her.

There was another much more uplifting incident during this whole time-frame.

I was slumped against a wall. I think the two of them were roller-blading together.

I was just a third wheel.

A man in traditional African garb approached me, along with a woman I believed may have been his wife. He was a minister, or seemed to be? So much joy and sincerity radiated from him. He told me that when you have troubles, you just have to “toss em up.”

Meaning, up to God. But somehow, when he said it, it didn’t sound preachy. It just made me visualize balloons floating up into the sky and away. And when he gestured with his hands, to indicate the tossing upward, I actually felt my emotions shift.

I had also been given a flyer for a Rastafarian event, while walking with a group of film study friends. I was the only one targeted for a flyer. My friend, Allison, wanted to know why. Must’ve been my vibe. Heh.

Didn’t check out the event, but damn, there are some INTERESTING people in Los Angeles.

I got lost once walking back from someone’s off-campus apartment, because I went straight the whole way and missed my turn, then couldn’t remember where I was supposed to have turned. Everything looked so unfamiliar.

Somehow had a guy friend’s phone number memorized and called him for help. Why him and not my own room for my roommate? I don’t know. Got his roommate, instead, who sounded really annoyed, but still picked me up and brought me back.

A small windstorm kicked up dust on the sidewalk, swirling it like a mini tornado.

But the people around me could tell I was in trouble of some kind. They all looked concerned, even if none of them intervened. I didn’t feel the least bit unsafe, just scared, and confused.

My roommate was too scared to shop at the grocery store by campus, because she thought it would be full of criminals. It was a great grocery store! They sold churros, too. I spent a lot of time there, and at the video store, nearby.

So many memories.

I guess all that is a stark reminder of how much life parents lead before having children. I’m sure there’s plenty about my own parents that I don’t know, even if more than likely (at least in my mom’s case), it’s probably a lot less controversial than all the trouble I got up to, before I had my kiddo.

And that was only at 23.

Still lived a whole lot, as much as I sometimes chafed at the limitations to my time and freedom, as I was single-parenting. But she’s a great kid. No regrets.

I just should have had more help, and more babysitting, so I could get away, now and then. Not to party like a rockstar. Just to exist, and socialize, and maybe meet someone special.

Going from work to school to taking care of a young child with no breaks in between, with interrupted sleep for two whole years due to her waking up in the night, definitely wasn’t good for me. A doctor had told me I should let her cry, because I NEEDED more sleep, but I couldn’t do it.

Now, she’s gone, and a lot of my wildness has been burned off, by time.

Not all of it.

I’ve retained enough to channel it into my writing, and my taste in music, and my art. And I can still appreciate fictional character/celebrity eye-candy with the best of them.

A guy once made me promise to never lose my “spark.” He said a lot of women did.

(This detail is actually all I remember about him. Not his name, his hair color… nothing.)

I’ve aged.

I also may not be so quick to scour the apps, cruising for guys.

Been there, done that.

That may have been what he had meant. Not to give up your youthful lust.

Which, really, from a woman’s perspective, might translate into continuing to seek out male approval and attention. Something that taken to extremes, isn’t quite healthy.

Hormones shift, and people mature.

I don’t know. A couple of my favorite past partners are also very tough acts to follow.

Those memories are neon technicolor, compared to the black-and-white of today.

But I still festoon myself in glitter, and color my hair, and write lurid things, and make art.

That’s the spark I’m more interested in keeping.