Windy City Enlightenment...Part Two

I had money when I got into town, I swear...

Where the hell did it go? *Looks around, checks wallet*

*sigh* It's my birthday and I'm broke, with no furniture. 

But damn, this city is pretty...

It's amazing the things you tell yourself you're capable of when you realize that things won't turn out the way you had planned it perfectly in your head. 

Here is Lesson One in my Windy City Enlightenment series:

~If you move to a city with no job and a "delayed" monetary cushion, act as if you have no money. And when you receive said cushion, keep acting that way. Chicago is expensive. And it eats up your money by attracting you with delicious pizzas and sandwiches and 7-day bus passes (that get lost) and bar-hopping to see Shane from 'The Real World'.

~That being said, don't treat the job search as if you have your pick of the litter. This is a big city, and there are tons of people who think they're perfect for the job you're applying for. So apply everywhere, apply often. And if you think you're "too good" for a job, chances are, you're not. So apply anyway. It'll probably get you out of a quick jam. 

Thus ends this episode of "Windy City Enlightenment". Tune in next time when we discuss...something else that hopefully has absolutely nothing to do with money.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

I Call this 'Hell Week'

It starts on the 21st and ends on the 26th, or 27th. Depends on the year. 

I woke up this morning in panic, haunted by a dream that seems all too familiar and prophetic.  It is soon followed by frantic texts to certain people, making sure they're okay. If I call, I'll cry. Hell, if I text, I cry. 

I remembered it's her birthday. She would have been 31 today.  I think back to our phone conversation that night...that year: Laughing, talking about her ability to hold tequila, driving around..

It's also my parents' anniversary today. But I can't bring myself to press the call button. 

The next day is the 23rd. My birthday. I'll be 23. Should I make a wish? No, I'll be too lost in my thoughts of our last phone call that night...that year: She wishes me happy birthday, we talk of my coming back home. She agrees to pick me up that weekend herself. 

Maybe this year Chicago will distract me out of my birthday funk. 

Then it's the 25th. I recall having trouble sleeping that night...that year. It carries on into the early morning of the 26th. I felt odd...I wanted to call her. I had a dream with my dad and I in the living room. We were sad...he hugged me, and I knew someone had died. I thought it was him. 

The 26th. The worst of them all. The ill-fated call that morning 4 years ago, rousing me out of my sleep with a jump. My heartbeat racing, tears coming to my eyes before I could even answer the phone. 

"Tyrie's dead! He killed her!" I hear the broken voice of the strongest man I ever knew on the other line...sobbing.

"What?" was all I could muster. 

I said it over and over and over again, in disbelief. I screamed at the top of my lungs, literally watching the world crumble around me. I was hysterical. I knew I was going to die.  And part of me did. 

Not my sister, not Tyrie. Not my best friend. Not the only one I told everything to. Not the one who promised we would grow old together. Not that one. It was impossible. Our connection was too strong. But I already knew it. I knew it the night before. I knew it a month before. I knew I wouldn't get to have her for that long. I knew from the beginning. 

Like I said, 'Hell Week'.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

Windy City Enlightenment...Part One

The lease has been signed, the keys in my hand, utilities on (almost), and I'm still here. Tying up loose ends, making some extra cash, saying my goodbyes. 

The roomie (Bri) is already there setting up her stuff, keeping busy breaking in the appliances and plumbing, I'm sure. 

My last day in this beautifully decrepit increasingly suicidal state: July 17. 

So everyone has a chance to say bye, cuz, you know, I'm not gonna be as accessible. (If that changes up your routine, I do not apologize)

New chapter, new people, new lessons. This is what I hope to find in Chicago.

Wish me luck? It's a long time coming, and I sure could use a little...

Windy City Enlightenment.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

Maybe it's hormones...

I'm contemplating reopening the dungeon door that keeps the more melancholy side of me safely hidden and subdued. It has awakened and is softly tapping on the cold steel, knowing only I would hear it.

The rhythmic rapping seduces me...I am unfamiliar to it at first, but begin to remember as the sound crescendoes, increasing in pace...

Wanting to ignore it, I plug my ears, but to no avail. Because it is inside of me.  The tapping becomes deafening, resonating in my chest, my loins, my feet.  I am hypnotized as a I walk to the dungeon door, slowly turning the deadbolt...

It is inside of me, all around me, it is me. I AM melancholy. Melancholy is me.  We embrace, we kiss, we make love, we become one.

It/she allow(s) me to embrace the ugly, the decadent, the lousy, the uncomfortable, the bad, the seemingly evil...allowing me balance.  Melancholy allows me to see beauty in everything. 

It/she allows me to indulge in my darker thoughts without fear of what others may think of me, and without fear of losing myself;  because my thoughts are just as much a part of me as my actions.  

And for many, our unspoken thoughts are much more important/honest than our expected actions influenced by society.

The old ones are fading.

Fresh scars will/please me

Day and Night at your command

My/own/power lies in your hand

around my throat

until I understand/what it means

To live.

~Pusher.Of.Pens~

I get it now.

I feel I have to over-indulge in the human experience. 

And when I've had my fill, and cannot take anymore, my mouth waters and I regurgitate descriptives, locations, character bios.  I keep purging until I taste the gastro-intestinal acid of the last word.

And the cycle starts all over again. But I'm not sure I'm very fond of this. Perhaps my process is going too slow...should I speed up the binge? 

Or rather, it's about taking time to savor every human experience, allowing it to roll around in my mouth, slowly breaking down into something that I can swallow, but leave on the taste buds of my mind to be savored yet again at a later time. 

Isn't that what we're supposed to do?

It's hard. Hard to savor. Life is going at break-neck speed. Naturally? No. It's forced. 

And so is my Sci-Fi novel. Trying too hard to make it sound like something I'm not quite feeling. Maybe the language, maybe too much Science Fiction for me to write about. Maybe I'm overanalyzing it. Either way, it doesn't feel write--right. 

Fight back for the natural urge.

What comes natural? The Call. I flow in and around the story, adding in pieces of me like a puzzle as I go. And they all fit. I almost seduce myself in a way...wanting to believe the words, wishing for it...

I savor The Call. I vomit my Sci-Fi. Which is better for me?

But I digress.

Almost have a new tattoo figured out... Going along the side of my body from left hip to maybe just under the breast. Or over? Dark, gothic roses. Only black, maybe a deep purple...mauve... I need thorns. This is how I'm feeling. Not depressing, beautiful and imperfect. Delicate and piercing. 

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

You REALLY wanna know how geeky I am?

WARNING: This post will involve links about Space Travel and my thoughts on Technological Advances/Prophecies. If you don't give a shit, or it scares you, go back to your Facebook-ing, please. 

Here:

Stephen Hawking is totally gonna go to space one day.

Aaand if you haven't heard about this yet, shame on you:

Space Tourism?

Or this:

Let's go on vacay in orbit, honey.

Tell me that shit's not exciting.  Honestly, I completely agree with Hawking's belief that in order for the human race to survive, a good chunk of us need to expand and inhabit other planets before this one's destroyed by the dumb-fucks that think they run it. 

I don't know about you, but if I had the money (which I eventually will), I would be first in line to get the hell outta here and explore/set up on some other planet. I know I'm a sci-fi geek, but I'm also serious. I'm all about going into the unknown. I know it wouldn't be as cool as Serenity or Buck Rogers, but, hell. Someone's gotta do something.  

This is going in a good direction. Space Exploration is so competitive that the price will go down quickly. It has already gone down from a couple million for Suborbital Space Flight to just over 100 grand. How much longer until there's a commercial liner that takes a whole grade of High School students at a reasonable price?

There's a lot of things I plan on doing in my lifetime, and with all of the new leaps taken in technology, my lifespan could easily double before I hit 45. And then imagine the new door of possibilities that would open when you have a longer time to experience it.  As a self-proclaimed technophile, the Singularity is something I hope will be reached in my lifetime. 

I'm not trying to get all prophetic on ya, but Science Fiction is becoming non-fiction. And it's freakin sweet.

Obviously, I have begun writing my Sci-Fi Novel again. Sweet, sweet relief.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

I'm still here, I swear.

I had to take a break from this, for fear of poisoning my blog with a bunch of ridiculous emotions. Things are better now. Well enough to keep them to myself.  So here's an update!!!

1) I got into Columbia!

2)Been seriously considering getting back on track with my Sci-Fi Story. Funny how talking about it with people makes me want to write it even more.  But first, I need to brush up on my Sci-Fi lingo.

3)Living back at home REALLY makes you thankful for the uninterrupted quiet moments. 

4)Loving Beau is now Hopefully Really Good Friend After Some Time Has Passed.

5)There are things on here I DEFINITELY want to say, but it's a process. So I'll stick with my stories. 

6)I'm going to look back into some of my older writings, and may post them on here. Feeling a little nostalgic, and I want to put more of myself out there.

7) Going to Cali next month for some much needed relaxation (read: partying until my heart explodes and liver falls out)

That's it for now. Just wanted you to know I haven't completely disappeared.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~