Yesterday I went to town and took the train home. At the station I narrowly escaped being mangled to death by giant 2 m high persecuting toll gate with reinforced steel bars revolving in v. narrow booth. I thought I was supposed to slip in, but when I did I realized it was revolving much faster than I could move. All hell broke loose. I slipped, and all I can remember is a tangled blur of limbs and steel bars and being smashed against the booth wall, wrist caught in between bars, spine between booth and bars. And shrieking, yelling obscenities. Whoo boy.
The guards stopped the death-trap in time. No broken bones. In a daze I wandered off and caught the wrong train, ending up in poverty-stricken, depressed area, where had to wait for train back to the city. Scary thug-like drunken men leering at me. Eventually got home muttering imprecations.
4 am: woke up to black cloud hovering over head in apartment. 4.30 am: realized was inner pig critical voice (ICPV) in clever disguise. 4.31 am: further realized was attempting to converse with ICPV – alias Black Cloud – building massive legal case for self defense, which Black Cloud wasn’t moved by. I wrestling mightily against prevailing winds of gloom and doom. Conversation went something like this.
Black Cloud: [heavy, disapproving, critical, judgmental – anything you can think of that belongs on the dark side of the moon] You’re an idiot, disorganized, ill-disciplined, lazy, unsocialised, unrealistic, can’t sing, hopeless script-writer, pathetic blogger, non-existent author, you don’t work hard enough, you should be making more money what’s wrong with you [accusatory statement, not a question] your life is never going to pan out because let’s face it you’re not good enough. And anyway you’re too old. And totally insane, talking to clouds that don’t even exist except in your head.
Me: But, um – uh – well – [excellent legal argument, carrying great mitigating weight]
No need to go on. 4.31 am: remembered make love not war, wondered if I should try it on Black Cloud. 5.00 am: peace-making efforts no more successful than legal case for self defense. 5.01 am: shot self in head. Actually, got up and had some hot cocoa and said to everybody and nobody in particular fuckit. What’s that song by Van Morrison? There’ll be days like this. No kidding, Van.
Notwithstanding which, I’m on the hunt for a decent quality computer microphone today, and continuing my search for a mentor who can hold my hand with love and lead me on. Am sticking stubbornly to this. Have already approached a gazillion people, some of them teachers, none of them could give me what I wanted. So now I get advice, well, it’s not meant to be, maybe you just don’t want to take your own power. All that crap. Rubbish. You know the saying you get what you ask for? So if it isn’t what you really want, you get clearer about that. You lay claim to it.
That’s all it is. I know what I want, in every cell of my being. Can’t stop searching for what I want because I haven’t managed to draw it into my world yet. I want that mentor. So Michelle Maxwell didn’t get back to me. I’ll phone agent to find out more. There’s another vocalist here, Danielle Pasqual, who sings like Edit Piaf. Quite daunting, I don’t have a voice like that, but apparently she’s gorgeous, older woman, v. warm, v. embracing.
So my future mentor / mentoress, embrace me, I’m ready. Until you do, I’ll keep on trucking anyway.
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