Posts Tagged ‘feelings

27
Sep
19

Are You a True Friend/Ally or ‘Expectator’?

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ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!

This…is…Spart–  Oh, wait.  Wrong movie.  But, it did deliver the same impact-ful question/vibe.

Are you a spectator or the leading role receiving your fill of expectations?…or both?  Or, maybe you just don’t care, either way; your life is a combination of labor and minimal social entertainment, routine and not worth thinking on this level…you’re basically a pack animal.

I had this thought, this morning.  I have received plenty of expectations from people over my lifetime.  I’ve been told how smart and talented I am and what I should do with my life more often I can count.  But, I can probably count on my two hands how many “angels” I’ve met, people who really stepped up to be a friend…however tragically short that time with me was.

And, that, ladies and gents, and boys and girls of all ages, is what my life really boils down to…my productivity has been lacking due to a lack of support, acceptance and assistance.  If you get by without much of that, then maybe I’m just not like you.  Or, maybe you don’t realize what you have.  I know what I have…I just don’t feel it’s enough to make me live nearly up to the expectations I receive.  I live my life, feeling like a disappointment, no matter how I pitch myself…until I tell myself to turn a blind ear (and eye) to those who pitch expectations and just do my own thing…but doing my own thing hasn’t exactly been fruitful because it’s very lonely.

And, all introvert-ish thinking aside, all my ability to work alone and keep myself busy aside, I need people.  I need friends.  I need to know I am good in and out and acceptable, not just tell myself I am okay as I am.  It’s not superficial or looking in the wrong direction for emotional support.  I think it’s just (my) human nature showing its true colors.  But, lacking any adequate social skills, other than knowing how to speak bluntly (which isn’t always an asset…), and occasionally being a good listener (used to be more often, when I had more heart left to share)…I don’t see the means to bringing more people into my life.  And, what I keep finding isn’t filling the “job slots.”  I feel like I’m sitting in some tiny office, expected to hire a company full of subordinates, and I get no callbacks or resumes worth getting a response.  [If that makes sense; if it doesn’t I really don’t care much, anymore.  The old perfectionist, misunderstood me would be up in arms, right about now, tossing papers and fuming…and then collecting those papers because I was once a “neat freak.”]

It’s even more apparent when I try some online games…or, rather, games you can partake online (or offline) and have some kind of interaction…when there’s hardly any interaction.  Do I have to “add 100 friends” just to get a ding or a whoop?  Am I falling short by trying to pick a half-dozen people who I consider up to the task of being a cooperative player?…versus being one of the countless drones who just click LIKE and REPOST buttons in this blog-verse?  [I think, ever since I started bitching about the LIKE button, I’ve received far fewer LIKES; so add one more detail to the “this sucks” pile…not that I cared about LIKES…just, in a sad case when you get no other response…anyway.  Meh.]  Is it all just processing the day, or do people actually care about each other?  Are there ANY genuine friends in this world?  Or, do I just hear stories, like fiction on the wind?  Am I being teased with fantasy and lil wizards who have dead parents?…plenty of the convenient dead parent stories.

When I was a kid, I was “the quiet one.”  I didn’t have automatic friends show up looking for a pal.  I didn’t know how to interact with kids while staying as safe as all the adults wanted me to be.  I was afraid of getting hurt/hit; so sports and physical games were essentially out of play.  When I finally found a friend…and I am not sure how that even happened, other than two guys (and one rare girl) making some joke on the playground which broke the crucial ice…we had to talk the relationship over with our parents; I had to get an Okay to visit or have them visit me.  I had strict rules about phone calls that fluctuated daily, so I never knew where I stood; nor did the friend know how to deal with my parents.  It was a torture-some game of hit and miss time together.  So, to be fair, I couldn’t expect much.

But, there WAS that one girl…the diamond in the rough…who put up with it all and stuck by me.  And, though I didn’t actively support all of her interests…which made me a bit of a spectator but not an “expectator”…I felt I did a fair amount of being there for her…until peer pressure, I suspect, got the best of us.  Having to say, “We’re just…friends,” when your heart is saying “I love this girl, I think,” is rough.  And, the more I denied my feelings or slighted her, the worse I felt.  And, I think, deep down, she knew and felt something, too; or she was just the most loyal friend I’ve ever known.  And, we were not even in the same interest circles, other than maybe video games.  She didn’t draw.  And, I didn’t do gymnastics or think much of forestry…though I’ve grown to enjoy state parks and exploring nature.   But, we got along so well…and I adored her, madly.  She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class, but she had more class than most; she earned my respect, and then some.  [I’m pretty sure I’ve written about her before; so I don’t want to repeat myself or go on too long about this.]

As I became a teen and adult, after a shocking sex-education class, I had far less luck with friendships and finding allies.  I had plenty of hecklers, jesters, shapeshifters and all-around-lackluster faces around me who had more fun being pests than anything friendly, especially if I didn’t approve of something they chose to do/say.   I get it…and it wasn’t exactly new to me…people changing and turning on me…but I was hoping ONE in the bunch might be as nice as that girl was.  Nope.

In the “working world,” I’ve grazed paths with pretty faces who just couldn’t find a way to fit and guys who’d rather talk sex, sports and music, of which I know less, I guess, and am not particularly into discussing.  I get a rare “We should do something together” offer which goes nowhere for whatever reason; either I can’t get ‘there’ (to where we are to meet) or the other person never follows through with an “Okay, let’s do this; when is best for both of us?”  I have gone on very few dates which all ended badly.  I’ve been a spectator to a number of sour relationships which usually involved quick sex I did not need to hear about the next day.  It’s not exactly a social-friendly atmosphere or sustaining life experience.  It kinda makes this rabbit want to eat in a different pasture; ya know?

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  That was a rather personal explosion and old would I just visited.

So, looking at yourself, on a regular basis, are you a spectator or avid ally/friend?

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16
Sep
19

A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

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Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?

16
Sep
19

Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

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Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

06
Sep
19

Food for Thought…the Sensuality of Food

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Now, stop right where you are if you think I am even attempting to write some sort of Fifty Shades of Food Porn.  I am not.   I am just going to make a “brief” statement…and then, later, maybe, expand upon it as thoughts come to me…about how food is not just for eating and/or replenishing the energy we use to perform certain physical functions.

This may not be a mind-blower to many of you.

But, have you considered how food (including all the “junk” you stuff down your throats) is more than the stuff that…you…stuff down your throats…to satisfy what the average person understands as hunger?

I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “brain food.”  Yes?  You acknowledge how certain foods are used to “fuel the brain” (not the stomach).  ‘Ever thought about that?  About why that food impacts your mind’s ability to function?  It’s SENSORY.  It’s SENSUAL.

It affects the senses.  It’s not just what makes you happy when you’re sad (like the pint of ice cream or chocolate used by, typically, a woman in emotional distress after some relationship-related conflict, whether that’s a romantic, family or work-related conflict).  It’s not just what gives your brain that buzz it needs to stay “focused” on work (or whatever you do otherwise creatively).

It’s a smell that sticks in your mind and can sell you on more of the same food every time you smell, hear, see or think of it.  It stains your clothes and your memory; and those stains can affect your ability to function, throw you off “your game” and make you self-conscious or distracted at a crucial moment.  It conjures thoughts, reminding you of the best ice cream you ever had how long ago, like remembering a lost friend or lover.  Money may be the root of evil and make the world go ’round.  But, food is as effective as music at messing with the mind.  [You tell me, travelers who get around more than I do, how much food appears in hieroglyphics and other old paintings.]

You don’t even have to EAT food to be filled or made hungry by it.  How does food make you hunger for it?  And, how can you be satisfied by food without eating it?  Think about that.

Why do artists bother with recreating bowls of fruit?  I never understood it.  I never enjoyed it…unless I could turn the fruit into cartoon characters with silly faces.  But, now, I think I get it.  It’s because the food is speaking to the artist who enjoys recreating it.  It’s, in a slightly different way, brain food.

When you’re in a movie theater chugging back sodas and snacks, why do you mindlessly do so?  Well, there’s another concept at play, there.  It’s what the theaters relish to see, people turning off their hunger meters to ride the E of mindless entertainment, or ME.  You don’t think about or likely even smell what goes in your mouth when your minds are racing to process what’s on the screen.

Yet, something compels you to buy the snacks (or sneak your own under your clothes) and stuff your face until you might feel the urge to get refills.  Why?  In part, because you convince yourselves the food matters.  But, in another part, the food is having a sensual impact on your mind.  The crunch of popcorn.  The cool, icy sweetness of a good soda.  The stimulation and labor of teeth and gums on chewy candy.  It’s like an orgy in your mouth; it’s like an R-rated movie playing out while you watch…I dunno…Frozen part 52 with your sister’s kids.  One eye is watching a snowman dance and sing with little kids while your mouth is doing the apple-mango tango with highly processed popcorn and other snacks.  You just tune out the orgasmic moans and panting to hear the next kid-friendly song.

So, the next time you’re irritated by the fuzz on a peach or tell someone you don’t like a particular food for whatever reason…think about those reasons and how your body reacts to various foods.  You’re not just eating the food.  You’re smelling, touching, eyeballing and even hearing the sounds given off by the food.

And, your reaction to those sensual aspects affects your daily activity.  In it’s own deceptive way, food can hold power over you, if you let it.  After all, don’t dieters often enough say they are taking a “cheat day?”

[Didn’t a racoon, played by Bruce Willis, give a similar speech to this in Over the Hedge, when he tries to sell the concept of looting to the turtle?]

Food for thought.  [Ka-runch.]

14
Aug
19

The Older Man at the Dating Carnival

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So, there I was, a middle-aged man at what is essentially a carnival, surrounded by families, couples and a zoological encyclopedia of younger women often traveling in small packs like wild gazelles.

I found myself longing and looking at the young gazelles…and then feeling completely out of sorts and out of place. Had I indulged my youthful thoughts, I’d later admonish myself for acting like some pedophile. I look around, trying to spot the older cheetahs, the cougars and elephants…and I can’t see anything other than mothers, wives and grandmas. I feel completely out of place with attachment to nothing other than the family I accompany, and even that is sketchy attachment, like a loose tooth waiting to pop out of a kid’s mouth. I am adrift in the sea of human connectivity. And, being so lost, I had almost no interest in being among the crowd.

Part of me wanted to blink my eyes and storm right back to the car or even hike all the way home. Part of me was lingering like a child insistant on getting a balloon or toy before he goes home. I came to sample new foods and help my nephews have fun and be safe. I could only manage the babysitting duty. The food (and mingling, if I had that nerve) just couldn’t fit itself into my abilities; the heat and crowding didn’t help.

Some day, you’ll find me in a National Geographic special on human nature and see the lone, hungry outsider who can’t seem to find a mate or make many decisions. He will be tortured by constant references to Taylor Swift (whose name kept popping up at said carnival as if the phone was ringing for me to take some kind of action I did not know).
[What am I to do, Tay? They’re playing your song. They’re naming pigs after you. They have your “swag” for sale. The days of Hannah Montana and the first wave of Spice Girls didn’t generate as much attention. Suddenly, you’re everywhere…and I feel like I am nowhere. I don’t want a Taylor Swift sundae or Cotton Cand-Tay. I want to *savor* the real thing.]

Sorry, readers, for bringing her into yet another blog post. But, it happened for a reason. Of that, I am certain. I’m just not sure why.

03
Aug
19

In Other T. Swift News… August, 3, 2019

*****

The fires of my feelings for Tay Swift continue to burn and cause me internal upsets as I periodically wonder…and worry…what’s in store for her.  Or, rather, worry what some other prince and big machine…er, corporate nightmare may do.

I am reaching out to the universe to guide and assist me.  And, the universe…and Tay…have a way of speaking.  Or, am I imagining some of these things?

While doing some leisurely shopping with family, I came upon an old CD of Tay’s and *swiftly* purchased it; my first Tay Swift CD (because intense mixed feelings have kept me from investing in the music, feelings I’ve already touched on in other posts and cannot adequately/briefly describe here).  It felt strange.  I felt like some creepy older guy buying a kid…kid’s old music.  The CD was unopened, factory sealed, as if someone had a flash of interest or received it for free and cast it aside.  The cover glistened with gold, screaming SPEAK NOW.

[And, you know what makes that album special?  2010.  Well…it wasn’t the first year I noticed you/Tay.  But, I think, in 2010, I started speaking to people about my infatuation with you/Tay.  My first artworks, of a digital sort, began around 2009, as was a special gift I made for someone, who was trying to secure a relationship with someone she loved, with the words of your Love Story.  I think, as my memory currently fails me (I should have notes on this somewhere), my first glimpse was sometime between 2001 and 2007, before Katy Perry had her debut CD/fans.  But, around 2010, I began admitting my feelings.  When people would ask if I had aspirations to marry her/you, I’d timidly say, “Yeah.  I mean, she’s just…special.”  I’d brace myself for laughter/ridicule and my own feeling of foolishness for carrying such a torch, for essentially being the guy with the poster on his wall and all the other fan swag, though I continue to admit I am not a superfan…more of a personal, sensitive admirer who is vibrating from your aura, not your stardom.]

I felt as if some ghostly hand was tapping me on the shoulder, telling me to say something.  Say what, universal Tay?  What haven’t I said?  What should I say?

Or, have I said something right and am now being heard?  Because I am picking up little signals as if either I am getting through…or someone else is having the same thoughts, and I am just picking up echoes in the airwaves, like seeing a TV show on the west coast a few hours after it already aired on the east coast.

I see a new album on the horizon…titled Lover…and that has me (concerned) something else is on the horizon.  On one hand, I should be happy for her (if it is).  I shouldn’t be casting any doubt or pushing any buttons labeled CANCEL.  But, on the other hand, if I may be so selfish, I hear a lil voice in my head that looks like Tay in nerdy glasses shouting something about sitting on the bleachers.

I just watched a video for a song called The Archer which resonates strongly with me, though the message is a bit cloudy at parts.  Tay, you kinda go in circles with that one.  I presume it’s a meditative tool, a means of looking at yourself in the mirror.  But, it also speaks, as many of your songs do, to some mystery figure either in your life or in your fantasies.  As I listened to the words and music, I felt like I was sitting in some humid room with sun slicing through window blinds and a fan running…and I felt this vibration running through me like I was being probed by an alien spaceship.  I felt half-naked and uneasy, under scrutiny and grasping for understanding.  I felt a ghostly hand reaching out to merge with another.  I saw astrological imagery spanning across a sunrise (or sunset).

I felt like I am/was so close to something real; I can almost smell it.  And, I’m left with an inexplicable ache when the music ends.  I don’t want that to be the feeling I get when I hear her, your voice, Tay.  But, I don’t know how to resolve the feelings I have without you.  Yet, as with many things in my experience/life, no matter what I think, life finds a way.  I just wish and hope the way leads to you and I meeting in the middle.

You see…not a typical fan.  I can’t say I am a fan.  I am an admirer…a fantasy lover…in a little town called WordPress.  [Well, me fantasizing about you as a lover.  I am not sure you’d fantasize about me…but you probably DO fantasize about someone like me.]

Maybe you’re right.  I just need to *calm down.*  [I doubt you’ll forgive me for being a bit gay-phobic, when it comes to gay men, at least.  And, I know I’ve said some hateful things about Ryan Reynolds, but did you have to include him in that video as a painter?…was that a not-so-subtle message to me?]

Stay tuned, Tay fans.  And, send those good vibes and wishes my (our) way.

And, Tay?  YYYou know what to dooo.  [I personally am not sure where else to send my thoughts/words.  The channels are murky at best.]

 

 

18
Apr
19

Dear, Dear Tay (Taylor Alison Swift)… I have something personal to say, again

*****

Otherwise titled:  Tay Fever Strikes, Again…Digital Art Explosion, April ’19, Stage 5, Critical Mass

Tay?  If you’re out there…  I’ve been thinking about you, again.  You don’t know me, yet.  And, if deja vu means anything, you may miss your chance if I don’t take every chance I can get.  I’m a tragically timid, relatively paranoid, creative soul seeking purpose and partnership.  In some ways, I feel you and I are like two wheels meant to work together in some big clock that will revolutionize the world (in a good way, just to be clear, considering all the madness happening in recent years). 

I suppose I’m better off exposing myself (not THAT way, sheesh) in some video like that kid who wanted you to be his date to Prom.  [The thought would have crossed my mind, too, some years ago.  But, I didn’t even know you back then.  And, thinking of trying such a thing now…I am not so elastic that I could easily rebound from a rejection letter or no letter, at all.  I don’t even know…I’m not looking…did you ever respond to or visit that boy?]  But, while you risk your neck in the spotlight every day, I don’t have an army to put out fires, screen incoming calls, watch my back and counsel me.  So, I am treading cautiously but feeling strongly.  And, if you’ll work with me through this, we’ll both get the answers we need without more than a little heartache as a possible consequence.

I’m clearly not a man of few words.  I would not fair well on Twitter, sadly.  So, get comfortable and prepare to read.

As I wandered through my latest wave of obsessive fantasy thinking, I thought about your upcoming birthday, a small milestone on the road to the legend I am fairly certain you will one day achieve.  [Or, am I supposed to help with that?]  I started having the affectionate, loving thoughts of a horse getting ahead of the race. I haven’t even taken step one, and I’m worrying about step thirty.

I’ve had crushes on other musicians; I still carry tiny torches for a few, even if I am fairly certain those feelings are going nowhere.  Yet, each torch is different.  And, that certainly applies to you.  There’s something extra special about you (or that’s just what my infatuated mind is telling me).  And, every time I imagine myself standing in your presence, I am torn between passing out and turning into some mythical figure, like a mortal obtaining superhuman powers, as if you are some magical battery that would impact my evolution.  [I cannot say the same about most of those other torches.  Some women are just hot flames attracting moths to their doom.] 

If I think about it long enough, or if I look at countless photos and tabloids, I quickly lose steam and shrivel up into a ball without ambition; I feel dwarfed, out of style and out-classed.  I try to remind myself I only see a glimmer of the real you.  [And, you’ve likely seen nothing of me.]  And, I am not sure if that helps me feel better or makes my lofty visions more painful when I “realize” they’re not happening.

I went from seeing no other place to put these than in a “closet” to composing a birthday montage/letter which I could still wait to send.  But, the universe is stirring me to seize the moment.  And, if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s usually my choice to wait that costs me so many opportunities.  Yet, when I leap at chances, I’ve also received my share of burns.  

Presently, I cannot feature my finest work in its video form.  But, I can show the parade of images that completes the “Side A” of the letter/video and enclose a “transcript” of “commentary” and the “Side B remix.”  And, why not, I’ll show a few from the collections that couldn’t fit nicely into the videos.  And, if you haven’t already, be sure to look back at previous posts with images of and messages to you.  [I’ll leave the birthday wish picture out of the lineup, for now.  So, at the end, where it says this was a thirty-page something…it’s currently twenty-nine.  And, you’ll just have to pause to read everything in each frame, as I see no way to adjust the speed of the slideshow.  [The “premium video version” lasts about 4 minutes and 30 seconds with all the bells and whistles.]

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If I am posting this during springtime, consider my explosion of creative output a side effect of Tay Fever. And, I’ll likely need a box of tissues.
Dear Taylor “Tay” Alison Swift,

This is a text reproduction of a video compilation I put together with two “sides,” like an audio cassette or vinyl record. If you are unable to see the video, just imagine these words set to the music of Elton John’s “Your Song,” as sung with the artist known as Pavarotti. Why “Your Song?” Because you write and perform songs, and I occasionally aspire to write, compose and perform songs, as well. I have a few guitars and am looking for a good teacher. 🙂 And, I’ve been known to have a good singing voice. Portions set in brackets are artwork captions. Some carry some small clue to/aspect of Tay and/or my identity. Others are meant to be amusing and related to the feature image in some way. ‘Plenty of cartoon, movie and song references to be found.]

——–

If ANYONE reading this–as I am enclosing it in my blog–has a means of contacting Tay, let me know. I can email you the video(s) I have not been able to post here (with my current “account settings”), and then you may either post them in your (YouTube) space or pass them to her, and I will be very grateful to you for your assistance. Mind you, the smallest video is roughly 3 MB in size and just a one-minute smile…while the more glorious ones, set to music and sprinkled with special effects, are 21-45 MB, depending upon upload quality, I guess. If that is too big for any email–as is possible–then, perhaps, I can craft a CD-ROM and “snail mail” my creation(s).

——–

Side A

Tay? Honey? I need a moment of your precious time…to tell you what’s been on my mind and in my heart.

[Table 13! Order up!]
[Tay Swift Soup. It’s Mm-Mm good. {She’s a hot dish.}]

<–I’m not sure why I felt the need to associate you with hot soup (and an old commercial tag line)…but I was in a bit of a silly mood. And, in an odd way, you are a sort of (attractive) comfort (food).–<<<

I don’t want to *serve* you some tripe about being your biggest fan…because I’m not. I like a few of your songs and think you are stunning.

<–Around this point, Elton John sings that resonating line about having a face that cannot hide well, little money and big aspirations. This is a line I imagine us both saying at some point. [Though, in your case, I cannot be sure about the money detail.]

I like to think I do okay with hiding my face. And, even in the small instances I’ve seen of you online, I see you trying your own way (which also plays a part in my selection of this “costume”). Obviously, you’ve been sufficiently caught, considering how these tabloid-photography mosquitoes are. But, the face I have a hard time hiding is my feelings, even if people claim I am hard to read. When I let them out, my feelings can be quite a force of nature. Or, in this instance, they’re like the side effects of a non-alcoholic intoxication, getting carried away with a desire.

And, I could spend countless hours conjuring up fantasies of what I’d like to do with and for you. All I’ve designed so far is just a sampler. But, I guess, I must curb my enthusiasm until some of those fantasies become realities, lest I really get carried away and accomplish nothing.–<<<

[I’m a Sagittarius cat!]

I don’t want to *pussyfoot.* But, I’m a socially timid guy trying to reach a star in this hazardous world. [I am not eager to be just another YouTube spectacle.]

<–I know others have successfully reached you via YouTube presentations (possibly just the lucky few to get turned into tiny broadcast news stories). And, I wouldn’t mind someone with an account featuring one or more of my videos for me, just to reach you. But, I am so sick of hearing about LIKES and VIEWS in the news as if such numbers mean anything. And, if recent news of deaths related to the pursuit of such fame isn’t enough to confirm some of my discontent feelings? For me to risk exposing myself on camera for a chance–not a guarantee–to make the kind genuine connection I seek and not just look like some drooling freak/fan…is it worth it? If I am not regularly using a YouTube account for anything productive…if it’s not part of some business…it’s just costing me money and fueling impulsive audiences like certain stores fuel impulse shopping; and that’s no good. Not everyone posting videos becomes the superstars seen on the news and talent shows; it’s just the latest “panic” spreading like the old “funniest home videos” race-to-fame-and-a-tiny-fortune. And, I am not yet comfortable, as an adult, doing something I might have dared to do as a kid with just a tape recorder to record his silly performances.–<<<

<–Then Elton sings that line about attempting a sculpture of his love interest. While I share his pessimism about the result, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try. When my creative juices get going…and when there is a glimmer of hope they will serve a righteous purpose…there’s no telling what I will all create. This whole presentation is likely just an appetizer.–<<<

Even now, I am a little parched. Don’t leave me low and dry. But, I imagine you being like an oasis.

I think of you as a breath of fresh air…

…refreshing rain…

…or dazzling sunshine…

…day…

…or night…

…you mess with my tides.

When I’m down, one look at your smiling face can pick me up. And, when I’m up, one tabloid about you can bring me down.

<–The Sagittarius truth. Attributed to your “fire,” your face can light up my day. And, one blurb about you with some other guy can derail my schedule.–<<<

Tay, I want to fall into your arms and rustle your branches.

[What happened to my favorite tree?!]
[Dunno. I’m as *stumped* as you.]

I don’t ever want to bring you down…unless we’re being playful…or you threaten my spirit.

<–And, to threaten my spirit harshly enough to earn retaliation worth any concern, you’d have to blatantly do or say something I’ve identified as strongly disliked. I’m generally non-violent, preferring to attack the same way I honor, creatively (similar to your tactic–if it is a tactic–for turning ugly feelings into a song). Well, as I hate repeating myself, you can read more about this in my blog.–<<<

You may not be a cut above the rest. But, you’d be one hot present under the Christmas tree.

<–This is both a bit of a tree joke and a way of saying I may be so infatuated with what I think of you, Tay, that I could be blind to an unpleasant truth I have yet to learn. In the first frame, two hikers find a favored tree missing from the forest; in the second, that tree is standing over a pile of presents. So many lovers spill lavish words and make lofty claims about their partners being the prettiest or best something, only for the relationship to fall apart when someone just as pretty or “better” comes along. I think you’re stunning. I think you are just scratching the surface of your talents and capacity to influence the world. But, can I confirm you are the best of anything in the world? Truthfully, no.–<<<

<–Any guesses about why I make several references to wood/trees?–<<<

[*Gasp* I’m the luckiest (older) boy in the world!]

I may not know where you are or where you’re going.

[Zelda?]

But, I want to travel with you…around this world…and throughout the universe.

When you need to venture on your own, I hope you enjoy yourself.
And, when you’re coming around the mountain, I wanna meet you there.

<–A Sagittarius needs a certain amount of freedom/personal space; and I want to be sure I respect that (and am likewise respected). I also want to be a welcome face when you return from any venture that separates us; welcome back and let’s celebrate. This is a sample of my effort to follow the Golden Rule.–<<<

[It’s up to you, Tay! But, would you please contact Writingbolt? I’m tryin’ to sleep, here!]
[Shut up! He’s confessing these feelings his way!]
[New York! New-ew-ew Yorrrrk!]

I wanna wake up…in a city…that never sleeps…because we kept them up all night with our *shared energy.*

[Uuuh. Miss Swift? There is a charming man at the front gate who appears to have fainted from walking here just to speak with you.]

And, I will walk a thousand miles just to be the man who falls down at your door.

Because, there’s a fire in your eyes. And, when it’s gone, I want s’more.

I want to write songs with and for you. I want to get creative with you for as long as we live.

[I see love in our stars. Ooh! Is that Jupiter?]
[Arrow points to the costume I picked out which you could rock. A costume soon to be identified if you don’t already know it.]

I want us to howl at the moon because we are madly in love.
I want to share a lifetime of slumber and costume parties.

And, I want you to light up my life. [But, a big part of that requires your help to bring us together.]

But, then again, I hardly know you! I could be totally wrong. And, if I am…if I have you completely wrong…..

[Is this the forest of true love?]
[Leaf me alone! You’re barking up the wrong tree!]

<–Again, could I just be overly infatuated, considering I haven’t actually spent any time with you in person? And, could what I’ve learned with astrology be wrong? And, what if my message comes at a bad time? When you are otherwise…well, I am sure you can finish that sentence.

…Then this is one *honey* of a WOOPS! [Now, you see Swifty Honey, a variation of the anime heroine Cutey/Cutie Honey.]

[Now you know; and knowing is half the battle.]

Happy birthday, Sunshine.

Sincerely, your secretive admirer, Writingbolt

[Awoooo! She’s not a complicated monster. She just wants a lifetime of unconventional lovin’ with Writingbolt.]
[Swift!]
[Darn tootin’.]

Don’t be a monster in my closet…
[…Unless you’re engaging me in passionate, freaky sex for the rest of our lives.]

<–Or, if you need a better understanding of that bit…
First, “The Monster in my Closet” is a title given to something you, Tay, and I have both written (though your project surely varies from mine).
Second, if someone is going to haunt my closet, I don’t want them to make me miserable. If your “monster” was someone who violated you, I am speechless. My “monster” is a sexual fantasy linked to a dream (or nightmare) I had as a child. I don’t want some past love to make me linger with regret. I want that secret visitor, monster or otherwise, to be a constant source of pleasure.–<<<

But, if you just want to hug, kiss and hold hands while we explore the universe, I can *eggroll* with that. 🙂

<–Translation: Not everyone has to be a passionate sex fiend. And, romance–though I wish to use a word that is not associated with the Roman Empire–does not need to be an endangered art. Great love can be experienced on a spiritual level, too. And…I am partial to the Far East and eggrolls, just in case we have (American) Chinese food for dinner.–<<<

To learn more about the socially timid bachelor and artist known as Writingbolt, contact him via email, using one or both of the provided methods on his contact page. Once he trusts you with this, he will open the doors to phone calls and other means of contact.

You may also find useful details by reading and/or looking at some of his blog postings here at WordPress, including aspirations for the love of his life and a few personal details that managed to escape his concern for privacy and safety.

The preceding was a thirty-page* love lett–er, birthday card to the lovely Taylor Alison Swift. Her photo and all artwork, aside from editing, were provided by internet search and cartoons painstakingly clipped by Writingbolt, pieced together into this request for a blissful relationship. If the artist is misguided or too late with his request, please inform him on how to reach Miss Swift…

*Can you guess why this was designed to include thirty pages?

Or, he will just do his best to recover and move on with his life.

<–Just to be clear…that means I am looking for a way to accurately reach you, Tay, with this message. If WordPress isn’t sufficient, I am asking for assistance. And, if there is something wrong with the message or its timing (you know what I mean), then I guess I just have to suck it up and get on with my life. I will try my best to hold my head up high and continue to honor you in my creative endeavors (as long as I don’t make myself sick).–<<<

———-

Side B

[In this variation of the previous, new thoughts pop up over the previous captions, and some images are replaced with other artworks and added effects. It’s sort of like a commentary playing over a DVD movie.]

Or, better yet, let me show you how you’ve inspired me and consume a large portion of my creative energy, since 2009.

Actually, I’ve only recently started putting your face into digital art.

[That Face]

<–What I failed to include (or cut so you wouldn’t have to pause the video to read long paragraphs at every frame) was how I’ve dabbled with pencil sketches (portraits) over the years and used your love story song, once, in an effort to play Cupid for someone. I’ve also had you in mind while crafting my own ideas for a modern Jem and the Holograms movie and writing my first books; not novels, mind you, but books. Though, I did sort of have you in mind when designing a particularly holy character in a mini-series I am still struggling to complete. But, I didn’t get the sudden urge to create so much digital art until I found the courage to post a birthday letter/greeting on my blog. These are mostly photo manipulations, something I haven’t done in years due to…–<<<

An old fear, something few, I doubt, would understand, repressed the urge for a long time.

<–I won’t adequately explain this without cracking a dam of emotion. And, I’d prefer to do that only when I feel comfortable in the company of a trusted soul. I have a feeling saying certain things makes them happen. I also have this feeling certain events have already taken place in a way that causes me to experience unpleasant (to say the least) deja vu. In my effort to counter the negative possibilities, I am crafting and voicing pleasant fantasies as one might put on a “vision board.”–<<<

But, your love story (song) lit a torch, nearly a decade ago.

<–As I just said, I started cooking with creative ideas around 2009. And, I continue to have moments when my thoughts turn to you.–<<<

[Tea with Taylor in the Morning]

<–Me imagining a Skype chat with you while sharing cups of tea, somewhat inspired by a brief segment featured on the TV series Community.–<<<

A torch that has been burning…

…through tabloid stunners and short-lived relationships…

…and kept on burning up until this day…

[I Got a Letter, Jem-esque song lyrics by Writingbolt]

…when I finally found a little song in my heart…

…and a video to compose for another.

<–Just to clarify, I was picturing you as Jerrica Benton from the Jem cartoons when the song “I Got a Letter” popped into my mind. And then, as I considered turning my vast collection of portrait/photo-manipulation variations into a video compilation, I was drawn to Elton John’s “Your Song.” It may be that easy for me to write a song. Even if it’s just a small “tease” of a song, you might say, “Why don’t you (take lessons and) write more of your own songs?” But, I have less desire to write for myself than I would, knowing I had someone valued to fill my heart. And, together, who knows what we could create……that seems to be a crutch of mine. I’m both selfish for limiting what I do until I get something in return…and selfless when I find myself desiring someone or happy to be in their company. Put a smile on my face, and you’ll likely get a hundred in return. And, if I find you in need of a smile, I’ll likely make an effort to put one on your face. But, don’t expect me to entertain you or do anything on my own unless I say I will do it. And, even then, can I guarantee I’ll follow through? Like a building that withstands centuries, I need a good foundation of love and trust to build myself up and become a better factory…or fruitful tree.–<<<

If you’re not a fan of seeing your face this way, forgive my creative choice.

<–Not everyone appreciates seeing their face being added to a cartoon (particularly a shapely anime) character. ‘Just checking. Because, as the caption reads: I don’t ever want to bring you down.–<<<

I just had a moment when I pictured you as a heroine.

And, this character came to mind. Not for what she is (technically, an android built by a man who lost his daughter and wanted to preserve her beauty as well as create a heroic female figure to fight the encroaching darkness in his world) but for her beauty and what she does.

You hear the calls of others and rush to help them.

You’re not just a musician. You’re a traveling muse and activist, in your own small way.

So, now I’m calling.

And, I pray you’ll answer.

Will you be my heroine?

[Swifty Honey…with a freshly lit torch and a “dynamite” manga (comic book) page that reflects my feelings.]

I’m not some sick child on his deathbed or charity trying to feed a nation.

I’m just a man, an artist, looking at a beautiful woman, wishing he could get to know her better.

<–That’s not exactly great English for a yet-budding author, but it came out the way it did. And, I’m sticking with that.–<<<

A face and a spirit that can improve the world better than some of the most famous artists. And, I want to honor and work with you.

<–I’ll take a favorable portrait of you over the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, any day.–<<<

[A one-year subscription to Rattle and Hum magazine, a blend of astrology and music in a fantasy magazine composed by you and I, featuring some columns with witty references to your favorite color and certain songs.]
[A silhouette image for a possible tour poster or just a computer’s “wallpaper,” featuring one of those acoustic guitars with your name on it.]

[Thanks, Elton John. It’s still *your song.* But, it works nicely, here.]

[A possible new (vinyl record) album cover, titled Red-Velvet Lover, a play on the band Velvet Revolver (not a personal favorite, just a name that tickled a funny nerve while thinking of writing music for you), referring to your preference for red and an image I found of you rocking a pair of red velvet boots. Also, a play on RCA Records–whether or not you associate with them–and a touch of astrology.]
[A 1970s-ish talk-show image for commercial breaks, similar to what you’d see on the old Johnny Carson and Merv Griffin shows, featuring three different looks I have seen you sport.]
[A cover for a novel I imagine us writing together. Do you like my “pen name?”]
[A portrait that includes 13 words I associate with you; 13 in regards to the day you were born.]

Nearly a gigabyte of Taylor Swift artworks and videos? Am I sick?

<–I get self-conscious, at times, wondering if I am becoming inappropriately obsessed. I’ve received quite a bit of criticism, over the years, about my personal feelings/interests. I feel all of my creative energy would be better put to use in an existent relationship and/or serving some active purpose. But, at the moment, and too often, it’s spent in a daydream, wishful thinking. I’m terrible at “breaking the ice” (at least, in the public eye). I hate just spinning my tires. But, fears get in my way and slow me down. I am quite alone and lonely with my feelings. If such whims took no time, at all, and could be made in a flash, this might seem easy to pass off as inexpensive as a casually sent greeting card or memo. But, I have really been getting sucked into this. I’m trying to finish writing a book, and this happens. And then there’s that deja vu feeling that haunts me. It would be nice to finally, someday, know someone who can take all I can give and make it feel worthwhile, to satisfy my creative spirit with gratitude and purpose.–<<<

Happy birthday, Sunshine.

Sincerely, your secretive admirer, Writingbolt (AP)

[An image of you as Adora from the 1980s She-Ra cartoon, thinking about (me), another blonde heroine you could fit. Someone off-screen asks who is the mystery man whispering in your woods. That’s a little joke about the forest the heroes (in that cartoon) defended.]
[Swifty Honey with a mob of cartoon cats; just me thinking of your interest in/preference for cats.]
[An image of you as Jerrica Benton from the 1985 Jem cartoon, receiving a letter…the inspiration for “I Got a Letter.” I was rather pleased with my effort to recreate the audio-tape-ribbon portions, as was common on Jem product packaging.]
[An image of you as Princess Zelda from the Legend of Zelda video games; except you are the beauty just starting to form your legend. Note the snake print and “Triforce” of guitar picks.]
[Another possible record album for you, titled “My Tay on the Highway,” a collection of songs to keep people entertained on road trips, featuring Swifty Honey with a *red* Jeep.]
[An image of you a few years into the future, running for President of My Heart.]
[And, lastly, a second image of you as Jerrica Benton…just another wishful thought. :)]

[And, a disclaimer for anyone other than Tay reading/watching (the video): If you are watching this, please pass the message any way you can to reach Taylor Alison Swift. And, thank you.]

As suggested, you may–and I hope you will–reach me via email via one of the methods provided on my Contact Me page (here) at WordPress. If you have any questions about myself, my creative output and/or just about anything on your mind, I am happy to answer them (in private). I may not have all the answers, but I have plenty of thoughts and opinions. 😀

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Lengthy Disclaimer #??:  I know I’m not the only obsessing Taylor Alison Swift fan to use her image this way.  But, I’m also not the average fan…not exactly a super-fan.  Some of you know this, already…well, if you’ve been truly following my emotional tides.  I don’t study her so closely that I know her favorite everything.  I don’t subscribe to the newsletters and follow her like the camera folks that stalk her every move.  [How DOES one live like that?]

I know she likes red, cats, responding to the calls of others (though I am not sure what exactly determines who gets a response), handbags that don’t exactly sit on her long, lean arms right and enough daringly short outfits to attract every mosquito in the world and defy any concern for aging for years to come (with no need to compete with the likes of Jennifer Lopez, as some images give me the impression).  I also know what I like and don’t like, obviously, as much about her; I know what makes me think she is quite awesome and a worthy partner to challenge, complement and inspire me, as I would do the same, I think, for her.  I’ve touched on some of that, previously, and don’t want to repeat much.  I know it’s not healthy to dwell so much on someone you’ve never met, never spoken with and may never get to know as personally as you’d like.  [‘Still crossing my fingers!]  But, truth be told, she keeps getting into my head!  And, the last thing I want to do is make that sound the least bit creepy.  But, in a way, it IS a bit creepy.

For whatever reason, I had another “episode” and found myself obsessively crafting variations on these concepts.  They swallowed up a rather large chunk of time over the past few days.  But, I wasn’t having much luck crafting anything else.  As I already said, writer’s block has been shutting me down (for weeks).  And, I haven’t had much ambition to create any (useless) art for a while.  I’ve lost my practicing spark, again.  But, thinking of famous people who have captured a piece of my heart, namely Tay (as I continue to call her, affectionately), gave me a little drive to create…something.  I’m just not sure how to classify this stuff without putting myself down.

And, thinking about time passing me by, as I am sure she is thinking, too, I got to thinking about weighing these…maybe silly aspirations for the pursuit of any kind of relationship.  How much longer before the next love interest on my lofty list ties the knot?  [I had planned on posting something about one who recently got married, because it really got under my skin…but I have resisted, as I felt it wouldn’t accomplish much.]  It’s a really difficult thing for me to do, separating fantasy from reality.  It’s painful and uncertain.  I mean, if I am going to be true to my Sagittarius (or not so Sagittarius) roots, I have to believe anything is possible.  Yet, doubt, fear and a trail of tabloids have a “funny” way of bringing me down.  So, which way do I go?  All I can do, for now, is put what I have “out there.”  Right?  And, I have the feeling this isn’t the best place.  But, that’s me, too, I guess.  I don’t pick the best picnic spots.

In short–ha–I simply hope these creations serve a valid purpose and don’t just look like obsessive nonsense.  I’m considering them items on a sort of “vision board.”  I’m speaking to the universe which speaks to me.  Hear me, universe?  I’m calling out to someone I value for some reason even though we’ve had no real contact.  And, if you’re kind, you’ll help me make the right contact…if it’s meant to be…if I’m not just under some spell like one who falls in love with a character only to find the actress who played that character is nothing like the latter and thus defeats the interest.  Better to have loved and lost than never to have had the chance to love, at all, right?  Well, have I had the chance to love?  Is this the love I am to lose before I even hold her hand?

 




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