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Meditation on Duality:
Have you ever noticed that sometimes the thing you like best about a person and the thing you like least about them is the same thing? Or sometimes, it's two sides of the same thing.
Like if you admire someone's outspokeness and honesty, you might dislike that they are a big loud mouth. If you envy thier confidence, you may later think they are too full of themselves.
If you love that someone is even tempered and patient, you might later think of them as passionless and boring. What might look like compassion may later seem like doormat syndrome.
So all of you, go on about your day and think about how that translates into your own relationships.
For those of you who don't know, I lived in Saline for over 3 years. I shared a house with a bunch of guys. Usually 4-5 guys who rotated as they grew up, got married or moved away. At this time the Heathen Ranch, as it was called, was me, Steve (who some of you have met, and who lives across town with his wife, who is my hairdresser), Christopher (my buddy in California), and Finster (this venemous nut-job who used to be my best freind). Our crazy thieving roomate, Matt, had just been kicked out a few weeks earlier.
Finster and I were on LSD and decided to clean out the upstairs closet. I think we were looking for something. It was also the middle of the night and we were taking a break from watching Night of the Living Dead. We were just about peaking.
And then Finster found a voodoo doll of me in the closet. It was really ugly and made of the clay that used to be behind the house if you dug it up. It had a big hunk of my hair from before I colored it that was wadded up like it had been on my hairbrush (which I foolishly kept in the common bathroom). And most disturbingly, a pair of tweezers had been jammed in the side. I was speechless. And of course, I was tripping my ass off. It was utterly terrifying.
It was decided that the wannabe witch ex-roomate had made the doll. He harbored resentment toward me because I was openly angry that he stole my package out of the mail while I was out of town. This was after I gave him all my groceries because he didn't have a job. The fucker stole my camel cash package. Later, Steve took it back out of his room, and we kicked him out of the house.
So I decide in my irrational stupor that the smart thing to do would be to put a blessed candle in the doll and let it burn down. I had visions in my head of this act purifying the house and taking away the evil that was Matt the evil roomate. (regular readers: this is not to be confused with my ex-boyfriend Matt who was a violent alcoholic)
So a little while later, we're watching more zombies. And the upstairs smoke alarm goes off and Finster and I smell all this smoke coming from upstairs. We run screaming up the stairs and I suddenly think we've burned Steve alive in his bed. And in fact, I had managed to set the whole top of my dresser on fire. Being a consumate genius, I put it out with some newspaper and went back downstairs. Finster figured out that I almost set another fire and put it out and cleaned everything up. For some reason, he used cotton balls, facial toner, and a new bottle of parfume. I was wearing some over-the-counter drugstore nonsense called Tabu at the time.
And that's my courageous story.
Like if you admire someone's outspokeness and honesty, you might dislike that they are a big loud mouth. If you envy thier confidence, you may later think they are too full of themselves.
If you love that someone is even tempered and patient, you might later think of them as passionless and boring. What might look like compassion may later seem like doormat syndrome.
So all of you, go on about your day and think about how that translates into your own relationships.
For those of you who don't know, I lived in Saline for over 3 years. I shared a house with a bunch of guys. Usually 4-5 guys who rotated as they grew up, got married or moved away. At this time the Heathen Ranch, as it was called, was me, Steve (who some of you have met, and who lives across town with his wife, who is my hairdresser), Christopher (my buddy in California), and Finster (this venemous nut-job who used to be my best freind). Our crazy thieving roomate, Matt, had just been kicked out a few weeks earlier.
Finster and I were on LSD and decided to clean out the upstairs closet. I think we were looking for something. It was also the middle of the night and we were taking a break from watching Night of the Living Dead. We were just about peaking.
And then Finster found a voodoo doll of me in the closet. It was really ugly and made of the clay that used to be behind the house if you dug it up. It had a big hunk of my hair from before I colored it that was wadded up like it had been on my hairbrush (which I foolishly kept in the common bathroom). And most disturbingly, a pair of tweezers had been jammed in the side. I was speechless. And of course, I was tripping my ass off. It was utterly terrifying.
It was decided that the wannabe witch ex-roomate had made the doll. He harbored resentment toward me because I was openly angry that he stole my package out of the mail while I was out of town. This was after I gave him all my groceries because he didn't have a job. The fucker stole my camel cash package. Later, Steve took it back out of his room, and we kicked him out of the house.
So I decide in my irrational stupor that the smart thing to do would be to put a blessed candle in the doll and let it burn down. I had visions in my head of this act purifying the house and taking away the evil that was Matt the evil roomate. (regular readers: this is not to be confused with my ex-boyfriend Matt who was a violent alcoholic)
So a little while later, we're watching more zombies. And the upstairs smoke alarm goes off and Finster and I smell all this smoke coming from upstairs. We run screaming up the stairs and I suddenly think we've burned Steve alive in his bed. And in fact, I had managed to set the whole top of my dresser on fire. Being a consumate genius, I put it out with some newspaper and went back downstairs. Finster figured out that I almost set another fire and put it out and cleaned everything up. For some reason, he used cotton balls, facial toner, and a new bottle of parfume. I was wearing some over-the-counter drugstore nonsense called Tabu at the time.
And that's my courageous story.
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(I love your background, btw.)
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That story is 100% true and happened about 10 years ago.
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I completely agree with the two sides of the same thing scenario.
And what a tale. It gave me the chills. My past contains a few LSD incidents
which almost ended up disastrous.
This gives me the courage to possibly tell them.
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and p.s.
creepy story!!
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Once, I thought Bjork was broadcasting my deepest, darkest secrets to everyone in the room. To make matters worse, I couldn't find my socks and that devastated me. Another time, I thought I had died and that I was being forced to watch the night of my death up until my death. I actually predicted a few things people in the room would do and scared everyone half to death. Only someone who has tripped acid would understand.
MOst of my experiences were fun though.
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And yes, LSD stories always seem to be fasinating, especially those alarming near misses.
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A doll made in proper voudon tradition would have correspondances to different aspects of a persons life, humours or temperment. Basically he was wishing me a shitty, unlucky life. it's up for debate just how well he succeeded.
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Although I daresay several of my exes are potential serial killers. Not H though...
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I went through a long period where I was attracted to dangerous, fucked-up men. I found that whole "troubled" thing very desirable. Of course, these are not the kind of men one can have a healthy relationship with. But the roller coaster can be wild, even as it takes it's toll on you!
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Ah, birthdays... ;-)
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I think that was the night P chased me halfway down the block in my bra. I have no idea what possessed me to do that. I'm not sure how i got out of the house. Oh, and i think I was rolling too. Yeah, candyflipping.
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