head sets and quizzes

i told myself not to get sucked in. what happens? i get sucked in.

never. i never intended to waste my time taking those stupid quizzes on facebook. but a cinderella and a center of attention hog later... i am here wasting a bit more time blogging about the aftermath. yet, i don't regret it. it made me think, it made me rewind time. i'm not a kid anymore. o but how i like to go back sometimes.

a good thrift store find occupied a whole night. laura, my bff. we found a $.75 set of walkie talkie head sets and decided to crash a party with them. so we put on our best camo gear. and i don't know if you know me, you probably don't... but i am erica wright and i have camo. lots and lots of camo. i am not even that big of a fan anymore... but i just can't seem to kick the habit. its like a facebook quiz i guess.

where was i? yes, crashing parties with our totally awesome spy gear. when we got out of the car we did not walk up to the party. we were running and ducking behind bushes and cars till the coast was clear. we were also just plain stupid. that was us. i think we were even da-da da-da da-da da-da dum dum... that was a poor excuse for a spy song, but that was the sound track to that night. we tumbled with forward rolls through the door and went all around the house with on a scavenger hunt to see who could find the objects first. like i said, we were just plain stupid. i am not sure anyone wanted us there. laura and i usually had a could of eye balls rolled in our presence... but that did not stop us. and the best part of all this was is the fact that we were 100% sober. apparently one who wears cool spy gear doesn't need alcohol or drugs for a good time.

so yea... i hadn't thought about that for years till that dr. phill quiz. not going to punish myself for getting vacuumed into the madness this time. but i don't want to make it a habit.

stagnant minds...

"big minds talk about ideas, medium minds talk about events, and small minds talk about other people..."

my big medium small mind races from insomniac experiences of parallel universes, super fired synopses, and sweaty palms... but i guess the last two should be tagged as cause and effect. i haven't been in school in over three years and now my brain is restless and foul.

yet i am not ashamed of my foul brain. it is completely human to be foul. to be completely honest, i am more ashamed to be human. if it weren't for our foul species there would be a babbling brook through the famous court house in new york. that is beside the point... get it? beside?... kind of like in a different dimension. who is to say there isn't one right now? peaceful flowing H2O neck to neck with streets with cars and people, lots and lots of people. if quantum physicist believe in past parallel universes without humankind, wouldn't they believe in another world 2000 years after people?

we are dirty, sexual, and curious. therefore, foul. i don't mean to dislike my own kind, it just hurts to know that mother nature is her own detergent and as long as we are around we will be the lingering laundry projects that invade beds and floors worldwide. so what do we do? we know we are destroying our home so i guess we will have to look for other worlds, other galaxies to live on or in... problem number one, affection in space. if we are going to do any traveling without gravity... i am not saying that there will always be weightlessness with wormholes because i am clueless on the subject, i am just saying that "if" there will be any transporting in space, we are going to have to supply our dirty minds with some one on one action. thus perfecting the two-suit (which is pretty genius and human... loved it). we parasites always have to have a way to reproduce. and the whole "let me wear a helmet to experience an out of body experience" isn't going to cut it. to drift the subject while we are talking about the love making issue and going back one time to neurotransmitters and synopses and and my sweaty hands... my doctor just gave me some zoloft to try out. and i am all about participating as a lab rat [as long as we leave the polyester pants out of the deal (which also sucks for sex -don't mind my add rant about an experiment on rat sex lives in polyester pants) ]... however, I probably won't take it. I'd rather blog my feelings and crazy thoughts than be a smiling zombie. I am real. I've been through issues. Been down, done wrong. But I am me. I am alone inside myself, I am dealing, but I am real. I am me. Real friends know all about you and love you anyways.

so as i was saying.

freaquinstyle

as in free freak frequent sequin style.

some people try so hard to stray away from stereotypes. far from the image they don't want to be. well what if that is just who they are. wouldn't it be worse if they just acted like you and me or the vice. could you imagine living in a script your whole life afraid of being who you are to avoid a stereotype? just let it be, let it be, let it be let it be... (sorry had a beatles moment there)

not everyone is accepting of every culture. to one it may be ignorant, to another... a way of life. to one goofy and corny, to another... radical and ingenious. we may not understand each other but we should accept each other, no matter how hard it is. and yes it is hard. it may be one of the hardest things to conquer in the whole entire world. but we all have to agree to disagree at some point and look the other way when needed, and mostly just look the other way.

so i like to think of myself as an uneducated anthropologist. personal experiments to experience personalities. curious as to what makes different people tick. i have weaseled in at any opportunity to get close to anyone who is different from me. but whether i found myself on my knees with a doily on my head or with red and white nikes on my feet hopping my ass over the bar to get to the subway... the sequins always finds the real me, and my newfound hobby gets deleted and i have to move on to the next one. and the next one. and the next one. this frequent change carries on till i look at myself in confusion and exhaustion and say... i am done.

yet through my trials and my errors i have found precisely what i want, what i don't want... what i can put up with and what i can't. i know who i am, what i am capable of, and where i want to go in this life. getting there is another story (but at least i know). i know my heart, and what i want it to feel like and how to back away when emotions stray or unbalance.

i am the anything goes, lets go anywhere, lets do anything, get along with anyone... as long as i can have my space when it is time to (i need my alone time)- when you boil me down you get a ghetto tendency having, water loving, deep down earthy chick.. with a mild splash of an artsy colorwheel on the side. i am me. a lot of me chameleon-ed through each one of my experiment experiences. for i have stolen bits and pieces of "people" i then stitched this mimickery into my life. of coarse bad habits and things i nnnnever in a million years would have wanted to compose myself with have been picked up along my journey. so i may have created my worst nightmare... but no one is perfect. but i like to use the hand i am dealt and deal. working on my person daily, trying to rediscover and reconfigure so that i may find true happiness in my sparkly sequin covered self.

blocks and chambers

i aorta tell you that it enters my right atrium at the speed of a kun tao masters elbow entering a stack of cinder blocks. they collapse. i collapse before it gets to my right ventricle.

shallow i breath letting it filter through my lungs. the wind has been knocked out of me. as i fall i realize that i am not hurt... i have fallen many times before. i lay under the moon and air is essential, but it now seems that this is more of a necessity now. this time i am numb to any pain. this time appears reckless, i built my cinder blocks rather alpine... maybe for protection, maybe to get noticed, maybe so if i did crack i would still have some at the bottom that would be untouched.

yet the force is so strong and precise. they don't crumble, but merely break as if having viscous properties. maybe i built my blocks big for bigger expectations. i hear the quick crash. it is something i have never heard. i don't know what the sound of settling sounds like... though i have heard the white noise around it. i could never quite tune in pristine. and i never will. i saw a guy crying on a curb today, he must have been the settle-ee. it made me think. was it he who had his elbow in pain and blocks in tact. or did he too watch them crumble in a million little pieces. was it his goal to have them broken?  at times we are all a glutton for punishment.  sabotaging ourselves.  being with the wrong people and knowing it.  i don't know, i just hope i don't share his same fate.

walls are good for alot of things. not good for blocking the flow. all i hear is the sound of making brownies. sweet with many nuts. euphoria tingles my body as the enriched make it to the left atrium. and there i realize that it takes shelter in the largest most important chamber... from the left ventricle it circulates all over my body. i quiver knowing that it is my heart now. my heart that controls my every move. my every action. my every thought. it has made it. it has transformed me with feeling. i am alive and well. i dont care that i am wearing it on my sleeve... it is everything i have ever wanted everything i have ever wanted to feel.

the rats of politics

and so i see the t-shirt again, right in front of me again; and yes again... it has me in a trance with my brain wheels spinning. this is twice now this strolling billboard has brought me in. how a cotton blouse decorated with politics holds such pondering power over me is actually quite amazing and beyond me. it reads:

"Democrat ends in rat, Republican ends in i can."

clever. it has my attention. it makes me want to trade in my liberalism. but i don't cash in quite yet. there has to be a way to turn this around... and so as the wheels go round and round in my head i visualize a rat on a wheel in a cage. my daze grows deeper. i think of the rat. the poor rat. no one wants to look down at the china man place mat under their poo poo platter to find out that their year is the rat. because rats are labeled as disease infested and dirty animals. but it could be worse... you could be the no good dirty scoundrel described as a "meephis on a flea on a rat." (wasn't that from the movie grease???)

Well!
i say this is the age of the rat. for example even disney has jumped on board with pro rat. making the movie ratatouille in their honor, giving these rodents a better image. now does this glorification make up for all the experiments and test we do on rats? probably not. yet experiments signify tests that change or make things better... so in a sad corrupt sense, rats can signify change.

moreover, in my recent conversations i have learned about morgan. apparently, morgan is the name that they gave to the rat that supposedly survived all the meteorite showers that caused the dinosaurs to their extinction... so long story short they are claiming that we evolved from apes, and apes somehow or another evolved from these underground surviving rats. so we all have a little rat as a common ancestor, is that such a bad thing? so i have also come up with the disclosure that rats also signify longevity.

as for "i can." i can see that to be a rat is more than it seems.

flashing mommy (from my blogher)

mommy flash of a flash card of big T little t... tounge tattering there tilly tittle toys tattling tover to tuskanzoo too... my myalanski, the never sit down unless you want the cards bent, thrown, or torn... actually let me flash dr. suesses flash cards two minutes ago. i used to say "i dont call you son cause you shine, i call you son cause your mine." but everyday he proves that saying wrong. he is bigger and brighter talking and tooting... making me laugh, making me proud.

subject in process

i wonder if life is like a laundry project. i am sure not everyone has laundry projects. i have laundry projects though... i have no steady system through the seasons. so i find myself sleeping on the floor breathing in dust under a chair sneezing, while piles of my lanundry project are snoozing comfortable on my four thousand dollar matress. comfortable, not confined by neat folded stacks sorted and separated, but free and fluid decorated with wrinkles. tired of pushing to find space for little bodies to retire, tired of making more work and wasting more time with clothes hunting and irons...  i find myself in need of a friend. overwhelmed i stare at the mountain made of wardrobe. where to start? i just assume spend another night in another room, another day digging for the next wear. but then a helping hand reaches for the start of what seems an eternity of folding, bagging, ewwing, separting, and storing. it is nice to have friends that can motivate you to move mountains. even if inturruption errupts from cranky kids and grumbly tumblies. it was enough to get me going.  I'm usually fine doing something once I start. i guess thats just how i am about some things (... which is probably the main reason i am still 'lifeguard for life'... that and the benifits).  ps. i only slept on the floor because i got kicked off the air matress in the living room from my fellow slumber partakeoverers. but the worst part of all this... is the fact that i am so content with my 'life in process...' even if there are moments of messy beds full of lifeguard uniforms and sponge bob underoos.  because i know one day.  things will be better.  the end.

catching a wave from a puddle

everyone should have a life list, a list of things that need to be completed before you are in the 6 feet under part of the cycle. although alot of the content of my list i can do while splashing in my puddle... i will eventually need to suit up for the big swell. the end (for now).

profound prattle

plastic dinosaurs run in mid air, yet the plasticity is still. they want more stories and they will eat me unless i deliver. i've never been the type to get shaky knees at the sight of a t-rex whose mouth is fixed at a non terrifying degree... but he seems serious. so i open my mouth. nothing comes to mind so i tell about the obvious, a giant boy who controls a dinosaur army like puppets. the end

ferocious meander on mother mary and darwin

and why are we @ the top of the food chain... because we are merely just good hunters???  and are sharks too ignorant to believe anything past swimming and eating?  can they have a jesus? and would he be called shesus?  and just what should i believe in mother mary or mother earth????  anyway, what if ants were human sized...  since you know, ants have the largest brain in proportion to their body- would they still chase sugar? would they evolve to eat us? so many questions racing through my own brain.  well. ants are mostly little for now...  so we can just smoosh towards extermination if they get ant bigger ideas, we are just so big and clever, so much so that our cleverness exceeds beyond an anthill.  we are smart, selfish and imaginative fabricators.  So, mary or myth... us humans have the parthenogenisis in the form of an ovarian cyst. well maybe mary's was more miracle than cyst. even so, how can a cyst save our souls from extinction... well i guess there are too many sex addicts on welfare anyways to worry about a dwindling population. over fishing, shortage of males... mother natures last attempt to save the shark is by breaking the rules. which is why we have to set limits for ourselves. sin, and lots a gay sex... maybe mary's asexuality was gods last attempt to save mankind? they say that whole solo sex thing is as in-bred as it gets, and we all know how the rumors in west virginia turn out. mutations and retardation from intermingling with family. (did the blue man group get their idea from the mutated recessive blue gene????) but who knows....  maybe mother nature wants more inbreeding to have more recessive genes to be expressed in case they are more apt for survival...  feeling proud of my light eyes and red in the sunlight hair right about now.... is sexuality turned asexual simply a form of evolution?... when something is about to bite the dust (environmental or dwindling sex partners), the great mother breaks a couple rules to save itself.... creates anew inside an old and the altered consequences survive when the rest dies out?  sorry.  read an article about an asexual shark.  and it just makes my brain go a mile a min. 

its amazing how a little urine in your panties distracts your mind from boredom

i have never really been the type to believe in boredom. i think it devalues our capabilities. i do, however; believe in feeling lonely and the state of idleness. i think some activities i find my self participating in are a result from staying clear of the alternative... but i would rather not admit to such stimulation .

twilight sands, unsavory balls, and a little quality time

what a beautiful day. i found myself carving a mermaid out of sand when i stumbled on the disease ridden plastic ball that insisted on making its way into the young mouth of my babe. refusing to spit it out, i told stories how the very rare and deadly red spherical disease will make bones brittle and crumble beneath the very skin that house them, how blood will ooze out of ears and noses, how eye balls will o my gosh there it is swelling bigger... bigger... i then chased the body that was connected to the mouth that inhabited the ball till sand splashed all around and we sank underneath. buried, almost. i look inside, nothing. then i see the infected sphere encased by palm. quickly i go against all my morals and good teaching, i snatch and throw. tears stream. i may have caused scarring, but at least we have not been impregnated with germs.

and how

i sit here naked in my towel, stroking these lettered keys in reflection. i ignore the fire sirens blaring at the apartment building next to mine... in fact i smile because now i cant hear the obnoxious thump of so called music that was beginning to make my right eye twitch.

"it's only sinning if you are religious."   that's what my father always used to say.  well.  I think morals are bigger than religion.   and I think Americanized karma is more real than confession and hail mary's combined.  karma is only a bitch if you are...  just saying- a good ole fashioned pimple on the ass...  that's the best repentance as far as I'm concerned.  and maybe it is the conscious recognizing bad things in your life and connecting to bad behavior. but who cares, really.  do onto others how you want to be treated, not how they treat you.  because, if it is an eye for an eye, the whole world will be blind.  simply put, just be good to your life so your life can be good to you.  basically.   I mean.  my dad pretty much had an affair with karma...  and now, he is forever asleep.  I know how horrible that sounds.  I really do.  but he was so miserable with his decisions.  ones he couldn't take back.  ones he couldn't change.  sometimes it is just too late.  sometimes once the magician reveals his tricks, the magic is lost forever.  and no matter how good he became.  he was stuck in his misery.  and i felt like his life no longer held magic.  i mean.  there were good times.  but his eyes, even through the good held onto sadness.  I am fortunate to have seen the good in him before he past.  I was proud of him for everything he went through.  proud of him for fighting. I thank buddah, god, krishna, jesus, karma, the universe, mother nature.  whoever.  just.  I thank whoever for that.  for being able to see the good in him before he left me.  and I also understand why he past away.  he is free now. and I have to believe somewhere, there is value in that too. funny how things hurt like hell while experiencing them.  but looking back, we find peace.  and with this peace.  nothing can bother me.  not right now anyway.  even bathing in my own stress...  I still feel the magic of this world.  and try to be good in it.  for everyone.  but mostly, me.  because butt pimples are pretty undesirable.  

going to just lay back.  close my eyes.  let the sirens subside and when the vibrations return from next door...  let them carry me to dreamland. 

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