Clouds and Killing the BLOG and a real nice case of a Mistaken Address

More clouds later.

This is a post I had prepared yesterday prior to having to upload all those loaded cloud pictures.

I really am very concerned that some of you out there will think that these pictures represent some sort of definitive godliness. I understand that there are many interpretations that can be made (mostly by zealots) regarding such peculiar clouds. Please draw hope from them or reverence or wake-up or whatever –

however, know that they are just clouds and that the unusual replicated shapes are likely caused by a build up of carbon dioxide and road dust and surface evaporation over the highly paved central part of the town I live in.

Remarkable what a silly lady with a good brain can pull out of a cloud in order to make her life seem to have a little meaning during a period of profound catharsis and confusion…

If you take the clouds to mean anything, take them to mean that we must be humble and thankful and stop buying so much shit. Seriously, we are destroying our means of existence and – as the stalk of wheat, I kid you not – – – seriously, how cliche can I get in imagining a cloud may be constructed to remind us to know where our food comes from or we’ll starve, in more ways than one.

I don’t know where all my food comes from. I don’t even know where most of it comes from. I am addicted to nicotine and caffeine and I like soda. My children wear clothes purchased at big box stores by kind and generous grandparents. So, really – what the fuck am I talking about? I have been more mindful in snack shopping and, thus, the kids have been spending less time over here, at their original home – because my snacks suck and I am distracted as hell most of the time.

Even the relatively minimal documentation I do – take pictures, upload them – I don’t even know what day some of the older pictures are from…

well, it takes longer than I’d like it to. I am sick of clouds. Nonetheless, how can you turn away from a stalk of wheat in the sky.

well, it did look like a stalk of wheat…hmmm? (actually when I first went out, it looked like a double helix, perhaps contrails crossing just right.)

I keep taking photos of fine diaphanous things such as clouds, well – I will need to use the good camera.

Members of my extended family are encouraging me to kill the blog. Kill the blog. Mothball the blog. I really am surprised that they have no idea that, right now, it is vital to me to have a daily affirmation of myself as someone who is lively of mind and real keen on finding beauty in the mundane…

I will make a page of credentials so that my family can consider why it may be time for them to trust me as a sane and intelligent human being who likes to find delightful means to necessary ends.

I think it would be great if people with camera phones all over the world started sitting quietly and looking for shapes in the sky.

They are worried about my “enemies” using what is on this blog against me…

First of all, I don’t really have any enemies that I invest a lot of energy into. Not locally anyway…or really anywhere…?

I guess there are some people who don’t like me much for whatever reason – probably because I have poor social skills unless I have time to prepare. I am good at manners, bad at conversation.

Whatever. I don’t have any ill-will toward anyone on a day-to-day basis. I just want everyone to realize there’s no call for ugliness anymore. I am so done with that sort of acid angry resentment. It’s dumb to spend your energy disliking another person. We all do it, but it’s not the best use of our time.

yes: my marriage was a tragic misunderstanding of grand proportion and this blog does – I suspect – really bother my family. Which is why they don’t read it. Which is why they don’t always understand that not only is it important to me to remind myself what my motivations are and to process emotional reaction to freakin’ weird neurological and metaphysical events in a way that – if not always coherent – at least provides a useful means of reflection and ownership of where I am at in re: to a given thing. I like to think that – while nobody reads this blog now – other than my family to wince, the Shipman to keep secret from his wife – which is fucked. Secrets are fucked. I think that full disclosure would be a mighty fine means of accountability for everyone and every corporate entity that is running this ship.

The thing is, if I “kill the BLOG” (I can imagine my aunt commenting sharply how much she can’t stand the word blog. Man, I hear ya. It’s an awful word. I say weblog in all lowercase sometimes, it’s kind of cuter. So, next time someone tells me to kill my project that I have been working on for a goddam year (in two and 1/2 weeks) (everysingledayididthisinsomeway) maybe they should call it a weblog…softer on the ear, easier to hear. Though not really.

The thing that KILLS is that the people who love me are asking me if I am okay and their notion of where I am at and what the qualifiers of ‘okay’ are in that place. I am totally okay.

If someone is saying I should cease and desist with the bloggage – they are asking me to cower and hide and kowtow out of fear that humans with whom I’ve had a conflicted history and present may somehow use my words against me. Listen, I have full psychological evaluation (several actually, over the years…if someone wants to help me get my records, well: that’d be great.)

They pretty much well explain the situation of my mental health – which is really pretty much okay. I am not angry and I’m not holding grudges blahblahblah and I’m trying to do things that only I can do in ways that only I am able. Yeah anyone can take a picture of a silly old cloud. But only I can take pictures of these clouds from my porch and make them look like angels, skulls, rabbits, and tea.

I know exactly what I am doing and there is NO WAY that I am going to kill this blog. No way. I don’t care if anyone ever reads it. It’s mine. And when my kids have kids, they can dust off the old computer and have a solid record of what a weird and wonderfully flawed human being their grandmother was, and hopefully still will be. I eat when I am hungry. I am strong and I have energy. If I appear draggy around people – well, people drag me down. If I appear thin. Well, I am thin. I am 5’9 and I weigh 140 pounds – so yes, thin – I have been since the breastfeeding years. I think I fed my children my bones. I make sure to get plenty of nutrients in the foods I eat.

Man, this is nuts. I am not doing anything wrong. N-O-T-H-I-N-G! I am present with my kids and I try to treat them like actual developing human beings instead of little fools and I DO need to play more with them – but give me a break…they are going to be six and eight in a month. If we lived in the wild, they’d be foraging alone at four. So, yeah – let other people have their days with them. I certainly had mine. 3 solid years of non-stop kids. NONSTOP. And that sort of thing, at a certain age is not healthy for them or for me. And maybe the more social side of their family will provide a nice counterpoint to the eccentric isolationist side of the family. Listen, people have all sorts of comfort zones and I really tried hard to push myself to adapt to the expectations of others. I killed so many good ideas.

So many…

…and this blog probably is a horrible idea. Then again so is almost anything to anybody. I think people ought not drink wine and fill their minds with mediated fictions every evening. But, hey – if that’s what fills, fine. I wouldn’t dare say that drawing and cloud watching and tiny thread crochet and thinking about ghosts and ideas and love and time is a lifestyle that would suit most people.

However, it suits me just fine.

I am happy – though lonely…but, it is nice to not have to worry about people hurting me if I do not place my heart in their hands. I have been asking people please understand please understand please understand – but you know what, I don’t need anyone to understand.

One person’s clarity is another’s distortion and I really don’t have a lot of time to navigate all that with every neurotic person in my life every time I answer the phone. I am OKAY. I am better than okay. I am getting really good at drawing. I have the opportunity to offer a moment of befuddled reverence to all sorts of people with my silly cloud pictures –

The kids will one day appreciate this record – like when their own unique brains make it hard for them to take for granted the status quo or to follow the instructions in the right order or to have to leave a store because it just got too overwhelming. Not everyone is the same. I think it would be a beautiful thing if ya’ll shelved your Faith-is-Crazy-and-Hopeless-and-Needs-To-Get-A-Grip paradigm and respected me as…well, me. A person who is working with what she’s got on hand to build something that will last and that is all my own.

And the thing is – the other day, at a Guardian ad Litem meeting, I told a Case Manager that if she knows of any young people who are struggling with the sense of being misunderstood in “the system” that they are welcome to visit my site. It makes me hurt – literally – that people do not see the value of a viable voice of recollection of the decade when in-patient psychiatric facilities, group homes, and mis-managed medication were the answer of the day for the “troubled teen” –

The mental health system in this country is BRUTAL. Absolutely. Good people (some) – Brutal system.

I cannot defend myself anymore. I am not killing this blog and I am certainly not going to give anyone who may wish ill against me for some ill-conceived or mis-understood by me reason…well, I am not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me woefully crawl back to Poor Faith-ville. No way. No how. If I talk about how hard these times have been, it is only so that people see how truly hard I am trying to salvage some beauty and strength from it all.

And that, I would think would be a good thing…

I am sorry if the point has been missed. I am okay. You don’t have to like it, you don’t have to fund it, you don’t have to agree with it.

how clouds are made

Re: Hypothetically

Inbox X


show details Jul 5 (1 day ago)

Well, when I was home this afternoon – the clouds were out in their full, strange force. I took a lot of pictures of a lot of clouds. Felt kooky and secret and saintly. Jeez, I don’t want to be a saint. What does a saint even do? I guess the upside of sainthood is that it certainly would legitimize my new career goal of sitting on the porch and daydreaming and somehow still paying bills, etc.

The VP of Programs and Exhibits fb’ed me a link to this blog yesterday. The message was: Life is middle of the road. Don’t sweat it. We ALL want to live in a fairy tale, that’s why we make drama.

Well, I for one certainly have been inclined toward a fairy tale life. Not one of McMansions and no worries, but one of small kingdoms under the leaves of a pumpkin plant, of floors painted gold and being blessedly doomed, in the way that fairy tales doom girls who are too clever and who have adequately big eyes and facial symmetry as to appear, to some, as beautiful…

…to see every sunrise and to find friends in clouds and wasps…

it could be so much worse, as the epic of the July sky plays out.

…doomed to have people always asking: “How are you?”

“Well, divorce is hard – but, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Maybe you should go talk to someone.”

All perfectly reasonable responses to someone such as myself…efforts to give me perspective on the myth…

The thing is, I have always felt very sub-textual in most settings and endeavors. Here, I am the text.

The more I explore my story and my ways of seeing and remembering, the more I realize that I may be in a different epic altogether. That probably doesn’t make sense. I am, unfortunately, getting used to the sense that I don’t make sense. Ha.

I make perfect sense, to myself, in my head and my heart has far more sense than you may ever imagine. If people give me a chance to explain, I can explain most of the conclusions I may draw quite rationally. Really.

No, I’m totally serious!

The reason I can find meaningful (to some people) shapes in the sky is because I am a visual thinker and I have a strong, solid eye that is able to extrapolate a line or imagine a shadow where there is not one…

…and I can see a thing as something else with far too much ease. Always have been able to blur the lines of vision in that way. And sometimes the willful distortion of the world as it is seen by the masses is redeeming of the true form of a thing, an accidental beauty or a fleeting harmony.

Other times, it is just a distortion.

The other day, I watched an ant being carried in the jaws of a slightly bigger ant. “Hmmm, there go the morgue keepers. Carrying the dead.”

And then I thought a bit and realized that ants are far to dignified to simply die where they lay or, if they don’t make it back to the darkest, deepest edges of the colony to die…

Well, I don’t know if ants are so sentimentally inclined as to spend precious energy carrying the field fallen back to the catacombs.

So, using a blade of grass – I freed the captive ant from the jaws of the marauding species and watched as it stumbled around, it’s head was dusty and it appeared wounded. I had, with my massive hand, done it no favors. I watched as it wove it’s way over the dry pebbled dirt nearly run into a stone. It paused, staggering in the minute way that an ant staggers. Then it began to circle the stone, probably following it’s own pheromones as it left the stone and seemed to find the path that the marauder had dragged it along just one minute ago. Damning the human hand and it’s meddling ways, I slid a small sliver of crumbling mulch under the ant and as it sought purchase, placed it down in the nearby grass. Only then did I see the larger marauding species in full force, dragging anything they could drag in a frenzied invasion. One ant struggled with a pupae four times it’s size, the very picture of determined consumption.

(At least ants drag home their indulgences to the colony at large. Humans bring home the big screen and lock the door behind them.)

I tried to find the wounded ant whose fate I had disturbed, but it was already lost. In the end, I am certain of it’s death. One of the infinite small births and deaths that go unnoticed, uncelebrated or mourned.

In other news, I have written a lot about feeling disconnected, unheard. Well, my neighbor – a twenty one year old white college kid has a name similar to a early Jets football star who is now an old black man.

Well, this guy has a huge fan in Ozone Park, New York. And one in Evanston, Illinois – they had both written wanting a signature. My neighbors mentioned the mix-up and showed me the letters. “I don’t know what to do with ’em.”

“Here.” I held out my hand, “I’ll blog them.” That was a couple of weeks ago and since then a lot of strange things have occurred. So, in an effort to exit stage left from my production of christianity as played by the clouds. Here is the story of …

I sent off the letters this morning.

So that at least they knows that someone, somewhere got his message.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry (gosh. that still totally cracks me up…even in the midst of all the…air.)

—–Original Message—–


Date: Mon, 5 Jul 2010 14:00:50

To: Me<>


Subject: Re: Hypothetically

I cannot believe this. It’s as if I didn’t exist. No wonder the kids are nervous.

——Original Message——

From: Me To: Me ReplyTo: Me Subject: Hypothetically Sent: Jul 5, 2010 8:18 AM Yes – I understand that the sky may be showing a biased toward christian symbolism… I have – it is important to note – also noted a number of rabbits, turtles, and male genitalia. However, these things are – like all things, in the eye of the beholder… maybe – and, yes, I understand that this seems quite mad on a Monday morning when the American world is hustling and bustling to work and camp and daycare… To be considering the possibility that The Sky gave me a present that only I could understand and draw some hope from… Love communicates in a way that makes us feel understood. Maybe I am still just talking to myself. And perhaps the clouds always hold the images of angels and hearts and eyes that bear silent witness to all this hustle and bustle and loss and love…

Is there really anything to say?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s