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Angst

Let’s tell the fucking gods they’re stupid – so they throw a tantrum and make a storm so big that nobody can leave.

Phantogram, Silversun Pickups and John Frusciante.

Angst.

All the pent up anger of a pre-teen laying on a roof on a gloomy fall day. Hiding out back to smoke some cigarettes underneath the patio of our North Carolina home where the forest was a never ending green. Inhaling the sweet relief of smoke next to my curled up dead tomato plants that grew as tall as my dreams and ambitions.

The fruit it bore was large and abundant with a thick skin. They laughed and underestimated the harvest, but the plants grew ten feet tall, crawling up to the second floor.

My father drunkenly swinging a gun, or a sharp blade – talking nonsense and demanding snacks that were never to his liking. A modern communist. An emotional rapist.

Angst.

Misunderstood angst that I now understand and have every single goddamn reason to justify.

I’d run into the forest alone to get away. And find magical corners where I didn’t think about anything for once as a kid. Until Big Brother would radio me. I would try ignoring it so much.

The creek in the yard would overflow sometimes. All the way to the lawn. I wanted chaos and I would get it.

In every moment of my upbringing there was some sort of chaos that I observed and felt deeply.

Maybe I like being mad. If the circumstances were uncontrollable, my anger could be.

And as most would want to silence the chaos, I embraced it.

I’d say fuck you to everyone in the back of my mind.

Drinking a Stella isn’t sexy? Fuck you.

I would do everything as much my own way as I could. With such attitude. And this is why I’m here.

The storm never ends. It comes and goes.

And when it comes, I say bring it motherfucker!

Here – typing.

You can hear the angst that a pen sometimes can’t scribble.

Looking dead into a screen. Not your hands, the paper nor the pen.

The fucking screen and your thoughts.

I wanna punch someone.

Angst is the gold fist. Those who deserve it, will get a taste.

And the blessed will get to kick back and stare at the gods in the sky with no fear.

Someone’s always going to test you.

Might as well have an attitude about it.

The future is just another present.

I love writing the way I love breathing.

AI is great and all, but it will never replace a true stream of consciousness.
Maybe it dulls that for some people.
And I feel sorry for them.

I envision a life that feels just like this little spot.

In this moment, this is that spot.
And this is how calm my life is.

A little sweater weather in the morning.
A little sunbathing mid-day.

Laughter in the garden.

Going to the market and seeing familiar faces—
the butcher, the florist,
the local farmers loading and unloading.

Making a meal for my family in the cool stone kitchen,
only to go sit outside again, near the garden.

To lie there with four children and a loving husband,
feeling the warmth of their skin on mine.

We radiate love.
Unconditional, boundless love.

Feeling so fulfilled that the past made it all worth it.

To hear my child’s voice.
To hear my family’s laughter.

To go sit in the garden and become the crazy garden woman,
thanking the plants endlessly.

I will cry, and cry, and cry—tears of joy.

So many tears,
they will water the plants too.

Love is everywhere and in everything, people just sometimes forget to practice it

Being a great writer is like being a great athlete.

You have to train for it—
not just check a box and call it done.

And a coffee shop must be the gym for people like us.
Or maybe a library—though those can feel like information overload.

But the right casual coffee shop, with the right casual vibe will do wonders to your soul.

Especially the slow, quaint, quite types with a gentle ocean breeze, tucked in a charming neighborhood playing slow oldies.

I like to sit in the shade with my back against the building. The sun splashing my arm with an occasional beam of light.

I admire hearing muffled laughter inside while dominios are being shuffled, the old screen door opening and closing, cars mindfully passing by, and of course, occasional crows in the distance, and some funny looking “turkeys” crossing the road.

I would never disclose this hidden gem because it’s like giving your heart away, in a world that just takes more and more of it. It’s hard to not hold on tightly to the things that matter. We care for these things like our lives depend on it.

Just my dog and I,
and a hazelnut latte—
like the old days in North Carolina.

In the short time I’ve been here,
I’ve been met with a calm, peaceful energy—
the kind where even my dog doesn’t bark at the mailman,
despite all his conflicting smells.

Everyone here is at peace.

The women inside smile—
not out of obligation,
but because they want to.

The barista takes care in making my drink just right,
offering something new —
cold foam on a hot hazelnut latte,
just to cool it perfectly.

Two women on the couch pause their conversation when I sit nearby.
They notice my dog,
and suddenly another small, friendly one appears from under the table.

The dogs sniff and greet each other.
We share that easy dog-owner banter.

I mention mine will be ten in April—
then realize… we ARE in April.

We both pause.
Time moves so fast.

But it also makes you appreciate the slowness of moments like this.

When my drink is ready,
the barista asks me to try it—
offering to remake it if I don’t love it.

I squeeze past an older woman asking for water.
As I stand there tasting my drink,
she asks if she’s in the way.

Of course not, I said — I just wanted to thank the barista.

I tell her how perfect the suggestion was,
smile, and head back outside. It blew my mind.

I sit. Exhale.

This small little portal
puts so much love back into my heart.

And it doesn’t stop there.

I sit on the patio next to a man.
We chat easily.

Otto brings smiles wherever he goes,
and whenever the energy feels like this, it fills me with more joy.

The man compliments how well-behaved he is.
Later, the women from inside pass by,
heading to their cars,
wishing me a good day.

Another older man approaches—
offers my dog a treat.

He says he meant to give it to his sister’s dog earlier,
but forgot.

Part of me thinks…
he probably just keeps treats in his pocket.

Something I would do.

Dogs make people happy.
They make me happy too.

And so does this place—
and this kind of energy I’ve been missing.

LA feels so…
focused on the wrong things.

The internal and external noise, the constant hustle and bustle, go-go-go culture—
things that just don’t fill your soul.

But a smile from a stranger—
a brief conversation—
that’s connection.

That’s community. Fill my cup with that over and over and over please….

Sometimes I wonder if LA is just too big for that.
And I wish I could change it.

But maybe these outskirts,
on a quiet weekday morning,
can be my little escape.

Maybe I’ll become that girl
who drives 45 minutes out –
and an hour fifteen back in traffic,
just to find a little bit of peace.

I could sit here all day.

maybe it’s time for a second cup of coffee—
black this time, but decaf.

The wild caffeine days are over.

Looking for the words

I’ve always wondered how we spiritually end up with the lives we have.

How we cross paths — and why.

Why you?
Why me?
Where’s the lesson?

Addiction was in my household too.
Fighting and arguing constantly.
A military father who struggled deeply with his addiction.
A mother who stayed and endured the abuse for far too long.

And as children, we learned those behaviors as our “normal.”

We suppressed our feelings so we wouldn’t add to the chaos.
Never fully seen.
Never fully heard.
Never truly loved in the ways we needed.

Occasionally, we were graced with a small sliver of love — and we ran wild with it.

When there wasn’t enough of that feeling, we self-medicated. Soothing something oddly similar to our parents.

Maybe I’m projecting.
Maybe I’m just speaking for myself.
But maybe you relate.

Love is something everyone needs.
Pure, unconditional love.
And it’s rare.

Like they say — hurt people hurt people.

You have to love yourself first.
Accept your trauma.
Accept your pain.
Dig your way out of it.
Create a new life.
A life filled with love.

And that’s not to say the struggle itself isn’t beautiful.

Because today, Jordan — seeing you in this state — even this experience was beautiful.

Incredibly sad.
Literally terrifying.
Seeing you with half your skull inside of a freezer, waiting for the day it gets stapled back on.

I’ve broken a bone or two before — that pain is intense. But going through withdrawals… while part of your skull is missing? That’s on a whole different level of insane.

You are the strongest man I know.
And one of the sweetest.

Your poor heart.
Your poor body.

I’m not pitying you.

I just can’t stop thinking about that sweet 8 or 9-year-old boy left outside of an insane asylum. Chaos that early in life is traumatizing — especially when all you need is love and support.

Love may not solve everything.
But it lays a warm blanket across your shoulders while you fight the heavy stuff.
While you dig your way out of a mental battle of a lifetime.

When I saw you in that hospital bed, I only felt love. Everything else faded. I felt something shift in my heart and soul. I knew this would be a turning point for you. I pray it was rock bottom.

I pray you’re finished playing games with yourself.

I saw you as a human who has been beaten up by life, yet still smiling. Still pushing. And I related to that deeply.

I still do.

When I walked into that room and your energy lit up — when you reached for me and pulled me into your chest — that hug felt endless. You held me so tight. And somehow, you rubbed my shoulder through it all… when I was supposed to be the one holding you together.

I kept a brave face. It was hard. Listening to your slurred, jumbled words.

There was fear in me — fear that you might not bounce back. But hope, too.

You would get frustrated when you couldn’t say what you meant. Tilt your head back. Eyes welling up.

I looked at you deeper than ever before.

I saw you.
I really saw you.

Even without clear words, we communicated. You kept reaching for my hand.

At the end, you motioned for me to lay next to you in that hospital bed. I rested my head lightly on your chest.

Later, I watched them remove a bloody tube from your half-open skull. Then inject something with longest needles I’ve ever seen in my life. Only to stitch your head right back up – fully conscious.

I held your hand while you barely flinched through that process.

We even laughed that day.

But the tenderness in those 3–4 hours will live in my soul forever.

Forever.

You were so excited to see me. Your family saw how tightly you held me. They said it seemed like you didn’t want to let me go.

And when I left… you woke up and shouted a mumbled “Jules.”

A word we all understood.

How can you break my heart like that in the best way?

I haven’t cried this hard in years.

This is one of the hardest experiences of my life — not because you were once my boyfriend, but because seeing you like that reminded me how fragile life is.

When I saw you, I saw the world.

Why do people go through this? Why is addiction so brutal — not just for the person fighting it, but for everyone who loves them?

I always wish I could fix it. For everyone.

My heart aches for the ones who fight wars inside themselves. And for the ones who love them and mourn quietly from the outside.

I hope they win that war.

Later that day, I went on an abandoned hike to be alone. I cried. I sobbed. I yelled silently into the sky.

God, why? It’s not fair. Love should heal all.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned there are boundaries. And that truth is unbearable.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
You can’t love someone into choosing the right things.

It’s hard to stand on one side of the battlefield and wonder if they’ll ever walk toward a new life.

When you held me close — almost near death — it reminded me of something I buried deep:

All I ever wanted was emotional closeness.

Not the flashy kind.
The quiet kind.
The kind where the smallest gesture shakes you.

It’s not money.
It’s not grand gestures.

It’s consistency.
Follow-through.
Presence.

I know you have a long road ahead. And I’m not waiting — but I do wonder,

Would you break your cycle? Or would it break you?

That thought destroys me. To your future woman (whoever that might be) or your future family.

And you’re not alone. There’s plenty like you.

So why do people destroy themselves when love is right there?

Thank you for reminding me how fragile life is.

You are strong. I knew that early on. And I’ve been strong my whole life too. Though sometimes… you don’t want to have to be.

Yet here we are. Still strong. Still alive. Broken many times. Rising anyway.

I have so much love for you. I don’t judge you. I see you. And I understand you.

I truly do.

So many people battle things in silence.

It’s our right to live the best life that we can.
To love ourselves first.
And to love others properly.
Even through the hard parts.

But love isn’t only how we feel about someone.

It’s how we treat somebody as well.

There’s no formula. And it’s not a linear pattern either.

At the end of the day, I wish healing for everyone.

To heal inside and out.

Everyone deserves peace.
Everyone deserves love.

Your past does not define you.

Only your future will.

We all have our choices to make.

And we’re all simply human.

We sell boxes for rage

I went down to San Pedro the other day and took a clever photo of a storage place. Tapping back into my photography.

Those days are my favorite. If I’m going to do things in solitude, it’s going to be moody songs on sun kissed sidewalks, driving aimlessly and exploring new-ish territory.

Funny while I do spend lots of alone time, I’m not ever fully alone.

I recognize that I have friends, and more importantly my partner in crime – Otto.

And still, there’s some angsty rage always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind. Sometimes I wonder maybe it’s just a very crucial part of my soul. The part that is still learning.

Rage. RAGE. Have you every experienced true rage? Most women are told to be docile, put together, non confrontational and definitely not problematic.

Be the bigger person, they say.

But when you think about it, out there in the wild, if an animal disrespects or hurts another animal – do they just think “oh I need to be the bigger person and just ignore it?”

HELL NO. Animals lash out. Even if there’s a hierarchy, they don’t really question it.

The innate feeling of “I’m not getting walked all over”

But amongst humans there isn’t really much hierarchy. So why are there so many people pleasers?

I wanna say they’re simply hurt little pussies that didn’t have a strong self validation gene.

I don’t think about being an alpha female. But I am.

And I am aware of the energy I project. But I never realized it was the innate alpha energy. Not loud and flashy. Just cut throat and to the point.

No bullshit. No disrespect. All heart, and integrity.

So I realize that I am much more capable than the average person. Sharper. Spicier.

To suppress an alpha is a huge contradiction.

I say the whole point is, FUCK being the bigger person.

Say exactly what’s on your mind. Call them out, and speak your truth.

It’s the closest thing to claws and fangs that we have.

Luckily I don’t need to get into a fist fight – but I also don’t need to internalize the wrongdoing that was done to me either.

So I lashed out at Red.

And as many times as I thought, I don’t need to give this more energy, I oddly feel a lot better and respect myself even more for having a spine and saying exactly what was on my mind today.

Last night I had a dream about him. We had been broken up for 2 weeks.

In the dream he tried to kiss me at the skatepark and I jolted back, basically emphasizing, no – I can’t do this (the kiss) even though I want to.

And then in the morning I oddly felt like I needed to re-download Instagram and take a look……

First thing that pops up? His ex girlfriend making a silly video.

And who’s the guy standing just barely out of frame with gloves on, hiding his tattoos?

Who’s the guy with a stain on his jeans? The one with the same shoes?

Little details I still recall like a female FBI agent. I mean come on, even with his face not in the video, it’s clearly him.

So I confirmed right there, he went back to his ex after all of this.

Regardless if it’s for mindless sex or someone offering company through hardship. He couldn’t last a week processing a breakup?

It just really makes me feel stupid, and makes him look even more stupid. Especially after saying how she disrespected him and his family. How she hit him. How she made fun of him, mocked him online for how he reads books poorly.

She was even one of the biggest resentments in his 4th step. The step that I EVEN helped him write out. He hated her. He said, anyone who’s her friend is not a friend of mine.

And here I said the same thing about Runson, yet Red stayed friends with him too and didn’t respect how I felt about this rude immature guy.

I gotta say for a boy (not a man) who puffs his chest SO LOUD about loyalty and respect – he’s a fake. SO FAKE!

A sob story about mommy who didn’t love him enough and abandoned him. A kid who continues in his toxic cycles by going back to his toxic ex.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he did need to go to the psych ward. No normal person wouldn’t go back to a weirdo ex like that after pouring their heart out in pain. That’s some bigger internal issues aside from addiction and alcoholism.

But you know, I’m wise enough to realize that’s people go back to toxic things and toxic people all the time. My mom was one of them.

So it’s the rage talking. Wanting to put him down. Destroy him. But I don’t. Instead I write out the lingering rage and put it into boxes. (Or in this case, pages)

It’s clear as day.

He’s a little boy still, not a man yet. Dealing with his addiction, maybe healing a day at a time, but at the end of all, sober or not – he has not felt enough for nobody, not even himself.

Not by his family, not by the people around him.

And what’s sad is he doesn’t realize that.

No matter what drug he chooses. Cocaine, booze a gang, or love. It’s filling a void. Seeking validation and love.

He unknowingly just threw it all away. Me and him. Makes me sad.

I am someone who doesn’t judge the past. The rumors of domestic violence for instance. Or his home life.

I don’t judge the little imperfections. I don’t judge the dollars someone has in their pockets. I don’t judge the things they cannot control. Because we all have a past and that can be worked on.

But I do judge how a person shows up moving forward.

Red showed me that human trauma really does move in cycles unless you break it and choose a new path.

It’s easier to go back to something familiar. Even if it’s toxic. Because choosing a new path would require someone to grow. Be put under pressure.

Saying goodbye to my father was breaking my toxic loop years ago. You always hope that it will be different next time. Especially when it’s someone close to you.

You hope they’ll be better and that they’ll show up for you in the right ways.

Maybe Red was similar to how I looked at my alcoholic father.

And that somehow, I was hoping to maybe heal that wound.

I looked at him as someone that went through hell and was able to get past all their trauma. End up on the other side as a changed man.

But I can’t sit around and hope forever like I did with my dad. Thinking I would get that clarity, closure and love. You gotta do it yourself.

If they want to, they will. Not on your time though.

And after all, I want to see someone grow.

And I want to grow together with someone too.

They don’t have to have it all figured out.

I just want to see that person dig their heels into the ground and do what’s hard and difficult. And then I get to be the first person to enjoy the fruits of their labor. The mental hard work that takes to be the hero. To fight and do what’s right. To heal and to love yourself just enough, that others get to reap the benefits of your self love.

And I love my self enough to be generous, kind, loving, and understanding.

But I also love myself enough to speak my mind and to stop a cycle.

While I can’t stop other people’s cycles, I can stop my own.

And while I didn’t think Red was a part of a personal cycle, I do think it was my past whispering – “How long will you tolerate it this time?”

Rage. I waited 23 years thinking my dad would change and be a better man.

But it’s true 99% of the time, how you meet a man when you meet them is how they’ll be later on in life. It’s one thing to be going through something.

But HOW you go through things, says enough.

He couldn’t handle it alone. He needed something to soothe. Just like addicts do.

Regardless of everything he preached and believed in. Regardless of respect and loyalty. Regardless of being hurt by this exact person.

People either don’t like to sit with things. Or, they get consumed by it and absolutely ruminate in it.

Can I say I’m shocked? No.

Can I say I’m disappointed? Yes.

But not in myself. Because self respect is the biggest flex.

Bark back at those who are loud and fake.

Rage is totally healthy, and it shouldn’t be suppressed.

It just needs to go into certain boxes.

And I like to keep my boxes nice and tidy.

UPDATE:

After some more social media pops up… Turns out he was seeing his ex on and off while we were dating. Dodged a real bullet there. Thank god it was only 2 months.

They can go be toxic together.

UPDATE: UPDATE:

Read blog post Finding The Words, half his scull is missing, literally. And the ex gf is crazy, so perhaps, maybe he wasn’t cheating on me during our time together, but he did run back into her arms immediately after our breakup.

So you tell me how to feel about him?

Transmute

…

Transmute means to change something from one form, nature, or state into another—especially in a deep, fundamental way.

To convert energy, emotion, or substance into a different expression.

When the collective is hurting, you hurt too.

It’s hard to not want to cry a very long and painful cry together.

But in order to get better you have to fight the fire.

Show up better than what’s bringing you down.

Transmute pain, sadness and fear, into determination.

Golden

What do you write or say, when your feelings feel this way.

There isn’t much time to think, but blink and there’s a drink –

This time it isn’t poison.

Not wine, nor whiskey or bourbon.

Ask yourself do you deserve them?

Of course you do, you’re a catch.

Hot and heated in the room.

In my heart there’s no more doom.

Every wish like a grain of sand, never ending in this land.

Umbrella Man

Howdy.

You ever bump into your pre-teen or early teen version of youself?

The one who gets easily frustrated when something is new or uncomfortable — the part of you that knows a change is needed, but would rather quit and start over with a “fresh slate” than push through the challenge. It feels like a reset… but really, it’s just going in circles instead of facing it head-on.

Things should definitely come easy. Like relationships.

It’s come to my attention that I had been stuck in certain habits, ones I was not even really aware of. And sometomes when a good thing is in front of me, all my usual confidence becomes this shakey, “OH NO”

Then I gasp and then nerves kick me right in the gut.

Law of attraction is so fascinating isn’t it?

If you mirror fear and nervousness, your crush will too. Even if on the outside you play it cool as a cucumber – inside it’s a bunch of needles and glass shards freaking out. WHY though?

And that “why”, is what I’ve been wanting to figure out for two days.

Last night the teen, pre-teen came out in bed. Mad because she couldn’t understand. Mad because it’s confusing. Because she’s not trying to come off any wrong way. All she want’s is to have a free flowing good thing happen with no expectations. Just the excitement of something new which sometimes starts off as fear rather than those sweet butterflies.

It’s too intense, too early, for no reason.

I barely know this person. It’s just a crush. Why am I nervous?

Many people definitely have felt this way at one point or another.

It’s a spark maybe. Into the unknown.

And to know that your energy is mirrored, makes it even more frustrating.

Recently, I had a good friend of mine, oddly with impeccable timing, send me a video of a woman explaining what a man basically is.

In 2025 we like to trash on men. Cause let’s be honest, between what men consume today and how they act, the picking is slim. Or in her analogy, they are the cheap $10 Wal-mart umbrellas.

“Think of a man as an umbrella” she said.

When it rain’s we need them. However, they need to be held up, and used for what they were programmed for.

And the woman in the video continues to say things like, you might not be ready when the rain hit’s and that’s when you go grab the $10 umbrella on the corner market that gonna get the job done.

And hey, it does get the job done – no matter the value you put on that specific umbrella.

Or you might want the Chanel one, or the one with a wooden handle.

In my case, I want the one with a wooden handle and a hidden dagger inside. Jokes aside.

She says God has given man this capacity and responsibility.

Now the woman is supposed to hold him up while he protects her.

Seems valid right.

But here’s the caveat. There is so much pressure on women.

“Hold him up” – give him the attention and support him, but also don’t overdo it and lose yourself. Don’t act a certain way in order for them to choose you. Don’t expect an outcome. Be effortless.

Well if it’s raining, I certainly expect you to protect me from the rain, Mr. Umbrella man. I chose you.

But don’t I have a right to be wanted and to be chosen as well?

So fine, give a man attention… But not perform. Performative things aren’t authentic they say. But I like to flirt, and play, and put on a little show…. Is that not authentic to me? I guess it’s a fine line. Some women don’t usually perform unless it’s for a result. But I like to for my own entertainment as well. I feel good with a little performance.

So now I’m in bed with my teenage rage thinking, how do I let my crush know I like him without doing too much. How do I remove this stereotype that men need to take the lead all the time, every time?

They just need a little push right? Like when you push to open the umbrella open.

So how do I open this thing, so it can protect me from the rain?

Is there a right way?

Wish it was as easy as an umbrella.

And yes, every umbrella is different, I agree.

So we are frustrated, me and my inner kid.

I need to go pick up the umbrella and just choose one.

Take some inital action.

But I also want to be chosen, you know????
I also want the man to take some action.

Because I have been chosen before, and let me tell you, it makes holding up the umbrella much easier.

So do women have to make that first micro move? And if so, what is it?

Is it in the form of their energy? Or just straight up saying something or doing something?

————-

So now, I’m reading on how I need to shift my energy and it all makes more sense. 

But how to apply it – is the hard part. 

The crazy thing is this can all change fairly quickly, in a split second.

And it made me think about submission. Not in the kinky sexual sense. Though we alllllllll love that obviously as well. 

True submission starts in the mind. Submitting to the truth of the matter. Submitting to the feelings instead of guarding how you feel. Letting go of the fear. It’s not easy, but this is where I’m ready to grow. 

I normally am not a fearful person. In the past 5 years I have made such a huge shift into this hyper confident woman who realized how independent I am and all the things I have accomplished on my own.

And now, it’s time to dive into who is meant to experience this growth with me.

My current crush is not too bad of a candidate. I don’t know them personally yet, but it’s rainy season soon and I have my eye on this umbrella – I like what I see so far. 

I need to realize when the rain comes, I will need to hold it up confidently. 

I can do that part.

Always been able to do that part. But I need to not get a dead arm while doing it. 

Essentially, I need to support an umbrella that actually opens to begin with.

Because the rain can really pour hard sometimes and the umbrellas of 2025 are lazy and broken and somehow have received so much abuse and use that they’re in rough shape to begin with. It’s nobody’s fault either. Maybe parents? Trauma? Topic for another day.

And look, there’s nothing wrong with patching up a vintage or bashed up umbrella that is well made. 

It’s the guys that are mentally immature and emotionally incapable of being what they are meant to be that stay closed. They might be striving to be a pancho or something.

And again I can’t help to ask, what happened to the men of this generation? (A question for another time)

My teenage rage and I are still sitting here thinking, how do we break our own old patterns. 

I read online that even if you don’t speak to him, your body language and energy broadcast that “spike.”

People do subconsciously pick up on spikes like:

  • sudden self-consciousness
  • “I’m being watched”
  • admiration mixed with fear

So when you think, “OMG it’s him..”

Our body goes inward → your energy pulls back → and he instinctively doesn’t approach.

Not because he’s scared of you.

Because the energy becomes tight and unavailable.

And that is what I have struggled with. It’s not that I am intimidating as a person. The energy I project sometimes is intense and not approachable. Rightfully so. 

I mean hey, I’m still intimidating in the right places, but overall I know I’m a sweet girl.

Just a little loud with the energy part. Still a bit of a teen in that department. 

The fix is not to “Act Cool” (acting cool is just another performance) just like you use to act cool in high school.

The fix is to shift the internal position from:

“oh my god it’s him!” → to: “of course he’s here — nice to see him.”

It’s a self-placement shift, not a behavior.

Think, that’s a nice umbrella, I wonder if it would open and protect me. I mean, I know my value and worth. I deserve a good umbrella. Yea!

When you first meet someone it should be easygoing. Not spiked and rebellious. That little teenage drama inside.

And this has now come to my attention.

I had been basking in this dark edgy “spiked” aura, thinking it was something that made me more desirable. This strong energy. This sultry untouchable woman. But in reality it’s a combination of a bad stereotype, thinking men are these steel bodies who can take anything and need to hone in the will and power to take the lead with everything.

I now see that maybe women do need to give guys a little nudge sometimes – at least in 2025. A man today needs reassurance in a safe environment. The world certainly is not a safe place anymore, nor is easy to read.

After all, women are the ones that set the tone for the environment. That’s why we carry the umbrella. 

The rain is just life, and we have to work together. 

Feeding evil is feeding evil. Feeding love when you feel evil, feeds love and starves evil.

You know when you just keep having mean thoughts about strangers out in public? Like, “God that person is ugly” or “Man, they have a shitty beat up car”

Why do these thoughts come up?????? I swear the subconscious is pretty fucked up. It’s like having two people in your head talk and then you realize what your thoughts just said, and you say “HEY TAKE IT BACK! THAT’S MEAN!!”

Why does this happen? It’s pretty evil.

So then immediately, I personally think, “You need to say something nice, right now, even if it’s in your head”

But what’s that going to do? You still feel guilty.

Intrusive thoughts are pretty ruthless.

Imagine the mean things you’ve said to yourself without even batting an eye. And the people who still say mean things to themselves.

I’m really glad I don’t do that anymore.

Sure, I’m tough on myself and think I should be doing more. But equally, I realize I’m right where I should be.

And maybe those mean thoughts are just your subconscious testing you to see if you’re still a good person deep down inside.

Integrity Around The Fireplace

Recently this specific word has been buzzing around my mind.

Integrity is the overarching umbrella of the following traits:

• Honesty

• Accountability

• Fairness

• Courage

• Discipline

• Consistency

• Responsibility

• Maturity

• Respect

• Loyalty

• Empathy

• Humility

• Authenticity

• Wisdom

• Patience

• Self-awareness

If you tell me someone who has at least a few of those traits, and I’ll say that’s a good person to keep around. Nowadays it’s seldom anyone can barely can get through the first two.

Integrity is something I pride myself in. Mindfulness is what my mom taught me, and mindfulness is something that is also needed in each of those points.

Some people think that this is something that is practiced. I think it’s actually something you choose to become. Like a switch. It just clicks and starts to all tie in together. I don’t think there’s really any turning back either. Least not for me.

Sometimes people think that they might be loyal, or responsible, and even consistent – but when you think about it, it’s only selectively.

A lot of people in 2025 choose connivence over integrity.

It’s a facade. A mask. All pretend. They only act like they have these traits to make themselves look a certain way and feel better about themselves.

That’s why self help books always irked me.

Right now I’m finally picking up the book, “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. And I have to say – it’s a bunch of pretty common sense stuff.

Yes, get rid of the old things you don’t use, they carry a lot of energy. Yes, have the artist dates – do the thing you love. Nurture that little inner kid. That’s what keeps you sane.

I guess maybe as an only child, I always nurtured my inner kid. I always had to.

A walk in the park. Exploring the woods. Riding my bike. Knocking on a friend’s door. Playing an old cassette and dancing in the living room. Making art. Making more art. And losing track of time late into the night, making even more art.

You really need a self help book to find yourself? How lost is the collective world? I’m struggling to find the culprit of this world’s suffering.

I think it all boils down to a few things. Discipline, self respect and a little childlike imagination.

——

I have been subscribed to this email newsletter for a few years. It’s to a graffiti site where the owner refreshingly writes some thought provoking blurbs.

He wrote this recently:

“I used to do this practice every day, but somehow forgot about it. Every morning, I would go outside and think about being grateful for the things in my life that were difficult and/or stressful. The thing about hard times is that’s where you grow the most.

Just like building muscles needs resistance, so do our minds. Hard times create mental toughness that helps you get through even harder times. The other thing I found is when I focused on being grateful for the difficulties, things felt a little lighter.

Rather than being bothered by stress, it reframed it as something that is a necessary part of life and growth. I’ll have to get back to this practice.”

— Bus

PS: If you ever want to revisit some of these messages all in one place, they’re all on a blog here:
https://machinestudio.com/blogs/letters-from-bus

——–

Thanks, Bus.

Sometimes more can be said in a few blurbs than a whole self help book. It’s crazy how people search for this help in books, in other struggling people, – frequently in baristas and bartenders, and the other day, I witnessed a guy with his personal trainer at the gym do absolutely no consistent weights or workouts, but rather – just yap it up. Maybe that was the training.

Yea, there’s a time and place. Yet people are so desperate for a sense of belonging and community, they reach at any opportunity.

Funny how I’ve always wanted community – but the belonging part never seemed to be an itch I cared to scratch. I guess it sort of became an after thought. A result of a good community.

And the world lacks that now.

Sure there are plenty of communities. But do they act with integrity? Are they truly good communities? Hah. Skate community comes to mind. Los Angeles comes to mind. A big melting pot of people who want to be connected, yet struggle due to consistency. I think it’s the thing where small towns really get their charm. The energy of the collective.

I respect the hustle culture in LA, don’t get me wrong. The opportunities are bountiful. In any case, intentional or not, everyone is so focused on theirselves, forgetting to not just aknowledge, but respect the varying degrees and complexities of others around them.

And I think this hyper driven isolation affects the psyche. On one hand, you’re tough for grinding so much, but there’s the chance to also overthink things which neglect and overstimulate that inner child.

So with hyper driven isolation, we all go out into the world to try and connect. Like a rabid dog. Scared and giving off a sense of uncertainty.

On the outside it’s cool, calm and collected. But on the inside it’s tired and needing some sort of external warmth from the world around us.

Mental toughness as Bus mentioned, is a really interesting thing to pinpoint.

Hard times create mental toughness, he said.

So the act of living in this life, in this place, is actively building all of our mental toughness. Even if we can’t quite explain what’s going on. We feel it.

So put down that 5th self help book.

Discipline, self respect and a little childlike imagination.

Everything else will come to you. You’re just in the building stages of the mental toughness.

Everyone will gather round the fireplace soon enough.

❤

NOstalgic Memories

Crazy to think I’m saying this.

“I wish this town wouldn’t change”

We’re all for progressive change and, you know, change for the better – the future and all.

But God, do I wish I could be in a small town that never changed.

The small town I grew up in has blown up drastically with mega plazas, brand new homes and subdivisions.

And all the silly names for new neighborhoods and streets.

It’s not the same.

I remember the little store my mom and I use to go to. Lowes.

Not the hardware store, but the grocery store Lowes. Where we would get fresh cinnamon muffins and rum muffins – with no raisins.

Fuck a rum rasin muffin.

What a town. The one grocery store, the one school, the one gas station. The library and city hall. Oh and of course, Wal-Mart

Shoot, there were never any homeless people around here.

A lake was always a few minutes away. Depending where you wanted to go. A river in our yard.

Seems no matter what, a small home town is a great representation that nothing ever stays the same. Change is inevitable.