3_three_questions_misstree shadow le crowl 1one. when i first read your name long ago, i thought it was a play on the word, mystery. was i correct? why or why not? or is it more arboreal? 2two. what are your thoughts on america? 3three. there are three truths. the truth you tell yourself. the truth you tell others. and the truth itself. agree or disagree? why? 031210 ... misstree 1one. the name tree fluttered to my shoulders more moons ago than i care to count, and it has followed me through many incarnations... though trees are ostensibly very mundane, erm, objects? creatures? plants is certainly an understatement... to me they carry so many dualities, so many images, so many whisperings that have no words... so Tree i have been, and inordinately proud to be consistenly deemed worthy of such a title... when first casting myself adrift from the relative singularity of nomenclature of things like irc and muds, i needed something Me for the aethers as well... misstree occured to me, and it was right... never a lady, barely a miss, so crude am i in my ramblings... but yes, mystery in there as well... difficult to capture that part... the whisperings without words... the sideways glances to catch the gneeches... cellophane veils... the unspokens that draw another step from the unwary traveler... notsomuch as the Trees, though... 2two. *leans back and looks at you for a moment, silently shaking her head.* now, that's a question that just begs for a novel. but i won't do it. i could rant about political corruption, because "america" (and i am taking this as meaning the u.s., as i know very little about the rest of the triple continent) ostensibly denotes a political region. i could rant about our lack of perspective. i will mention it, though rant i will not. i loosely believe us to show quite a bit of evidence of being a younger culture. what adolescent boy isn't entranced with all the new frontiers before him? and the greed and war games to me demonstrate a lack of maturity... i'll try to stay away from our odd preoccupation with sex that ironically stems from social aversion... we were all still twittering at eachother and trying to figure out where we stand when the industrial revolution hit, and we've been riding the strange crest of accelerated social change since then, but not taking much care in what New Big Thing captures us. someone sometime mentioned that we're basically english in cultural terms, but i still contend that any youth has a parent, but it makes them no less a youth. i have never left america, to my deep chagrin. i lick eagerly the brains of foreigners whenever i can, simply for the perspective of someone who grew up out of this particular tangle of veils. i think that because america is so geographically isolated, it allows us to truly blow ourselves out of proportion... it changes perspective when the people way off over there doing whatever novel or horrifying thing are a few hours drive away. i wish that i could say good things about americans. i think that there are many shining examples of good ones. but i think that there are as many... ugh. these 3_three_questions are lifting me from a particularly nasty fog, so i'll just say that i like americans on an individual basis, and steer myself away from the spots of ugliness, neh? and the country itself, above and below the skin of the planet we have piss-marked the borders of? though i have never laid eyes on a mountain, i have seen sights of such beauty... the full moon on the mists collecting in missouri... the highways that become bridges for miles upon miles on the gulf... the intricacies of northern illinois landscape, the forests and plains dancing and lush where they have been kept, the gullies further south, the sandstone formations to the northwest... the sandbars and limestone and wildlife of the wisconsin river... seeing forever in lake superior... i have seen such a small slice... but it has shown me such beauties, and varied even within my own state... i must say that whoever designed this country when the whole wind-up toy was put into motion did an absoluely bang-up job. 3three. i must beg pardon, but it has been an exceedingly long day, and very much unfun, and this is a question that i would like to sidle up to with full brain control and a bit more, um, semblance of being a living creature. i shall certainly come back to this as soon as i am able. and deepest curtsies for the questions... they came at just the moment that i was very much needing to deeply distract some headmeat, and made delicious escape for both cognitive and creative functions. many thanks and smiles, for the questions and a thousand other things. 031210 ... misstree i agree. i also believe that there is only one truth, that which is percieved. i also believe that there are no truths. no absolutes. there's a certain cat in a box that knows what i'm meowing about. i also believe that everything is true. "nothing is true. everything is permitted." who am i to go about defining "truth"? it is audacious of me merely to allow it to run free outside of quotation marks, much like "reality," "soul," and "joy," it is a very slippery fish. my truth is not your truth. our shared truth is not the truth of either of us. if you don't mind, i'd like to tag-team "truth" for "reality" for a moment. what we percieve is often mistaken for what others percieve. we don't realize that we're not working with "reality," we're working with a map of it. my mental_map says that my cigarettes are in the other room. with any luck, this portion of my map will be found correct. but puppycrusher moved them before he left, so in fact it isn't. the cigarettes are in a different place in each of our "realities." where are they actually? ah, therein lies the trick. what state is the cat in? we are constantly verifying the "existence" of things to ourselves, but really what we're doing is matching perception to mental map and saying, "it is good." right now, those cigarettes, being utterly independent of any observation, do not exist. sure hope that changes when i refresh the tree's_room page by walking into it. bah. i intended to rant longer, but, well, the subject has gotten a bit tarnished with me. it's an imperfect model, i can feel it, but i don't know how to improve upon it... it's got some of the pieces in place... it's like mastermind, with the black and white pegs? bah. in the end, everything is true. because i say so. no, really. some other guy did water into wine, i can do foma into "reality." heh. the nights that i go out to Play, the world dances at my fingers. it is a dance, too, and as such it requires more subtle shifts... you can't change your reality or anyone else's by bullying it... but i digress, and then i digress some more. good at that. part of why "tree" stuck... all the branching... it is, perchance, that i will return to this... heh... it is that i will always return to it, in some form or another... thank you for planting it an incarnation... 031211 ... shadow le crowl 1one. if you could be any kind of tree, which would you be? why? 2two. vincent van gogh cut off his ear. was it the paint he accidently ingested? or something more? why are artists tweaked like that? 3three. what do you see when you close your eyes? 031212 ... misstree 1one. i've actually put a generous amount of idle contemplation on this subject, and still haven't reached a real answer. deciduous trees are lovely. i admire the swan song they orchestrate in blazing forests every fall. if you're going to go out, do it in style. sego trees in, africa i belive? are much revered by at least one very isolated culture deep in marsh/jungle wherever that may be. a hunting party will go out when it is time to take another tree, and the warrior that chops it down will sing battle songs to make the spirit of the tree think that he is very strong... cutting down the tree is a battle, done with reverence. the trees are often used to make carvings representing ancestors who have passed on, in order to appease their spirits and keep them from causing trouble. fractal trees know the dance of recursive creation. a few hours south of here, there is a campground with a path marked "Unusual Tree." if you follow this path, near a ratherhigh rathersteep slope bordering a river (closest we get to cliffs hereabouts), enjoying a wonderful view are two trees. both are about three foot in diameter. the one to the south makes a sudden right about three feet up, making a 110 degree angle facing the ground. it runs 20 feet until it meets the other tree, and goes through it. the other tree has grown around it, and is perfectly healthy. the first tree has a second trunk emerging, about 8 feet from the first, which is also lush. there is a single convoluted branch at the very tip of the first tree, looking for all the world like a stick drawing of a person on one foot, tumbling forward. but if i could be any sort of tree i wished, i would be the Tree that i am now... words of water_brothers come to mind for description of this peculiar sort, but those same words make me blush humbly... suffice to say that i believe myself to be a well-formed tree of some very strange qualities, and there is little more i could ask for from life. 2two. it is the inexpressible overwhelming state of Being that makes artists (appear) crazy... imagine being the opposite of deaf, where every sound is louder, clearer... with vision, where a wider panorama presents itself, shimmering, each detail clamoring for individual study... this is how artists see the world, and why they force some part of it back out, changed into their own perspective... as part of a condition of living in this state, things which society deems "abnormal behavior" begin to make more sense... it is no coincidence that so many artists over the years have been drug addicts... it is a way of shifting reality in a way that makes sense... putting a handle on it so it can be comprehended... artists are subject to extremes, and i imagine it was in one of those that van_gogh cut off his ear... i imagine he felt that any gesture less expressive would have been inadequate, and nothing is anathema to art more than half-measures... i think that all artists are a bit touched in this way, that they are moved by the muse against their will and each tries to work with it and through it as best they can... as to why this state comes about in the first place, well, while i could likely rattle off a zoologicial explanation for why women have breasts and i could tell you why proper horror movies should have some measure of sympathy with the "bad guy", i couldn't even pretend to be able to tell you what cracks open the shells of some people in that manner, that makes them prisoner to their own perceptions and passions, that frees them from the flat plane of normal earth. i just know that it Is that way. 3three. i'm not quite sure why, but this question makes me feel a little like i need to cry... unless i have a rerun of some video game or another playing on the screen, when i close my eyes, i see nothing... i don't remember dreams anymore... i am moved by them in my sleep and i wake up feeling but not remembering... when i close my eyes, i am a little more peaceful... some of this overwhelming bustle is shut out... i am a little more alone... but the world is so insistent that i don't get to stay very long... i used to see the day's hopes, the best possible outcomes, but i've broken myself a bit of the habit... i am still mostly an optimist, but when you have your heart set on a three scoop sundae and only get a two, there will be part of you that will always long for that third scoop... if i allowed myself to long for things, it would destroy me, it would taint everything i felt with empty regret, it would add off note to the most glorious melodies. when i close my eyes, i see nothing, and it is far safer that way. (and again my thanks, these were exactly the type of questions that rattled my little healing brain in just the way it needed.) 031212 ... shadow le crowl i love you. i do. simply put. because you are so true to yourself. thank you so much for your intricate responses. to read them is to absorb soulful nutrients like a seed cracking open and throwing a sturdy root down into the fertile earth. you have this awesome sense surrounding your name like an angelic halo, or a dogstar. a rainbow even, that appears when weather conditions aren't even right. suddenly boom! it's there! i have always gravitated towards your beautiful, artistic writing, even as one that observes the tattoo on your back and desires to observe more of your delicacy. you listen to the world and your world, you see weeds growing in the cracks of sidewalks. you hear music in the sounds of two old polish ladies talking. you taste the cream in soy eggnog. you feel me massaging your neck. and so i have 3three more for you, because you are so fucking cool. 1one. i was a pallbearer again, the fifth time in 2 years. what does death mean to you? have you had anyone die that you loved? 2two. what does the sound of your crying do for the world around you? 3three. what did you last celebrate? 031212 ... misstree though i haven't the time to answer these right at the moment, you know that i wouldnot couldnot stop myself from attending to these in due time... but i have to tell you... you have me in tears, the happy kind... and i cannot express how wonderful... twenty-four hours ago, they were the opposite, the desperation, the worry, the anger... even with my dubious abilities with words i cannot begin to express how much the change means to me... i have whispered to you before of how much your words captivate me... to think that mine own have made an impression has me speechless... i'm just a tree, y'know?... i write to paint with my color... i don't let it occur to me that others will read, and judge, and either assimilate or forget... i have said it too much but i must say it again, my deepest thanks and truest appreciation... i only hope that i have conveyed the smallest scent of how much you have altered the course of my day... 031212 ... misstree *ahem* *straightens skirt, re-ruffles hair.* apologies for the outburst yesterday... long story short, this past wednesday was karmic whiplash from the previous week, which was absolutely splendid... one of my major strategies in keeping on top o' the world is denying bad things the ability to touch me... but sometimes even i get beat down... and indeed, your words came at very much of a turning point... friday was lifting its head out of the gutter, and you extended a hand... ... ...but i have questions to answer... 1one. death. an even bigger subject than america. i hardly know where to start. i've only had two people die whose passing was noticed... i have been exceedingly lucky so far... both were grandfathers... the first was a hypochondriac who greatly detracted from the net happiness of the world and was miserable himself, so his passing elicited much relief from the family... he was not loved... he was not a good person... but the other grandfather was his opposite, a stoic, gentle, and noble man... he was once fire chief at a local air base... he taught his children well to revere nature in its fullness, and this has been passed on to his grandchildren... his passing was also a relief of sorts, the buffet of ailments that was eating away his strength was not fitting for such a strong and proud man... he passed in peace... and his mark will always remain... but that's answering the second question without answering the first... i will continue to carve pieces off of this until i have a meal... let's hop to afterlife, shall we? i haven't the foggiest idea of what happens to our Being when flesh becomes meat. i am vehement that i am to be cremated, and my ashes distributed to a handful of people to do as they see fit, most of them to consume it in some sort of way... at the very least, treating meat as metaphor for spirit... my best guess is the spiritual recycling center, where the Stuff that makes each, each, is reprocessed and reused in this closed set of a planet/universe. i don't know if we keep any coherence of our previous identity (traditional reincarnation and whatnot), but i would lean towards it being possible if pressed. i do know that some spirits linger. the second grandfather was moving pictures and other objects for a good three years after his passing. i think that, whatever comes next, it will at least be something Different, most likely incomprehensibly so. contemplating the afterlife, i feel like a dog contemplating sunday mass; there is no point of reference, no translation to the paradigm i am limited to. i think that the worst part of having a loved one die is their absence, forevermore. and again i must apologize, death and i have never become well acquainted, but i have seen so many cherished souls pass into and out of my life, it has become fact that they will be gone, most likely sooner than later. the difference in this is knowing that they are still out there, somewhere, spreading their special brand of magic. absence from your life is one thing; absence from All strikes hammer-blows at hearts with its finality. i must apologize, unless i am struck later by words that won't sit still, i must end this question... i am so inexperienced with death that anything i could say carries little weight... i feel like a penguin speaking about sand... apologies for my lack of insight... 2two. i very rarely make noise when i cry, unless i am in the depths of despair... and then my wailing is an animal noise... it is a release, a cry to the universe that it is unfair, that it is too much, that it must end... when i cry it is emotion itself welling in my eyes, overwhelming... the world around me hushes... even those closest to me know to tread lightly when i am in such a state... and when i am finished i have a small part of calm, a small part of strength, that i rest upon like a bird that has found a rocky perch in the ocean... i collect myself to forge back into the world that has abused me such... and again my apologies for such a short answer, but i am anxious to leap into the next question... 3three. the last true celebration was my birthday... i treat every day as a celebration, especially tuesdays, when i go out to goth night and revel and revel... but my birthday was a bit of a special event... i usually don't celebrate it, it usually goes badly from the beginning... but this past one, i was in such an indomitable good mood, i determined that the night would be fabulous no matter what happened... and i went to the place where all my darlings gather, as my birthday was on a tuesday, and there was a celebration that i will remember for a lifetime... the world threw itself into my revelry that night, every person who usually drinks in a little bit of the wake of my Play was in full force that night, determined to help me celebrate the fact of my coming into existence... the dj played all of my favorite songs (dancing is trance-state for me, so this is especially pleasing), friends presented me with a plethora of drinks, the world was bright and shining, so many times that night found me bouncing and giggling and clapping my hands, desperate_happiness making the whole world glow and sing, or throwing back my head and cackling at the way that life lay before me, legs spread, beckoning... and the end of the night was far from the end... a gathering was coalescing at my abode... one person suggested a birthday_orgy, and the thought caught on... now, i have long been known in this town as a chaotic, lascivious, strong willed hostess_of_the_apocalypse, so while there was little truly expected (i mean come on, who has impromptu birthday orgies?), all who showed up knew my power to make such things reality... and indeed it did... and i lorded over it like a lion at the kill... i did not mate with any that night, though i was the only one who didn't... but i had my fun, and it was proper, my lording was my gift... seeing my works writhing before me... hearing and smelling and feeling... it was beautiful, it was at least the beginning of how such celebrations should be wrought... and the joy of my birthday carried through the week, the universe playing and dancing with me, both of us grinning helplessly... it petered out to a slow saturday, and then rest... i mentioned that this past tuesday was a bit of karmic backlash... but i will not go into it, the time has passed and left me with too few good stories and too many angers... but yes, that was my last true celebration... feel free to poke at me whenever the mood strikes you, darling one... normally my writing is confined to what steps forward and demands that i attend it... questions like these draw forth the more interesting bits that are usually in the back playing poker, existing with no thought or need of presenting themselves to the outside... it is good to give them a chance to say their piece, good to give me a chance to craft their avatar outside the Self... exceptionally fulfilling when i can direct my energies in such a way... and i will thank you one more time for your kind words... my own words are humble offering, spun as well as i know how, and it makes me both blush and glow to know that at least some find their mark in the mind of another... oh, and the tattoo will be joined by another, planned for sometime late january... i have a picture of it drawn in sharpie by the goddess whose next visit will mark the time for me to be marked... if you wish, i will send you the picture, as it is a piece of me that presented itself to me unceremoniously and declared itself to be Right, and i had no choice but to agree... for now i take my leave... be well, aspected angel... never thirst... 031213 ... shadow le crowl 1one. what does it take for something to declare itself "Right "in your life? 2two. and this "chance to craft their avatar outside the self..."what god has declared itself a deity within you? what is god to you? 3three. please describe the new tattoo. and of course send me a picture. 031214 ... misstree slippery, slippery things, these questions are... even the third, seemingly innocuous, may require a bit of diving to bring up the true pearls of the matter... but without further dalliance... 1one. i speak much of the way the universe dances... it makes me tear at my hair that i cannot express it in more fullness... there is a Rightness... there is... let me begin again... life can sometimes play out like a well-written script, everything proper, all loose ends tied... the writer knows what is Right for the characters; this person should have a brooklyn accent, this one wears suits... that is the scent of the Rightness i speak of, but not its essence... i will use the example of my first tattoo, for a moment... i had known for 10 years that i would get one... but the design was ever-shifting, different elements clamoring for attention... it seemed for a very long time that i would have to wait until i could get an entire back piece done before i could begin... but while i was working at the bar, a coworker came in with a chaos star fitted to his forearm, points shortened or elongated to match the flesh... i am a creature of chaos, just as i am a creature of fire... something clicked in me, seeing that... i have always been dissatisfied with the traditional chaos star, eight identical rays... as the simplest of symbols it has its reasons for being apt... but it is not Right... i had been signing art and poetry with a simplification of my tattoo for a long time... four points were already in place, and the addition of two more would make it the requisite eight... i sketched the amalgam and it spoke to me, looking at it, i knew, absolutely knew, that this was the proper symbol to be placed on my flesh that upcoming birthday... it is a nametag, in essence... it is the delcaration I AM... and right then, that time, was when i was finally ready to declare such... even the origins of the signature had aspects of Rightness... and i have since discovered that the two curved portions are almost identical to symbols used in certain systems within chaos magic, one representing Play, one representing Desire... i could think of nothing more fitting... but such Rightness only makes me grin knowingly... so many things in my life arrange themselves so... as if there were a writer crafting things specifically for me... when moments speak... irony is irony because there is Rightness there... because there is some undercurrent of truth... because there is a lesson... when the world dances for me it is full of Rightness... even when i meet misfortune, there is Rightness... this past tuesday's aggravations were filled with Rightness, being proper counterpoint to the previous, and showing me what i would have otherwise missed, guiding me in a direction i would not have thought to go... i say at times like this that Big Momma, meaning eris, diety of the discordians, is guiding things, but i hold conflicting beliefs in such areas, both accepting her existence and interference as indisputable fact, and knowing that it's a pack of lies... but it pleases me to speak of her as existing more often than not, and pleases her as well... but yes, Rightness bears the mark of the goddess of Maybes and Winds, of endless possibilities and friendly kicks in the teeth... Rightness is when the universe and i grin as we read the script, and play it out with our own inflections showing strong... 2two. as if the first weren't enough to have a metaphysical charlie horse with... let us start with the phrase that comes to mind immediately, from stranger_in_a_strange_land, "thou art god"... each being is god... each essence, each Will... there is no existence outside my perception, none that is truly quantifiable... my own map of reality is all i have to work with... and in that realm i am god... another, elsewhere, cited the example of deciding to like red wine... it is a simple trick, but it involves reshaping the very mindmeat that you are composed of... is this not the act of dieties? i am lord of my own private universe... i realize how egomaniacal, how delusional it sounds... and i say yes, i am both... and i think that everyone should be... i think that every person should have reason to hold themselves in the highest esteem, and if they do not, to actively work towards the point where that is possible... there are still faults a-plenty within this little brainbox of mine, but i am the highest form of my godself that i can be at this point, and directing my Will towards becoming more... such a path should be treated with much caution, though, lest one becomes a monster, abuses the concepts, bends them to suit a baser self... like many of the pieces of me, without other balances, there would be serious problems interacting with the outside world... in this case, it is the recognition that every other person is a god... and in this case, to me, a god is the creator and sustainer of the known universe... this brings up two tangents... dieties and creators... i will begin with the second... in many belief systems, there is a single god or force that is responsible for Everything coming into being... i personally sit in the camp that before there was anything there was endless possibility... Maybe hung in the air like a neon sign waiting to flicker to life... and eris was there... and eris grow bored and belched out a giant Something to put a little of that potential to use... and her sister aneris, lady of law, forged systems and substances and velocities... and so the universe careened about for several million years... no one is really sure what happened during that time... whenever eris is asked she just mumbles something about having a hangover... but eventually our lady of laughter had a thought, and plucked a possibility that involved taking one of aneris's little systems and placing in it Desires, to sustain, to create more of itself... by the time aneris noticed that there was a mouse in her symphony hall it was too late... living things, the very children of possiblities, had become quite a trend... and so we continue to this day... or at least, that's how today's foma goes... as for dieties... this is a tricky one, and if it seems like i'm contradicting myself, i probably am but i meant to... i do believe that deities exist... it is perhaps that they are a conduit for Rightness... beyond just She What Done It All are such things as the Weed Gods, who smile a little whenever someone says "damn, this is good shit," or has a small revelation within their influence, or even is just able to release some of the jarring and jangling that life inflicts... there have been times... there have been many many times over when i should have gotten into large amounts of trouble from a thousand direction... but the strangest circumstances, the most incredible luck, would always throw its chip in at just the right moment, and the dance would continue, laughing a bit louder for having escaped the wolf's jaws... there are the Great and Mighty Parking Deities... and these i pay special attention to, as they ire easily... they guide, of course, parking spaces, but also so many aspects of traffic and automobiles... it is perhaps that they are surly because they are called upon in anger so often... most people do not note their presence unless they are thwarted in some way... but as much a skeptic as i am, and as much noise as i make about this all being a pack of foma, there were many days that found me driving around the french quarter of new orleans for 30-45 minutes looking for parking... when i would remember the gmpd's... and ask their assistance... and every time, five minutes on the outside would find my little wagon safe and still. deities of this form also frustrate me because, though i know that they Are, i do not know Why or How... i have inklings, but i know that the puzzle is incomplete... the poet Knows but the skeptic can do nothing but throw a tantrum in a corner and gobble each thing that might be a hint and see whether it turns its stomach... the closest i can see, it is because they are expected to be there, that they are there... lady luck has been around since the first spear missed a meal... and spirit guides, protectors... and the more modern gods, assigned to their own realms... we have crafted these "beings" with our belief and worship, only we don't call it that any more... any big-city commuter is intimately familiar with the gmpd's and their habit of siezing and devouring blocks at a time... but they do not see what it is they believe in... as far as the whole omniscient, omnipotent, big-brother creator type, well, i haven't seen much evidence of them, so i really couldn't say... not much use for them... the one that's dominant in this part of the world seems a little judgemental, but if he is a reflection of his followers in the manner of the weed gods and such, i would imagine him to be quite a nice person with good intentions, and a tendency to do really strange things once in a while that give him a bit of a reputation... i feel for him, i really do... and while many would argue that this form is sexless, i would have to say that as he is conceptualized with at least the taint of male at every turn, so it would be... i'm sure all the powerplays over the past few thousand years have taken quite a toll on him, as well... if i could meet him, i would lay my hand on his arm, smile and, a bit bleary-eyed, tell him, "it's okay, you've always done your best." 3three. yesterday i asked my roommate to upload the picture of the tat, along with several others. yesterday was the day that the hard drive died. aparrenly, lil' miss gonna-poke-your-life-for-my-own-entertainment decided that i should describe it in such a way that it stands alone, without visual aids... fair enough, i can see the value in that... in simplest form, it is a bow and arrow... the arrow will be about a foot long, pointing up, stretching up the spine (yes, ow, i'll come back to that), and the bow will be curve-up, just aboveish waist level... the ends of the bow scroll a little... all is stylized in a similar matter to the first tattoo, only less so... now, why it is Right... a niggling began that i still hadn't learned from the first tattoo, i was still trying to plan the rest of the back... i kept having the feeling that there should be a strong line up the spine... it is the direction of our movement as we grow, it is the direction that our bodies face, it is the direction of laughter, it is the trunk of a tree... these two thoughts conspired for a time... now, in the first tattoo, the upper left corner is an obscure symbol for saggitarius... long story as to how it worked its way deeper into my life... and i must pause to say that though i am a typical saggitarius, i have even less of an idea why astrology works than i do gods, and thus resent it even more deeply... but at the proper moment for crystallization to begin, i was reminded that the main symbol for saggimatariusii is an arrow... and it felt right... the directness... the movement... above all, the movement... the Will behind it... and the arrow itself blazed onto my back in mind's eye... and the bow... what is an arrow without it? the arrow is the spine... the bow is the hips... and what hips they are... i would be lost without them... they are lascivious and occasionally enchanting... they are the bitter irony that i would tear out my ovaries this moment if i could, rather than put them to their proper use, of bearing a litter... they are the seat of scarlet... they are so much an aspect of me... as much as the movement... so all of this begins to coalesce, and sketches fly from my fingers, in many-a form... i set it aside for two weeks, and when my spiral goddess was in town, i had her set it to my back in sharpie... she is even more adept than i in the ways of the flesh... and it was as i had hoped, altered just perfectly to fit the skin, an angle here, an sworl there... she will be returning in late january, and i eagerly await the excruciating experience... and oh yes... it will hurt... much work directly on the spine... and the sworls will tease and play near the floater ribs and kidneys, not an easy place for pain... but if it were easy i would be disappointed... the first was less painful than expected... the second will be much different, but i have no fear... i Know that this ink is meant to be in my flesh, and i Know that this pain is not beyond the considerably far-flung boundaries of what is tolerable... indeed it will be relished... such an experience does not come often... and i thrive on experience... the color is still undecided, but it seems that it will likely be done in a similar color to the beloved red of these realms, perhaps a bit darker... reading back across the first two questions, it occurs to me that i may have inadvertently offended someone, somewhere... it is not my intent... it is merely my own little personal spewings... besides, those who are easily offended should be offended more often... especially in the name of such wonderful questions... plucked straight out of my brainspace at the moment... delicous... 031215 ... shadow le crowl i've recently quenched the desire for a new book simply because of your alacrity to respond to these intimate questions. i am thrilled beyond description at your willing responses, often times shaking my spinning head at the way your heart and soul seem to converse silmultaneously, as if pages of your journals were transposed to this blood red screen. you so easily reveal a knowlecge of yourself that is at once elementary and intellectual. estoteric, but available. even a visitor to an exhibition of vermeer could not be under the same kind of transfixation, like me. the metaphysical of which you have gloriously expounded upon is not only a lesson in this school of existencial moments, it is at the same time a portrait of your identity, portraying your being as art we look upon in museums, like fotos that catch our eyes and cause us to linger at, endlessly. nevertheless, i move on from the cosmic to the practical, because as much earth, fire, water, and wind that you contain, i know very little of it... and so... 1one. how do you sleep and how do you wake up? what do you do in the first two hours of your mornng? 2two. what do you eat? what is your favourite restaurant? why? 3three. what do you base your significnace upon? in other words, of everything you find that you are passionate about, which is the one you would want to be known for? 031216 ... misstree first of all, go buy a book. i am a poor substitute for a well-written novel; and i'm not talking some entertaining tripe. get something by tom robbins or chuck palanichuk (though i think his sensibilities may be a bit different than yours) or some good vonnegut or a sci-fi short story anthology or robert anton wilson or even heinlein will do, or if you want an incredibly well-crafted story that probaly won't leave philosophical dents find steven brusts's work. harrumph. :) second, even my journals don't see this kind of writing... part of the reason i enjoy these questions so much is that it pulls out things that i take for granted, that have been sitting on a shelf so long that my eyes don't think to rest on them any more... it is in rare passages indeed that i explain any of the viewpoints i happen to be working with at any given time... sitting my brain down and making it go into detail about what it's up to can be quite a thrill. as for the rest... i've said it a few times recently... but as zaphod's psychologist would have said, i'm just this tree, you know? it doesn't really click that others don't think the way that i do, because thinking otherwise is outside my realm of experience... flatlands and all... all i know to do is to be truest to my Self that i can... and one of the quirks of that Self is the constant drive to express, to keep the conversation between me and the world two-sided as best i can... sometimes i feel like a tree that's being complimented for being leafy... strange that there's a bit of humbleness amongst the indomitable ego, but there you go... but it fills me with joy and pride that i have been able to reach across the void that separates every human being and twiddle my fingers in your brain a bit... it pleases me greatly that i am able to bring you some piece of me, and that you are happy to have it... but on to the questions. 1one. currently, i mostly sleep in a recliner with a pillow on the seat to even it out a bit... my back has stopped complaining in the mornings because the angles follow my curves, and it has many nest-like qualities (i always find myself curled up in it when i wake), and during the Battle of the Snooze in the mornings, leaning forward just enough will snap the chair back into mostlysitting position, which makes it a bit easier to get vertical. other times i sleep on either a series of couch cushions or the mattress from the hide-a-bed that matches the chair... the mattress has proven itself not only comfortable, but perfect to leave splayed on my floor. i've found that many people, myself included, prefer sitting on the floor in my room, even when other luxury seating is available. must be the nestiness and informality of the whole affair. my bedding varies by mood, and is almost all either fabric store finds or pilfered from my parents; there is a thick, soft black material that i covered my chair with that stays... last night, i slept with a very soft, fuzzy, and warm piece of black fabric under a waffley white blanket and a 3.5 yard hunk of embroidered upholstery fabric... i love blankets with weight more than comforters... comforters make me sweat, whereas weighted things make me feel warm and protected... like i'm not going to float away in the night... and if i overheat, i can simply stick a body part out from underneath my pile... during the night i shift a bit, but usually nothing too excessive... if i'm next to someone and at all cold, i will shove them endlessly around the bed as i crush myself against them for their warmth. i suppose some of my pit bull's bad habits have remained. *grin* i used to have problems falling asleep, but during the week i average about 5 hours of sleep or less, so as soon as i decide to switch off, i'm gone. i almost never wake up in the middle of the night. and waking up... heh... there are two ways this happens... five days a week, my first alarm starts going off, about an hour before i actually have to be up... it's set to the local community radio station, so i'm always first getting poked by something different... then the cd alarm takes over... right now it's set to play a track called "crackhead waltz" by nivek ohgr and martin atkins, wich is even more disturbing than it sounds... but it was my "wedding" song, and i'm more than fond of disturbing things. finally, about 20 minutes before i absolutely have to be not laying down anymore, i have a battery operated alarm that slowly increases the insistence of its beep, and snooze is only 5 minutes... the alarms also increase volume as they go on... there have been a couple of mornings when i woke up as the cd was nearing its end, because i had slept through max volume for over 1/2 hour. there are 2 reasons it takes me so long to wake up. one is the sheer comfort of a bed still sleep-warm. i am a glutton for comfort. the other is that i always feel the need to get back to whatever i was dreaming; but i don't remember my dreams these days, as i believe i said waaaay up there somewhere. bit of irony, that. on workdays, i try to select my clothing the night before, because otherwise i may spend too much time flinging inappropriate items over my shoulder and trying to find something to wear that is as least questionably bagladyish instead of completely... i also gather my things, make my hair look reasonably presentable, try to not step on the cat (most easily accomplished by letting him ride on my shoulder and rumble his approval until i leave), and generally dash about like someone about to miss their bus. at the bottom of the stairs i layer on the warmth, zip on my boots, and rush out to the bus. the bus driver has learned that i am the queen of the nick of time, and he's a very nice guy; he's taken up the habit of stopping at my corner even if i'm not there, to look down my street and see if i'm running out my door half-dressed. i feel bad on the rare occasion i don't take the bus, because i know he waits and worries when i miss it. the bus ride is about ten minutes of relaxing, contemplating the previous night, putting my nose in a book, and trying to keep people from sitting next to me. from the bus i have a twenty minute walk to work. now that it's getting colder it's not so nice, but this year i am finally making peace with the cold to a certain extent, despite the loss of my ugly grey floppy hat that is the warmest failed sewing experiment i've ever done. while i walk i continue to contemplate whatever needs it and just kind of soak in the morning sky, the wind, the seasonal changes in the flora, and whatever activity bustles across my stage. i smoke a cigarette once i turn onto our corporate drive, and about once every two weeks a coworker stops to drive me the last ten minutes. work. flop my things down in my cubicle. sign in at the supervisor's desk. start up the computer, and get a last few minutes of reading in. hot chocolate or something that would resemble coffee only to someone who'd never had the real thing. sometimes a nap, my head propped up, my hand on the mouse. first blather check of the morning. slowly gain consciousness. my non-workday first two hours is much simpler. i usually sleep for about ten hours and wake up slowly, contemplating the light on the cieling, the warmth under the covers, the silence of the house. i stretch and roll over and doze off a few times. i open my eyes and lay there, just enjoying the continuation of rest. when left to my own devices, i have a sleep cycle of 10 hours with a wake cycle of 20-22. i love sleep, but i dislike going to sleep; there's always another distraction to indulge, another person to play with. but i wake up, and one of two things will happen. sometimes, the mood strikes me, and i turn on the radio and start picking up around the house. i don't know why this time in particular short-circuits my inherent sloth, especially since i wake up very slowly, but i am glad it does. if this happens, i putter around for about an hour, and usually end up making coffee and an omelette for breakfast. (though, when i make omelettes, they come out more like scrambled eggs with stuff in them, usually involve food coloring, and usually feed five people.) i'll sit down at the computer or put on some sports (though i don't watch sports) and work on some craft or another. if i don't wake up active, i probably won't be for the rest of the day, and a few hours later i'll get a headache (i'm assuming from my metabolism never leaving sleep mode). the only other type of waking that i usually do is at swordfighting events, and then i take my dear sweet time and nurse my hangover with some water, crawl out of my tent, stand up and scratch my butt, glower at the surrounding area, abuse an outhouse, smoke somethingorother, and wander off to watch fighting with some water, wine, bread, and fruit. occasionally someone will decide to feed me on the way, but more often than not i feed others. my apologies, but this took much longer to write than i thought (who knew i had such busy mornings? sheesh.), and i'll have to answer the others probably tomorrow... though this does distinctly bring the earth element to the forefront... i can think of nothing earthier than sleep... mayhaps that is why i insist on heavy blanketry, that feeling of being buried, cradled closer to the earth. and when i'm not sleeping in my chair, i prefer a mattress on the floor. regardless, i must at least pretend to be productive at my little jobby-job (which is processing insurance claims, if you were wondering... kinda lucked into it... another stop in my random procession of jobs that beat waitressing, the old fallback) 031217 ... misstree two things i have to amend to yesterday's unexpected novel: one, i do a whole lot of not sleeping. whole lot of it. very very tired today. two, i mentioned the walk in to work... it was snowing this morning, and i took a slighly different path and passed two cherry trees with snow filgireeing the branches, and it had gathered on the clusters of drying cherries... it was beautiful... and i wanted to share... 2two. now, on to food. first, i must say one word: garlic. i am enraptured by garlic, and became even more so when i found out how good it is for you... my job growing up was peeling garlic and grating parmesan for me mum's garlic bread, and despite the difficulties i never cursed it... i use garlic to excess whenever i can... anyone who has a problem with it doesn't have to eat... i s'pose i should start with general eating habits... i've never had much a sweet tooth, and with diabetes running through the family so strong, this is a good thing... i do enjoy dark chocolates and things that have more to them than sweet, but it's not a main priority... i love good breads, nice nutty things, and good irish soda bread is an achilles heel... i love meat... wouldn't guess from my writing, neh?... if chicken isn't dry, it is good... one of my comfort foods is to buy a rotisserie chicken and pluck individual muscles off and devour them, seeing if i can identify the tidbit's previous use, until i have a half-eaten mutilated corpse. ahem. also a huge fan of veryrare red meat... the absolute best steak i ever ate was at a swordfighting event... stuck it on a stick, and my boi at the time was leaning as close as he could to the 6' tall main bonfire... could barely warm the chill off of it... i took it from him and kept low to the ground and thrust the steak at the appropriate place... when i pulled it out, it was warm as a fresh kill, it could barely be said to be cooked... i started tearing into it, and juice ran down my chin like i was devouring an overripe peach... and it was wonderfully tender, melting away... glorious... in real life i tend to have a bit more mundane eating habits... whatever i can microwave is usually the special du jour... chicken nuggets or pretzels or pierogis or potatoes or whatnot... or fast food or delivery, but especially recently my stomach has started protesting excessive grease, and i'm happy to accomodate it when i can... and i should count caffeine as a food group, because i damn near count vodka and i consume three times as much caffeine... as far as restraunts, the top three, each in there for a different reason: 3threerunnerup. the courier, a moderately priced little place in town... they have fresh sweet potato fries, milkshakes that are hands down some of the best ever, incredibly delicious coffee (and always a different special blend in addition to regular), eclectic soups (their pumpkin was especially delicious), good waitstaff and a nice but relaxed atmosphere. wide variety of quality foodstuffs. 2twofirstplace. angeli's in new orleans. menu looks relatively normal, if a few strange ingredients (goat cheeze on pizza??), moderately priced... but every single item i ever ate there was superb. i'm a chicago pizza snob, and their mystical pizza was the best i've ever tasted. their meatball sandwich was so good that calling it a meatball sandwich feels like an insult. and their omlettes... i never thought that omlettes could go beyond a certain level, but theirs certainly did. portions were always a little more than neccesary, too. and again with the prompt and friendly waitstaff, and usually not too crowded, and you get to watch the marigny-end decatur street traffic, colorful and entertaining. 1onegrandprizethewiener. i don't remember the name of the place. i only ate there once, with the boyfriend's father. but it was dinner "the way they used to do it." i was probably the youngest customer in the place. pipesmoke and friendly raised voices. walked out through the kitchen, and the five foot nothing old greek owner paused in hollering directions to say goodbye to us by name. waitress was no-nonsense in a very friendly way. and she was kept busy. first we were brought a tray of relishes; pickled beets, cole slaws, pickles, olives, celery and carrots, things like that. then bread and soup. then a salad. then small pasta serving, then the main meal, and my steak melted in my mouth, and the shrimp that the others had was seasoned just enough with a bit of garlic, lemon, and butter. then coffee, automatically. then rice pudding or neopolitan ice cream for dessert. the rice pudding was home made. this place was a return to what Meals should be; an occasion... each course had its own draw, personality, and reason to hold our attention. i felt like royalty. it was wonderful. so, that's food. do i have the energy for the third question? wordpad will be patient as i see if energy drinks will grant me the brainpower to continue... i know generally what i want to say for the third one, but it will take a bit of fingerwork to trap it properly. 3three. heh... this is a bit of a strange one, because the answer to what i am passionate about is passion... it is my hue... i have two states, drifting or driving, and i even drift with vehemence... nothing can get me to make a decision once i have decided not to... and when i am in drive mode... it's not usually adressed so explicitly, but if i do something, i do it with enthusiasm... heh... "nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm," as emerson said and a very influential high school teacher made us memorize (it was the very first quote i ever collected, though my list grew to 80 tightly typeset double-column pages)... i am passionate about so many things, saying that i would like to be remembered for one or that i am remembered for one is very difficult... there are stories and legends about me in this town, of course; i've been here long enough to be employed as a full-time scandal... and i have no objections to being scandalous... and some of the parties that i have hostessed have fulfilled the requirements for being a true legend and then some... there are people who entered university three years after the most notorious one who claim to have been there, because their boyfriend's friend's friend was friends with one of the residents at the house. rules from our parties have shown up at far-flung conventions' room parties. i still blush when i hear the star-spangled banner. but while i take great pride in my hostess with the mostest abilities, and am well known for them, i don't think that's truly the answer. so we return to the beginning, and explore down another path. passion. writing seems the next obvious choice. it's also widely known hereabouts that i am a poet of sorts, as trading poetry for drinks has been a side gig for me for three years now, and it's rare that a tuesday goes by without a request for a recital. people who know me better than in passing know that i rarely go anywhere without a book and a journal, and a great many have gotten to delve into my brain in such a way. even when i get into passionate debate, words become slippery, hand gestures herding wild metaphors in my effort to express the_unnamable_something (or just how tasty dinner was). but i view this more as a side-effect, these words, however deeply embedded in my nature the role of poet may be. and the other half of the brain, my passion for debate? when i'm filled with laughter and multicolored balloons, it is the furthest thing from my mind. again, those who know me know that i can be a formidable opponent in any realm, but it is not a defining factor. and though i realized it a bit ago and had to sidestep it in order to define the notit before the it, i think that what i am most passionate about, what i most want to be known for, the keystone that i perch upon more often than any other, is Playfulness. not neccesarily playing games or frolicking through fields of daisies, but the way that i laugh in the face of everything, that i am damnably true to my own nature because i see no reason not to be, that i treat the world like my own little catnip mouse, though perhaps a little less cruelly... i would like to be known for my ability to step into a group and cast a handful of treefetti over everything and remove it from grinding reality, and the way that every aspect of me is like another bell on a gypsy dancer's hips, chiming gentle note with the merest shimmy. i would like to be known for my *lick!* and my *grin*, and i would like it to be noted that i was nearly always very easy with sharing tastes of my brainlolly. to me this sounds like "i would like to be known for being me," but again i think that that is the flatlander perspective talking... the high dosage of Play is another thing that i unthinkingly assume is posessed by everyone, when really it is one of the things that people remark on most... "tree, you're so... so *you*" is a common statement, especially when i am in full force. i'm really hoping that i conveyed my meaning properly... the brainbox is up and running, but it's sputtering and lurching a bit, like it wants to chase rabbits on the side of the road. (and, indeed, it is; a number of conundrums and complications have sprouted in a day's time, and they clamor to be sorted and contained.) and again, curtsies for the questions... i only hope i didn't bore you too much with the mundane on the first two... hope that you can interpolate a bit of me from them... and i am especially fond of questions i don't yet know the answers to (like 3three), and so my thanks again for that. *lick!* *grin* ;) 031218 ... shadow le crowl drifting...driving...playfulness... thank you again for your sweeping personal imagery. 031219 ... REAListic optimIST one) what tendancies do you attract, and what tendancies do you set out to attract, and what is the reason for the difference (if any)? ii) where and who do you see yourself in ten years. what pieces have you put in place to orient your path in that direction. what pieces do you plan to put into place in order to achieve such an illusory state as a future self? 3) when you are lost, what is the one thing you know you can do to snap yourself to a handhold from which you might begin the ascent back to civilization? i'm sorry that the first two questions are severalfold, and perhaps cheating. i hope they are fun enough to answer. cr0wl has really pulled some interesting tree nuggets out to play. 050731 ... misstree no such thing as cheating, especially in questions in the manner of crOwl's... one of the reasons he asks such good questions is that they are best answered in a lush and broad manner, and the manner in which they are answered even answers much of the question itself... such is seen in how people's reaction to the survey, "what's your favorite murder weapon?" is often as telling about them as their choice in itself... but, i'm going to set these aside for a small amount of time, many things to get done between now and starting work, and after they have been properly masticated, the results will be disgorged. good questions, tho. and i miss wordplaying with his crOwlness, in all his illustrious aspects. just for the record. 050801 ... . . 230428 what's it to you? who go blather from