Kaleidoscope

We are God’s kaleidoscope.
Super nova twists and trines;
Eerie spots of rich design
For the drinking of his awesome eye.

We are God’s day time TV show.
Mindless twitter as he forms orbs;
His anthill, his pigeons, his busy little bees.
A distraction we make for the corner of his glee.

We are God’s late night movie.
When he’s bored with truthful work;
The squabbles, feeble struggles, silly conquests, stupid wars.
He falls asleep, it’s such a bore.

We are in God’s kaleidoscope.
Blue-green marble in the sky;
Floating closer to his eye.
Spinning, grinning – we are prized.

Trilogia

te veo pero no te siento - menos que una sombra menos que un lamento un nada vacio como el fin del universo mas allá de la luna. no me extraña tu mirada pero si me extraña un poco la falta de quererte.	Trilogía Por Celia Castro Oct. 17, 2008
	siento un latido un genuino lucero crecido; una batida que al comienzo burbuja pero al fin se queda silenciada. que febríl y aun refinada son las tantas explosivas pequeñas de sabor a ti
he soñada que te vi e inanimada como una estatua sonreí pero solo para ver quién de los dos era humano o cual de los dos éramos echo de mármol. entonces giraste en un pie hacia la carretera y yo - asombrada y atontada me di de cuenta que era yo la que servía de plataforma para los pájaros. y así, dentro de mi armadura se me rompió el corazón. porque te fuiste sin reconocerme.

Truthfulness and disclosure

You know? I think I freak out my friends. I don't mean to. Most of the time I'm a lot of fun, tell loads of jokes, am very silly, etc. But then, when I get in my crap moods and feel insecure and overwhelmed I think it's okay to voice my inner turpitude to my friends. But what I find is they get skiddish. They kind of go away and become unresponsive. I don't know if it's more like, "I can't deal with her" or if it's more like, "she's crazy" or if it's more like, "I don't know what to say to her when she's like this." Whatever it is, it makes me feel like a freak.

Am I the only one who tends to go on rants when something is on my mind? Is it really only a friendship if all you do is pretend to be happy even when you're not? Or if you don't voice things that are bothering you? Cuz it certainly feels that way to me. I can't seem to make any real friends since returning to school. I made a few friends, yes, but they don't seem to be enduring. You know? They don't include me in things or invite me to stuff and I've noticed a very definite sideways scuttle from them at times. I think they mostly like me but hold me at arm's length a bit. Like they know better than to get too entangled or else the barbs will get caught in their hair. It's weird. But it's been like that most of my life so I guess I'm kind of used to it.

Instability

I think that finally, after years of having various people say it to me, I'll have to come to terms with it and admit that maybe I'm just unstable. There, I said it.

It's not something Rob likes to hear me admitting to because in his world, acknowledging a shortcoming is like giving it life. But after years and years of pretending to be a completely rational and sane person, I don't find that I'm feeling any saner. In fact, I think lately I've had the most intense periods of feeling completely unhinged that I've ever had. Luckily, those days are filled with many other days when I feel just fine and happy. Otherwise it would seriously be time to commit me.

But this is exactly why I say I'm unstable. I do fluctuate between feeling totally okay and fine with my world as it is to be unbelievably despondent, angry and saddened about the way my life long ambitions have been met with increasingly closed doors.

The closed doors are an enormous problem lately. I sit in front of them and cry. Or I bang on them like a banshee and scream. Or I quietly stare at them in suffering and contemplation and inwardly seethe or die.

I'm doing so much inner dying lately that I'm not sure some days if I can't officially be classified as the walking dead. I think this is a problem. Seems like it is, don't you think?

And yet, I have days like this Sunday when I went for a walk and felt so good with the sun on my face and I met a couple who had a blue and gold macaw and I sang to them. The couple, the macaw and their dogs. And they loved my singing. And it was nice, for once, to have my singing appreciated.

I'm in this fucking obnoxious school where my singing might as well be nails on a chalkboard. The way I'm being treated is like so much crap. I walked in with high hopes and they've all been dashed. And, as if that weren't bad enough, I'm getting the crazy-lady look from certain people.

FINE! WHY DON'T I JUST BEHAVE LIKE THE CRAZY LADY THEN!!?? Seriously. I want to just start running around on campus behaving on the outside the way I feel on the inside. And then maybe they'll commit me and I just won't have to deal with this bullshit anymore.

(I realize this has been a complete unhinged rant. But that was the point. I wanted to go all stream of consciousness and this is what came out.)

Lately.

Something in my psyche is definitely changing. Things are happening in my subconscious and they’re like an undertow. I think it’s a good thing for me, actually.

I’m not behaving like myself. For starters, I’ve now upset Rob twice by completely forgetting him in a way that is not at all like me. I usually call him to let him know where I am and what I’m doing – almost at all times. And especially if I’m somewhere like Atlantic City. I do this so he doesn’t worry. But last time I went I left my phone in my room and got hung up in a poker game and didn’t call. He was worried sick. And it’s not like me to not worry about other people but I think I am spending so much of my time lately being worried about other people that I really just wanted a night where I didn’t feel like anyone depended on me. I wanted a night where I was just allowed to BE. But afterwards I realized that’s not fair to Rob and I felt horrible about it. Yet I turned around and did a similar thing yesterday again. I went to visit with my friend David, whom I haven’t seen in a while. We were supposed to be done by 6:30pm and I told Rob I might meet up with him after. I really did have him in my thoughts when I said this. But then David and I got into one of our extended jags on life, love, family, travel, etc… before I knew it time had just flown by. Rob had left me text messages on my phone, which was being ignored in my bag. I finally pulled it out and he was pissed off. Once again I’d completely failed to take him into account. I forgot to text him and let him know I’d probably be there later than 6:30pm. He was right to be pissed off at me. It’s irresponsible behavior. But why? I’m up at 4am asking myself why am I behaving this way all of a sudden?

Last week I forgot my dad’s birthday. That is also not like me. I was going to AC on the 7th and it was all I could think about. I was so excited to get away from everyone that the 6th, my dad’s birthday, just got away from me. I remembered on the 9th, very late that evening because we’d been out for a friend’s birthday and then it clicked that I’d forgotten dad. How could I forget dad?

I tell you why and how. Because all I’ve been able to think about for months is mom’s well-being, mom’s appointments, mom’s latest insurance issue. Dad’s latest insurance issue. In the middle of the night I’m thinking, “must follow up with phone call to see if First Health received the fax I sent yesterday… must call Empire Blue Cross to find out why that last claim wasn’t paid.” This is what is constantly going on in my head. There are days when I start the day wanting to practice all day and then suddenly I remember I need to call Medicare about this or that. That turns into 20 minutes on hold and then a 20 minute conversation where I’m asked to call someone else. I call that person and that’s another 5 minutes on hold and a 5 minute conversation. And I’m transferred to someone else, etc. Eventually someone tells me they need me to fax a form to them. And so I have to download the form, fill it out and fax it. Suddenly the 2 hours I had set aside to practice that morning are somehow gone. And this happens at least a couple of times a week.

My sister is a source of serious concern and trauma except I am supposed to not be letting her get to me or affect me. But she does. Each day I check in with the one person who gives me secret updates on her and each day I discover something else that worries or concerns me but there’s nothing I can do. I keep tabs on her because one day, when all this shit hits the proverbial fan I want to know when she’s lying to me about events.

And that brings me to another topic. Trust. I don't feel I can trust anyone anymore. Between Rob’s lies about his secret lives and his nerve to be upset with me because I chose to have secrets too (men always think they’re the only ones who can be allowed whole secret identities) and my sister’s apparent lies to me and others in her life, I just feel like nothing is sacred anymore. When I got married I thought I had the type of marriage where we tell each other everything and there were no secrets. I really wanted it to be that way between us. So when I found out that Rob was keeping secrets and was going to considerable lengths to keep sexual secrets from me, I felt very betrayed and I felt like the everything I believed in was a lie.

It wasn’t until we moved here and his behavior became erratic and I learned there were more lies that I finally decided I might as well develop my own superhero cover up. I-will-take-care-of-myself-Girl. With the power of “fuck you.” I did that for a couple of years but lately it’s started to lose its luster. The shiny power of “fuck you” has become apathy. I think with the whole situation with my mom and my sister I just don’t have the energy to keep up the whole “fuck you” thing. It’s morphed into something like “fuck everybody”. To hell with everyone. I’m always exhausted. I’m too tired for a lover. Too tired to explain that I’m too tired. Just fuck off.

And so I guess that’s why I’ve been a little lax about conveying my whereabouts and timings and whatnot. I’m just so fucking fed up. Does he tell me when he’s going to meet someone for some sort of “whatever”? No. I doubt it. And, what’s truly ironic is that I was better at letting him in on what I was doing when I had something to hide. Now that I have nothing to hide I am horrible about keeping tabs on myself. Isn’t that just a kick in the pants?

I need everyone to just fuck the fuck off for a while. But not mom or dad. They need to get strong so I don’t have to worry about them so much.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

The sun's a star, right? It's the biggest star in our solar system, or maybe it's the closest. Either way, it's a star. Why does no one wish upon it? I will wish upon it today. And since it's sooo gi-normous I will make a HUGE wish. I won't tell you what it is but I will let you know if it comes true. I was told the universe is abundant and can deliver on big orders. I figure, why not? Today I will give it a whirl. I'll keep you posted.

Summer

Well, so far my summer's been not at all a bit relaxing. However, I'm getting reacquainted with the concept of peace. Even if it's just for minutes at a time. I'm starting to remember what it feels like to not be in a state of constant panic. It's nice. I have to just enjoy it while it's here because I'm fairly certain it won't be this way for too long. Life just isn't that way. But these momentary lapses into peacefulness are really welcome. Nice. They're just so nice.

Going Back

I think I’m getting closer to understanding what I really need and might want in my life. Doing all this music stuff lately is like sleepwalking through life. Everything is fuzzy and faint and soon forgotten. Life inside a cloud. It’s hard to spend so much time and energy on a subject I find I no longer really care that much about. I don’t really feel compelled to sing anymore. I sing now because I have to in chorus and because part of me thinks I can still sing well enough that people might actually want to her it. But the drive to thrive is gone. I just don’t care like I used to. Makes everything connected to it feel like I’m living a lie. I’d like to be doing something I feel a connection to. And, while this is odd for me to say and/or admit to myself, I’m just not as connected to music as I used to be. At least not in the way I was before. I don’t want to hear a piece of music and think, “Oh that’s a fifth” or “Listen to those crazy dissonances.” I want to just listen. I want to think “That was moving” or “that was beautiful” or “that is the most disjointed piece I’ve heard in a long while.” That’s it… simple. I don’t need or want to dissect it. Someone went through a lot of trouble to put it together just so that others could listen to it and have a holistic experience. I don’t enjoy being force to listen like a surgeon.

I’d like to sit and stare at a blue body of water for an afternoon and wait for the voice of God to lead me towards my next vocation or avocation. Because singing/music just isn’t it anymore. Except I am pretty sure God decided to stop talking to me roughly around the time I moved out of my parents’ house when I was 19. I could feel him leaving me. I thought I heard a voice say, “You’re on your own now, kiddo.” And it wasn’t my parents. In fact, my mom didn’t say much and my sweet dad who’d never said a mean thing to me ever said, “Let her go. She’s been nothing but trouble.”

I used to love to write. As a matter of fact, you could say that I still love to write. I used to write every chance I got. And, as a child, when I wasn’t considering music as a lifestyle, I considered writing. Do you know who practically beat that idea right out of my head? My psychotic mother. I used to keep a journal. I used to write poetry almost nonstop too. My mother hated that I would steal off to my room to write. I think she felt I was being antisocial and therefore not keeping her company (but that’s another issue entirely). Anyway, one day she read my diary and discovered that I was headed towards being a slut. I mean, I wasn’t really. I was doing what many healthy young girls do. I was experimenting. A kiss with a boy, maybe a little grope with another… nothing that other girls weren’t doing. Except that I probably was a little more risqué and was keeping a list of all the boys I liked and/or had made out with. This made my mom flip out. After that, every time she saw me scribbling away I guess she associated my scribbling with what she’d read and she’d start yelling at me. But it wasn’t coherent. Now that I’m older I realize these are the rants of a person who had some serious problems. She was lonely and depressed and possibly certifiably nuts, but how was I supposed to know that at age 12? Her rants almost always hinged on the fact that she felt ignored and whatever I was doing, whether I was writing, or practicing my singing or anything else, I wasn’t talking to her or playing a board game with her. Or else, I wasn’t doing something useful like the dishes or cleaning the bathroom or dusting furniture. There were two things I was supposed to do to keep her happy. Be a “good” girl, which seemed to mean I was to go nowhere, have no friends and always help keep the house clean. The other thing was to keep her company because dad seemed to always be out doing something or other and it had somehow become my responsibility to babysit her. Of course, all of this is clear now that I’m older. At the time it was just a huge and insurmountable burden. I realize now that the times when I was out with my friends and suddenly became super depressed for apparently no reason, it was probably the great amount of stress I was feeling at having to deal with mom at home.

Anyway, so she basically made me feel that writing was a bad thing. I started to unconsciously write less. Music and singing took place of writing. Until she attempted to kill that too. When I was 18 and had gotten into Mannes College of Music and Manhattan School of Music, I was thrilled. I chose to go to Mannes and all she could do when I’d come home and tried to practice was to sit there and grit her teeth till I stopped and then she’d interrupt with, “are you going to do the dishes?” That’s why I left home. I just couldn’t take her anymore. I was trying desperately to find myself and find my talents and work with them and she just wanted me to stop whatever I was doing and help her with chores. WTF?

So, now, many years later, I find myself still getting depressed and crazed for almost no reason at all. I find I don’t know what I want anymore and I think maybe I’m trying to kill myself slowly. Lately my heart feels like it’s breaking inside my chest. Literally. I’ve had a couple of crying jags where I thought I could feel what it feels like to have your heart begin to tear itself apart inside your chest. It’s not like a break at all. It’s like a slow, excruciating pulling apart. Wrenching. I walk around some days feeling like if only I could throw up my heart I could feel okay finally. I know that sounds bizarre and disgusting, but I’m trying to describe something that isn’t pleasant or simple to describe.

So, yeah… I guess you could say I’m walking around pretty broken. But I’m sticking out this semester. I’m sticking to my guns and finishing this degree. Cuz even if I don’t care about music anymore and don’t know where I’m headed with my life, I do know one thing. Even decent secretarial jobs require that you have a fucking B.A. They almost don’t care what the major is so long as you can prove you made it through college without blowing up the building, going on a killing spree or flunking out. That’s really what they need that piece of paper for. It’s just evidence that you can work day in and day out under pressure, deadlines and bureaucratic nonsense without freaking flipping out. Your B.A. doesn’t really certify that you are ready to be a great composer or an accomplished writer or a brilliant archeologist. Your B.A. is a sign that you can handle loads of bullshit. It’s a certificate that shows you’re ready to handle huge amounts of very specific nonsense except now you’re asking to be paid for the privilege. And that is my real reason for putting myself through college at this late date in my life. Because I suspect that piece of paper will come in handy if I’m no longer committed to being a singer.

Dreams

I woke up this morning, 4:30am, fantasizing. Dreaming about packing things. First it was all my excess clothing. Things that no longer fit me, in size or in style or function. Then it was all my performance clothing and formal wear. I would sell them to chubby girls who don't want to spend loads on a ballgown cuz, you-never-know, they just might lose that weight and want to splurge on something nice when they do. Then it was all my musical scores. I'd put up a notice on the classical music forum and sell them off. Finally my piano. Rich loves that piano and I used to. Maybe he can just keep it.

Then I fantasized myself living Arizona. I'd take a job doing anything. Work in a store, or even waitress and I'd live alone. I would no longer have sex. Sex is a distraction. It's an animalistic drive that is mostly self-serving no matter how sensitive and giving a lover you might be.

This fantasy of mine went as far as to include a Shaman. I would meet a Shaman in Arizona and I would learn from him to heal with energy. I like that idea. And this would be my new life. And it would make me happy.

Because the problem I'm facing is that I'm doing everything I do now because I don't know what else to do. I no longer really believe this persona I've spent years becoming. I no longer buy her brand of bullshit. She's trapped in her trappings while her soul is screaming out for something entirely different. Her soul is waning but not quietly. She is asking me, in my dreams, sleeping and waking, to please choose another path.

But here's my problem. I only know the path I'm on. I don't see any signs pointing to anywhere else. Maybe I have to pave some new roads. But truth is, aside from these dreams, I have no real sense of where to begin.

One big happy family...

Wrote this the other night after seeing pictures sent to me by a friend. I won't even try to explain it. Here you go...


Happy family, 1/1/08

Guilt and rage sat on the stairs
silently contemplating each other
rage's eyes darting
while holding a rigid stance -
Like a black sky before a storm -
(like her suppression).

Guilt sheepishly bit at her hangnails
nervously avoiding the cameraman
- Lust -
whose telephoto lens hit the middle of the scene
That space - a barometric truce.

meanwhile innocence played nearby, and
melancholy made a meal of them all.

Friendships

So, I was rereading some of my posts and got to the one where I say I'd rather be friends with people who like my singing than with those who don't. And I realize how bad that probably sounds. But it's not like I only make friends with people who like my singing. As it turns out, the woman mentioned in that post has become a nice enough acquaintance but I don't see us becoming friends. The reason I posted that was that when I sang Vitelia, I started to make friends with this guy who was in the chorus. He seemed nice enough but then 2 days after the performance, when I was still feeling VERY GOOD about myself and had lots of huge compliments and the conductor said it was a pleasure really making music with me, etc. I was feeling so freaking good about myself as a singer. But this guy just couldn't wait for a little time to go by. He just had to jump in there and burst my bubble. He emails me 2 days later and says something like, "well, your vibrato isn't really to my liking and I think you need to fix it if you want to have a career but I think you did a nice job." WHAT!?

Seriously, if you value someone and are trying to become their friend, that is the kind of thing you either a) keep to yourself or b) wait until you are better, closer friends and then, TASTEFULLY, you might bring it up IF the opportunity arises. You don't just blurt this out in an email right after a successful performance. Anyway, that's why I figure if I'm going to have friends I need to feel they're on my side. They don't need to love every little thing I do or say or sing, but they should more or less, generally, be on my side. I don't think that's a lot to want in a friendship.

But since I'm on the subject, I must say I've always had a problem making and keeping friends. People always kind of freak me out. I've been burned by people I thought were really good friends and so I have learned to just keep my distance. I'm very guarded, which maybe people read and they keep their distance because I'm sending out guarded signals... who knows?

It's just hard to see all these people in school chattering away with each other and know that when I try to join in the conversation I'm kind of the odd-man out. I am finding it hard to really connect with anyone in this school. There are a couple of women I'd like to befriend because they're closer to my age and are singers, etc. But because I'm an undergrad I don't have much contact with them. I'm in a crappy situation. Most of the people around me are younger than me and they are sweet and nice to me but I think they see me as "that older transfer woman" and don't really include me. It's just awkward all around.

So far, the only person I've managed to make friends with is the one person who's LEAVING! How do I do this to myself?

Oh well. I suppose it will all shake out somehow.

boomerang

everything is new again
my love, my darling
new, for you -

the ocean, vast and blue
fresh and grand
a shocking jolt unites your lovely body
to the rolling waves
you float away,
an underwater bird
you fly
arms outstretched
it is your ocean now and always

cheeseburgers, mousse and mangoes
chewy, smooth and sweet
bursting and tantalizing on your taste buds
your face in open wonder
(where have they been hiding these delicacies?)
a feast for a king
the king of everything
rocking in your seat all energy and grins
beaming

a first snowfall
fireworks' booms - their smokey smell
everything in the world is new again
new again
for you, my love

haikus about food

this must go somewhere
perhaps down to the basement
i can't keep it here

this must go away
my inner turbulances
are making me eat

i must end this thing
i'll will it to the treadmill
leave it there in sweat

Poetry about the boy

Lyrics to my life I
by Alice Torcas

He’s in search of a new sensation
He’s giving off a new vibration
He is like a bright new penny
So two-sided and oh so pretty.

His face goes blank when you corner him with questions.
His cover’s blown but he shows no vacillation.
His indignation is a false conviction
To deter your attention from his secret addiction.

He has the nerve to get jealous when you smile at a boy
But just how do you feel about his backdoor toys?

Boys, boys – they’re all the same
Wanting all the power
Playing hidden games.

Boys, boys – don’t waste your time.
They will turn it all on you
Like they’re dropping you a dime.

Do yourself a favor and just play along
This bicycle’s for two.
Ride it, kick it all night long.

Gross Mason

your wiry, spidery arms reach out to me
softly and slowly
grazing my shoulder
making me shudder,
a sudden draft over my left.

lazily my eyes' sight grazes the corner
but i return to my tedious task
ignorant that you are still there
weaving

looming, you whisper something inaudible and breathy
something I take to mean you are not interested
not in me or in this place we cohabit
so I shrug my shoulders and hum to myself
a song I learned while unawares
(something from the radio of my subconscious
which has found it's way onto my lips from some hidden memory)

a hear cotton candy being unspun;
it caresses my ear
filling me with ether so that you begin to frighten me
the way a child is afraid of the dark
but sleeps fitfully
anyhow

at daybreak I cannot see past the mesh
(however did I arrive here?)
you’ve done your crafty work with my silent consent
and I am yours now,
I suppose.

Teaching Dilemma #13

Oh Crap! I know this particular post will seem incredibly unprofessional but I must put this somewhere!

I spent the past 2 weeks playing phone tag with a guy who said he wanted to begin lessons but is a total beginner. Turns out he's a Rutgers student and he wants to break into Bollywood. So, in my head I had this picture of what he probably looks like and what he's possibly like and so I was COMPLETELY unprepared for the person who showed up at my door.

He's freaking HOT! I was in my skankiest jeans, hair in a bun, totally not caring if I looked good or not and when I saw him I held out my hand professionally and shook his. Meanwhile, as I'm going through my whole, "so you think you want to sing" speech, my screaming brain was like, "what the hell?!? where did you come from?" He's about 6'4", an ex basketball player who now "just lift weights". He drives a cute little sports car (couldn't tell what kind but saw him jump in it across the street) and he's actually a pretty decent singer, for a total beginner. He thinks he can be the next generation of Bollywood singers but actually has a fairly decent R&B sound so that's another route he can take. I'm just floored I have to teach this colossal package of beef every week now!

Jaw on floor.

Being Truly Happy

I have insomnia so I'm up tonight doing the usual - tidying up loose ends, sending out emails, cleaning the house - all the things insomniacs do. I guess we figure we're up, we might as well use the energy because at some point in day we will crash.

Anyway, so I'm up on the computer (obviously) and I just read a story about a man who used to have a 6 figure job, a family and a respectable life but then lost his job, got divorced because he fathered a child with his girlfriend, found out he had a brain tumor and eventually lost his girlfriend because he had no money. He apparently wrote a book recently that will be made into a movie. He has been working at Starbuck's as a barrista and says he's truly and fully happy for the first time in his life. This has hit a nerve with me. I think I have just come to understand something deep about myself.

In order to be truly happy, one must have courage. I'm not happy, not truly, deeply happy, because I'm afraid to be. Because I'm afraid to dismantle everything I know and everything I think I am in order to find true happiness. Deep down inside me I know that going to school is not making me happy. Having a degree won't make me happy. Staying in a dysfunctional marriage isn't making me happy. A year ago I was very tempted to pack my things (in fact, I'd started to do it) and was going to just walk out on my whole life and start over from scratch. But I stopped. I thought I'd never find a job, I'd be struggling, I wouldn't know how to live uncomfortably after being made so comfortable all these years. I would probably have to give up singing (although I wonder if I should be doing that anyway). I thought it through and decided that it's not the right time. I just don't have whatever "it" is I need to face the hardships that would surely be awaiting me. In the end, when I thought it through, I decided I wasn't so sure I'd be any happier, so I have stayed.

But somewhere, deep down in my being, I do have a longing for something different. A different existence where I wake up in the morning and take the deep fresh comforting breath of feeling that I'm doing what I want and I'm not living a lie. When I lived on my own in New York I had that feeling most mornings. It's a good feeling. I'd like to have it again.

My return to Music School

Going back to school and forcing myself to hear intervals and memorize fucking German chords makes me not want to sing. I haven’t wanted to sing for 2 weeks. I have an audition on Tuesday and I could not be less enthused about it. I have barely worked on it and I’m hoping it’s not that apparent but somehow I am worried it will be.

I had to sing my new aria for Opera Workshop and the look on Pamela’s face was like, “what the fuck is she singing?” I had the rhythms all fucked up and probably some of the intonation and she said I was scooping and portamentoing all over the place. Made me feel like a Loser. Makes me feel like I’m not really any good at this and maybe I’ve just spent my whole life trying to do something that is forced and not really natural to me. I’m sure I’ll manage to make some friends who hate what I do too. But maybe it’s best to let them find me.

Except I know that’s not right. I know that’s only half the story. Parts of this are very natural to me. The actual singing has come pretty naturally, even if the coordination has tended to be inconsistent, the actual, pure singing part of his has been natural. The ability to color my voice and make actual music from my soul – that has always come naturally to me, which is why I think it’s hard for me to think of music in the dry clinical terms that music school forces upon you. I’ve always felt that the way music schools approach teaching music and ear training makes me want to run screaming from the room. I guess it’s like going to med school because you want to make people feel better. You want to fix them. You want them to leave better than they came in. And then they put a cadaver in front of you and ask you to pull it apart. While this is part of the learning process, it’s enough to make you puke and faint because the LAST thing you want is to pull dead bodies apart – right? You want to fix living, breathing beings. So, that’s kind of how I feel half the time. Like they’re making me deal with dead things when I soooo desire to work with the live things. And, truthfully, the problem at Rutgers, specifically, is that they don’t really have a program geared towards singing. Their program is general. It’s not targeted. And so, I think singers there aren’t really getting a concentration on some subjects they could really use and getting too much of other things they really don’t need as much. Like, no singer really ever will use the information I’m learning now on the German sixth. Not if you’re singing. Highly unlikely.

Anyway, despite feeling like my first run of the aria was less than wonderful, the woman sitting next to me, the one who’s also been to Mannes, she rubbed my shoulder after and said it was beautiful. I’ll have to make her a friend. I need some new friends and what better friend than one who actually likes what you do? That’s not an ego thing, it’s just if I’m going to make friends, it’s nice to know they’re already on my side. Isn’t that just the way we’re designed? Would you try to make friends with the person who was making nasty faces while you were singing? Not likely.

Stream of Consciousness for Today.

Since this is, in fact, a “stream of consciousness” entry… here goes.

I fucking hate everybody today. I mean - HATE!!! People Suck!!! Izzy, Matthew, Madeleine, Will Crutchfield… everyone!!! Everyone who is backing away from me because I’m too neurotic or over driven or too unrealistic or because I have a fast vibrato they don’t believe will ever soften… all of them can mother fucking kiss my ass!!! They think they know soooo much. They have some sort of crystal ball. I mean, Matthew was the only one honest enough to come right out and say it, “we (meaning he and his gay opera fag friend Lee) don’t think you’ll ever have a BIG career on account of we don’t think that fast vibrato will ever calm down enough.”

Yep. So, I figure if one person said it and another person years ago said it, then others must be thinking it. Yet, simultaneously, people like Madeleine (technically, her friend said it) and Will have said that my voice, when it’s fully together, should pretty much be able to demand whatever price I want.

So which is it?!!

I tell you which it is!! Both. Except the people who are tiptoeing away carefully and/or not-so-carefully are showing a tremendous lack of belief that I can pull this off and that just fucking pisses me off!!! Do you know why it pisses me off?

Cuz despite the fact that it’s been YYYYEEEEEEEAAAARRRSS and I have been working hard and only now am beginning to smooth out the voice and am only now beginning to clear up the vibrato issues and am only now understanding how important it is to lose like 50 lbs. Despite all that – one thing remains. I have the goods. I do. I know it and even the tiptoers know it. And I can do something with the goods.

And you know what? I still believe there’s a place for me to showcase my goods and I still believe that, while the deck is stacked against me and I’m going to have to fight and scratch to earn everything I get, I still believe I have what it takes to make people stop (especially the tiptoers and the ones who fled early on) and say, “Oh Shit! She fucking did it! She fucking pulled it off! We didn’t think she could do it. We thought it was too late and she’d never fucking figure it out but… oh shit! She did it!” I know I can make them do that. And when I do some of them will come to me and say stuff like, “I always knew you could do it.” And I’ll smile and nod but inside I’ll be thinking, “no you didn’t”.

Fuck them.

Regrets

I have just stumbled upon a beautiful blog. It has touched me so deeply that I have no real words. But the word regret comes to mind and it's emblazoned into my heart.

I helped to deeply wound and scar someone. Someone who absolutely did not deserve it. I helped to wound her because in my youthful fire I believed all was fair in love and war. Well, perhaps it is, but only if you can live with the spoils afterward. I have spent years wondering if she is okay. I've spent years hoping that she went on and lived well. And, I just saw her artwork and I feel both happy for her and sad at the same time. I am happy to see that her art is even more detailed and defined and interesting. I'm happy she is doing her art and loving her life and adoring her children. I'm happy to hear they are happy and well adjusted and beautiful and doing well. I feared they would grow up sad or shadowed by the events of several years ago. I'm happy that, by and large, it seems everyone managed to move forward relatively unscathed. But I have a deep sadness as well.

Deep down I know she has become hyper vigilant. I know she has trouble not seeing the tiny lies in people's eyes. I know she has deep sadness for the loss of her marriage. And I am saddened because I was a part of her sadness. At the time I had no true concept of what I was doing. I really didn't. But now, in hindsight, I realize I should have done things differently. It is the one true regret of my life. I know she feels it's her fault, but it isn't. It really isn't. There was nothing she could have done. What happened was going to happen even if it hadn't been me. Her husband was restless and bored and probably cheating on his mistress as well as his wife. She could not have stopped his restlessness. It was totally not her fault. I have read her blog and I want desperately to reach out to her. But how am I supposed to do that from my vantage point?

I'm just glad that she's keeping her work alive and I read in her blog she's falling in love. I wish her, from far off in the distance, all the happiness her craziest fantasies can conjure up. I wish her a relationship like we all dream of. Where you see the clear, crystal truth in your lover's eyes and it makes you feel calm and loved and strong and sure footed. This I wish her because it is what she deserves.

If the universe is watching this, it will reach her. I know it.