sohma g. dawling of the*innocence | personal data | talk to me | watched

Monday, December 17th, 2012

the uniform i wear all the time.
4:29 pm
i often say how much i can't wait till i can look like me again. the majority of people who hear this don't understand and almost always reply "don't you always look like yourself?"

granted, my bone structure, face, and body frame never change but not being able to look like "me" gets to the point it is suffocating. i feel like i am constantly in a uniform i am made to wear that i can never take off.

i am not somebody whom is happy with one color of hair or covering up my marks of pride or having to put in and out the parts of me i have deemed part of me.

i am not "me" as a sign of rebellion. that is a conclusion almost immeditetly jumped to by people who don't understand. i am a wildflower that constantly needs to change the color of her petals. my marks of pride (my tattoos) are the ever evolving constellation of my life. my way of sometimes nodding to fate, sometimes fighting against it. my piercings are just another way for me to notice the gentle curves of how beautiful the body is.

when i have to have the same "normal" hair color at length, i feel as if i am withering, for "natural" hair colors on me make me think of withered petals. when i have to cover up my stars i feel like i am having to hide my personal triumphs. when i have to take out piercings, i feel like i have to leave a part of me hidden away.

and i get told all the time about how i need to do it to look professional and it's for a job and everybody else has to and to just get over it.

you know what? this area is filled with people with their own decorations, but they are accepted and it's okay and it's no different way of marking themselves as them as my way of marking me as me. it's just that bleaching your hair, whitening your teeth, getting a fake tan, and wearing big gold jewelry is "acceptable". how bleaching your hair a color other than your own is acceptable but splashes of color found in flowers aren't, makes no sense to me. how radiating your skin to turn a darker color or spraying on a different color is better than me getting astral badges of my past hurdles i've overcome, makes no sense to me. how the many rings of expensive gemstones lining almost every finger is more acceptable than a very small snug ring through my nose is more acceptable, makes no sense to me.

me being not "me" makes me feel like i am constantly in a uniform i don't want to be. i don't get to take it off. i work, eat, sleep, and live in it but i have to do it for materialistic gain. i have to shutter myself for "appropriateness" that makes no sense to me. my skill, my work ethic, my productivity are not defined by my personal appearance. i can understand having neat clean clothing and good hygiene as mark for professional appearance, even attitude plays a great degree. heck, i can understand an actual clothing uniform, but having to put myself away for some notion of what is acceptable and what isn't?

i have a decent work ethic. i have a great number of skills. i am devoted, dedicated, and honest. just because i want a rainbow of colors on my head to change often, i permanently etch my life story into my skin, and love the feel of small pieces of metal adorning me i am deemed unacceptable or not worthy to be taken seriously.

i am a kind person. i am generous when i have enough to give. i work hard and if it's work i enjoy, i get lost in it and the rewards go to whom it's for and i bask ina glow of mission accomplished. but feeling like a withered flower for so long, makes me feel like i am actually a withered flower. that hasn't changed since i was little and would draw on myself or started painting my hair with markers. feeling like a withered flower effects not just me internally but my work. i feel trapped and confined.

and i am thankful for every job i've had in the past that let me be me and accepted me on my merits of workmanship rather than outdated system of beliefs of what is acceptable despite it not making logical sense when boiled down.

and every day i cross my fingers and count down the days till i can once again look like "me" and be happy in what i can do.

and when i go to bed, i feel like i'm a flower opening up to the world for a dream into another realm, rather then laying down in a constricting uniform that seems to get tighter as the days go by and i'm fighting for rest, rather than ready to dive into a world of marvel and delight in my dreams.
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Sunday, July 8th, 2012

10:28 am
in one of my dreams last night i had my bottom kip pierced so many times you could barely see my actual lip, but it was so nicely done and the rings varied in size enough to make it look like a ringed metal lip. and when i spoke, the rings would move and tinkle against each other, as if my words were part of a wind chime.

it made me sound beautiful.
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Sunday, April 8th, 2012

my father's mother
1:52 pm
my father's mother

it's so strange and surreal to watch these events unfold. the fact that i'm distanced adds to it an extra strain of helplessness and a lack of feeling connected to things you find so important.

she's laying on her deathbed, too weak to hold even a pen and too stubborn to eat but she doesn't want to be there. she wants to be home and her thinking has lost logic.

the family is falling apart and things are going in a million different directions.

so strange just how much impact ONE life can have. one little old lady and a slip down the stairs and how many lives get thrown into turmoil over it because they all love her and everything is just fucked.

my dad. my poor father. his normal life was stressful enough with his body falling apart and millions of government set appointments for workers comp and income just barely trickling in. now his mother is dying and he is upset about that but also has to handle all of her affairs and figure out what to do with his mentally disabled younger brother who has been coddled all his life and just can't grasp that his mother is dying.

my little brother is ready to tell people who are trying to cause drama to just get the fuck out of our lives. this is no time to pull this shit. drama with my sisters is pooling over onto my grandmother's death bed and it has nothing to do with her. he's such a protector and i know trying to protect everybody all at once while working his job and trying to take care of dad is wearing him down.

and today is easter. a holiday i always associated with my grandparents...

what my grandparents symbolized to me was always the standard. the unshakable foundation. the only constant stable thing in my life. i grew up hopping all over the country with my parents and my home life was always rift with drama and turmoil. nothing ever stayed the same, everything c hanging. one minute to the next, not staying some place less than six moths to 4 years at max and that was no where near the average. but my grandmother and grandfather? they were always the same. always in the same place. always the same amount of love. stable. they were stable and constant in my life. the house to this very MOMENT is still exactly the same, even though my grandfather died when i was a teenager.

and it will all be gone. the only stability i ever had since the moment i was pushed into this world. all that stability and constant will be shot. grandma won't be cooking sunday dinners or dressing up the place for holidays. there won't even be that house anymore. i won't hear her laugh or see her give somebody a cute glare. her curly grey hair and wearing my grandfather's glasses to read. her flashiness and instance on class on the strangest of matters.

to know her now, you wouldn't call her warm and fuzzy, but she was. she was. she got stoney very slowly after the passing of pops, but if you caught her at the right moments, you would see it all melted away from time to time. small presents from people of things she really enjoyed, feeding my dog and swearing at her in italian (just like her mother did with her own dog), hand written letters, seeing people enjoying her cooking, helping her clean up...

she was also a very strong woman. lost her daughter to jaundice before they knew hoe to cure it. a mentally handicapped son in an era where they just lumped all the mental disabilities into one clump and tried to shove it all away. husband jailed and having to take care of two boys all alone while still trying to keep up appearances. a stubborn woman who ended up marrying the exact same man her brothers told her to go no where near and loving him even past his death. a lover of martinis made of nothing but vodka in a martini glass and a green olive to make it look like a drink a proper lady would have, and only in public. scratch of lottery tickets and made you swore to secrecy if you won one for her. fine dining chinese food. Elisabeth Taylor perfume. Beatrix Potter stories and art. Fabergé eggs and Hummel figurines. pride for everything her and her husband worked their lives for and the past few years watching it all decay with failing health and fiances plummeting.

the amount of memories i have of that house and of them are so numerous i can look at a photo of the room and see the memories move like images of a moving picture, transparent, and overlapping one another.

working in the garden. sunbathing in the garden. playing in the garden. feeding birds in the garden.

sitting on the front porch and carving pumpkins. sitting on the front porch and eating watermelons. sitting on the front porch and talking with the renter upstairs. sitting on the fort porch and playing games with my grandparents.

sitting at the kitchen table and every breakfast i had there as a child handmade by my grandfather with special care, love, and attention to details. every sunday dinner my grandmother made for us after he passed. she may have been surly but she insisted on us eating together and her making it. she insisted on family being together at least once a week for a meal.

sitting in the dining room for every holiday meal we had together. every easter, thanksgiving, and christmas that we were in driving distance or when my dad and brother moved upstairs. they all over lap each other. we always sat in the same spots and i can see each face transparent over the others in their various states and ages and emotional content.

and the living room. where i played quietly as a child with the doll that was meant for my aunt who passed as a child. playing with the coasters as if they were plates to a tea set. i know exactly where those coasters are now because they are always in the same spot.


did you know when i was 19 i moved in with my grandmother for the summer so i could take care of her after one of her back surgeries? when she wasn't quit fit yet and needed help with house work. i worked at her brother's restaurant part time to have money to do things while in the city and to take grandma out sometimes. helped her get to and from doctor appoints on the bus and and she showed me how to cheat the system and get free bus and train rides and where the lost and found was at the restaurant. that woman was sly.

when she passes, the only stable things i've known in my short 33 years will go. she was the last bastion of stability in my life before steven. her, that house, and everything about that life will crumble apart and vanish. the memories won't but the actual reality based components of it will be.

that house was a monument. no, that house was a TEMPLE. a REFUGE. my grandparents were some sort of gods and keepers. when she passes, she will fade to whatever and where ever. hopefully with my grandfather and all those of her time that passed before her. but that house? that house is being sold due to a reverse mortgage she needed to take out to survive. it'll go to some one else. somebody who won't understand all the ghosts of my memories are constantly playing over each other. they might be swept away when they move in. sweeping away the stability i had in those moments, in those times. in those memories that will have no value to a newcomer. a new comer who will transform that temple into something else. not the meticulous eye and style of my grandparents who made everything look so amazing and worked hard to own all the amazing things they had.

i'm not just losing my grandmother, but i'm loosing the last strand of everything connected stable, constantly warm and loving childhood memories. i'm plenty full of unstable childhood memories. both warm and violent and scary that moved on whims and screamed and smashed walls and caught gentle breezes and laughter and giggles.

but it's the anchor of it all...

my grandmother is the last anchor of that life, and when she passes she's lifting it up and sailing away. taking it all with her. i'll gladly make that an offering to whatever may be out there, but i know it's going to leave such a gap in my life. i know the value of all of those memories, at least to me. right now. at this very moment. but there is no way i can comprehend the value of every one of them all at once. no human can. i will feel the value of them after they are gone and i will feel how much it hurts to remember them and THAT is the moment i will know their true value. right now, i just have an idea. a ballpark. and i know me. i'm human. i'm underselling it. those things show you their worth and it's something you could never even think of. never imagine. never know till you realize you can't have it again.

i love my grandmother. the strong, beautiful, stubborn woman. Lucille Rispoli D'Angelo.

right now she's preparing for her voyage. i will be crushed to know when she pulls up anchor even though i know she's going, but i also know where ever she's heading will treat her better than the struggle of the last few weeks, the last few months, the last few years.
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Thursday, March 1st, 2012

33rd Birthday Madness!
7:06 pm
This is that list I complied of songs YOU MY FRIENDS said made you think of me.

I think it's a pretty impressive list and what I draw from it is that you think I am very fun, quirky, ... some magic fluff I can't quite name.

I love you all. I am alive today because amazing people like you have shown me love.

I can't thank you enough.
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9:18 am
and here we are, the first of march
and the sun is shining...

things will be better now

*vocals by me, sohma g. dawling, music by deathboy*
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Sunday, February 26th, 2012

11:17 am
dream last night:

i lived near a resort on a lake and i was biking over there to see if they were hiring. i was wearing white knitted leg warmers, a brown skirt, and a white knitted jacket and a knitted beret. i had long hair and looked very cute peddling on my bike.

seems people came all over to go to this resort but it was all a secret. by boat, by road. people flew in to come here. some people walked for miles to come here cause they were poor and still wanted to be there.

i walked on the property and instantly felt good and relaxed. i found somebody and asked where i could apply and suddenly my feel good vibes were off. i was back to normal as they kept wildly gesturing for me to just go look for a certain person.

i started walking around and saw nobody was really doing anything. people were just laying around and talking. some were just very gently touching each other. and talking softly like they were going to fall asleep eventually where they were.

i ran into one fellow who asked me what there was to do around here in a state that could only be described as the sleepy afterglow one gets after sex. i tried telling him there was this amazing archaeological dig going on in town that might be the actual first settlement in the united states (it actually is real, ). he insisted he give me a quick peck once i realized he was so stoned on funny juices and i was wasting time. i should look for who i needed to to try to apply for a job.

i needed to use the rest room so i kept wandering around looking for one and i found it near a parking lot people were coming in from. i go in and three old ladies come in right after me. i let them have their pick of stalls though they also had the same quasi stoned stated. i finally got into a stall and i could hear them whispering and their male partners came in and they started to caress each other in this broken down bathroom. why this bathroom was so janked was beyond me. the stall doors were coming off and the sink would only shoot cold water, but everything was painted a clean white and the windows let in a lot of light. the rest of the resort when you first walked in was very nice. like a lake cabin lodge. logs of wood. i tried to finish up in the bathroom as much as i could and got my bag and headed out of there while old ladies giggles.

i started walking around the place and headed up stairs. all the rooms had mattresses on the floors and rumbled blankets and sheets scattered about. people were going into random rooms to feel good and just touch and caress their partners and friends. problem is in one random room was a pair of killers. it was part of the resort that nobody realized. they would not kill everybody. they would just randomly stay in a room for awhile and if somebody chose to come into that room, they got killed. then eventually the killers would pick another random room to lay in wait to kill whomever came into the room. they wore brown terry cloth robes with hoods. one had an axe. they killed cleanly. each room painted bright white. windows letting in lots of natural light.

i started wandering around outside and saw somebody i know who was there with his girlfriend. they were in the picnic pavilion outside. i keep trying to shake him and tell him to get out of here, o go. this place was not for him, but he was so stoned in afterglowy stuff he just told me i was silly and hugged his girlfriend tighter.

i went deep down into the basement and there was a show going on with performers. it was some weird white rabbit tale. it mutated alice in wonderland and peter pan. at one point an acrobat was twirling like a vertical wheel over an open flame changing from a rabbit in a suit to peter pan to alice. the crowd was so dazed they there was no applause and this angered the performers as they were doing incredible feats of magic.

i found a back door, a service door... got on bike and i biked away. not looking back and firm in my beliefs i didn't want to.

thing was while i was dreaming the whole time there was a second track running of philosophical implications. the start of the dream was how easy it should be that a cute non threatening white girl can get jobs at resorts because people want something they believe pretty and non threatening can serve them. put women more in service roles and less in equal roles.

the second part when i was wandering around i saw everybody had pamphlets for the place and the running track was talking about how society sexualizes everything whether they know it or not, that is why everybody was there because of subliminal sexualizationn hence the afterglowy stare. people want to be turned on. they want to feel like their needs are the most important and they want to feel good. what does that but focused sex? the problem is that it's desensitized them to caring for others are realizing reality doesn't work that way. they become so self involved that if this is taken away they get angry.

the third part with the rooms and serial killers was just blantant. sex does feel good and nothing is wrong with sex, but sometimes when you take chances with it you end up in death. the fact nobody knew these killers were around though it was part of the resort just means that there is ALWAYS a chance and people never think it would happen to them.

the fourth part with the performers was about (according to this track) gender roles and gender. how one person can be anything they want and it doesn't matter because they are human and still amazing. but nobody was noticing even though the performance was right in front of them. nobody wanted to say or think, they just thought it was pretty flashing lights.


i woke up tired
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Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012

My tweets
1:49 am
  • Tue, 10:05: Win a $5k Golden Parachute to pay off my Student Loans? fuck yeah! via @skillshare
  • Tue, 11:16: people have asked. for my birthday i want lowes cards. have to finish closet in my studio & want to get pond started. just sayin ;)
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Thursday, January 26th, 2012

Мои твиты
10:45 pm
  • Чт, 21:52: Steven is laying in bed sick txting me: "i'm so sick, i keep thinking of mel gibson" me: "what??? why??" steven: no f-in idea."
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Tuesday, January 24th, 2012

Мои твиты
12:13 pm
  • Пн, 17:07: my dogs are easily amused. threadbare but soft blankets. light reflections. pets. cats that are stuck under the house & howling for hours.
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Saturday, January 21st, 2012

Мои твиты
6:45 pm
  • Пт, 21:21: it's the ones who want to be re-incarnated that usually don't need to be.
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you can dwell in the |past|, or |pick a day|