“my shitty blog”

4mm-14mm – Fisheye – Abstract, creative – a search for truth

I would be amazed at stories, such as, Diary of a Mad Drug Fiend / Alister Crowley – taboo – I had many false starts, living in those beginnings – I thought I was at the end. And it was. Until it wasn’t. Yet another colorful, animated clip. Called life. – Tell it all – Paint a colorful vibrant, spellbinding story. Loving, violent. Gut wrenching, ethereal.

In Black and White.

I was recently asked where am I going to write and publish these ideas. Good question. I started this blog, which is a personal journal in 2011. And I am glad I did. I enjoy writing. It helps me to process. And I have had my share of procession and possession, pugilist, pedantic, punctual and tardy pastimes. I have written them in the moment and events long gone. Vivid memories. Faint recollections. Fights. Court battles. Deaths. Births. Surf adventures. You know every day life. Getting by through writing.

Continue reading “my shitty blog”

L e t G o

passing tram

I re-posted this because, one, I like Noir’s blog. The other reason is this picture made me think of the tight bonds and binds I have been in – in my life. And when I share with some, (I don’t want to insult) And they say in a cheery voice ….. Just Let it Go.

I agree with the let it go – it’s the Just that makes me cringe.

Annual Blog Check Up

Screenshot

This post is an annual check up of my blog.

Hhhhmmmm. A year ago, I was writing – I felt as if the flesh was being torn from the bones of my soul.

I can read that poem and remember. Oh, it was awful.

I came here to Potrero, thinking I was going to help, the kid, go to the University. Nada, no way Jose. This boy is going to swing a machete the rest of his life. – Okay – that took a while to process – to come down from. What a crock of mierda. – Who knows, the many piles of manure that I have stepped in, have become fertilizer in my life.

Continue reading Annual Blog Check Up

Wake Me Up

When it’s all over – when I’m wiser – when I’m older

I use to believe that a criminal was someone who broke the law. And I still believe that. However; it has been brought to my attention that a person is not considered a criminal, unless they have been caught and convicted in a court of law. The latter description leaves a person patting themselves on the back for being smooth. I would call that ex-military man smooth. I am working on my vocabulary. And a way to be more effective in this world that I live in.

Everyone has their own limited perspective. Hence……

I am awake. I am not woke……

****** I just read a post by an adjunct professor who had been raised by missionaries. Oh – missionaries. She gave a great description of how her parents traveled to foreign countries to teach the heathens about the Lord.

Why do people show up and believe that God arrived with them. Maybe in their suitcase.

The post was good. But it was AI generated. It would have been a great post, if it didn’t have the vocabulary, grammar and design of a machine. She sold her soul – to IBM. It could be temporary, as I do believe in salvation.

I believe I will wake up – when I die.

Until then…….????????

Personal Waste

I do not understand the New Gringos. But I have witnessed it over and over. No desire to assimilate into the culture of the country.

A ride to the beach use to be like a dream and now it’s a nightmare.

I don’t care to elaborate on this freaky manner that tourism and immigration (progress) has caused.

After surviving my life’s traumas I woke up to an unrecognizable world. But I am not “woke”. According to Trump the KKK are good people. Homeless people are sleeping on the sidewalks, dying from phentanol, and some people think all white people are bad and all black people are good.

I give up. I surrender. It’s best for me to work to have a good day and be kind to the people in front of me.

To provide details of the misery I have created for myself, would be stirring the cauldron. I can’t straighten this world out. Kimberly and Kristy are behaving like mean girls, but chances are they are oblivious to their ignorance. And Ellen can remember when. I do too. The change is horrific. The people on the beach are being bull dozed over. Pura vida.

I know my heart. I am not greedy or jealous of anyone. I don’t even understand those two character defects at the moment. I can’t imagine being angry at some poor woman trying to feed her kids. Or hurt some child; not wanting them to experience a lunch, in the school hours. I’m not fearful. That’s the worst. And the best.

The answer is meditation.

Aesthetic

Self Portrait

This screen shot of my media pics, at a glance, are the most representative of my life at this moment.

I am taken back again. Over and over. Never disappointed at the changes in our lives; our world.

I came to Costa Rica to be an aesthetic and live with the Indians. That happened and it didn’t happen.

God gives and God takes away…I am not God.

I have a brain. I will assume that you have one as well. Artificial Intelligence is bizarre to say the least. No vision, no artistry, no spiritual connection.

Artificial

Burglars, Racism and WTF is Ornithology

As Talwan rants on his dead stacks, I am in the jungle experiencing life. I guess Tal uses 5 syllable words to impress students. Yeah he knows what a verb is. Good Lord. The pendulum swings. The dog barks. The cock crows. The monkeys howls. And in the meantime, apartheid raises its ugly head.

As I passed the pool, young kids were taking their diving instruction. I thought, is there some way to correct this problem? I paid for a Nicaraguan youth to have diving lessons with this group. The South African leader shuffled him into Cepia. I lost my 300 dollars. Would he have done that to a white child here. What! No Way! But a Nicaraguan is viewed as less than. Someone to be a mule. Carry a load.

It’s difficult to go up against. It can be strenuous and energy depleting work. But it’s also its own reward.

I did what I could. I let it go. I place it in the hands of the historians.

I am from Jacksonville FL. A place known for its mean and racial attitude. Past and present. But I don’t mind what anyone says. It is better now.

Yes, it was a conundrum. A terrible, horrible, vile existence in the south. But not all white people were bad and all black people lovely minstrels.

How’s that for a vocabulary. Nouns, verbs, predicates. Mercy me. I think I’ll write a song.

Burglars – people have been stealing since the beginning. We have break-ins here in Costa Rica all of the time. But somehow it’s suppose to be different here. Come to think of it. It is different here.

Pura vida.

Be a beautiful bird watcher.

As you soak in the beautiful colors. The vultures are behind you, sucking up your sh*t, amigo.

Pura vida.

The words are the same. The meaning different.

Learn ~ Accept ~ Dream

I had a focus ! I had a love?

It hurt😘

I had a dream! It was a good one?

It died😘

😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

Lynn Skapyak Harlin is a poet in Jacksonville, Florida. My hometown. She promotes reading and writing. She says, “write about everything.” That is my inspiration today.

Lounging here in my CR casita, my beloved painted red crocks, by my bed. My freshly vacuumed burlap ceiling above me. The concrete floor the same as when I built the house. Never tiled. The concrete pitted.

It has taken a lot of living for me to learn and accept. To give up – to get.

I feel blessed.

When one dream dies – Dream a new one.

Climb – Read a book- Write

Costa Rica Life: Confronting a Burglar Without Borders

I opened my eyes to an unreal and dreaded scene. My mind was saying no, this is not happening. It is happening. Damn it – this is real. My husband was halfway across the room, machete in hand. My dog was perched at my feet, muscles pumped and barking ferociously.

A drug addicted young man, probably illegal, had opened our door and was coming into our house. A crime of opportunity. The door had been left unlocked.

He ran. But he didn’t get far.

Living in Costa Rica is a game of life. A gamble. Different. Either you can adapt or you can’t. Either you live scared or you don’t.

We’re fortunate he didn’t have a gun. He was a desperate, high, kid – someone that three weeks ago, my husband had bought food for. He had been in front of the grocery store; begging. And now he was helping himself to our space. Our home.

Since this “shitty blog” is my journal, I feel the need to document. I also feel the need to write more. But I also have to clean my burlap ceiling.

Come on down to Costa Rica….catch a fish…catch a burglar.

The boat could sink – you could get hurt.

I have to go. I have to clean my ceiling.

Creating a Fairy Tale Home: Embracing Innovation and Independence

We are working to make our home, a home again. Years ago we purchased this corner lot. It was God given. We shared it with another family, but now we are on our own. I am becoming innovative.

I always work to make my places look Fairy Tale. Who needs other’s reality when I can create my own.

I live on the edge of Mordor.

I am surrounded by traveling leprechauns and immigrant ghosts.

Together we live our best lives.