Sunday, April 12, 2009

I'm sending you good vibes because I am you and you are me.

This morning I woke up early...6:30am early. I had fallen asleep on the couch, and at six I herd my fathers phone ring, and as always I had a terriable taste in my mouth so I rinsed out my mouth with mouth wash, and burshed my teeth. After that I was awake.

So waking up so early, I decided to blog, and I did so on Myspace. I wrote a blog about how awsome I am. I never write blogs about Kool I am, yes that's Kool with a K. I prasied myself, every word I write is glorius, and every person who gets read my blogs, are privy to pearls of my inteligance. Everyone who reads my blog is inferiour to me. Of course I was being ficisous, but it felt good to praise myself so highly. It may be unwarented, but it felt gooooooooood.

Not a single comment on that blog. Fuck I've only had 58 views of my blog this week. Whomever is still reading my Myspace blog is going to wonder if that was joke, or really deep down I am that narcassitc.

Far from it. I question everything I do, everything I write, eveything I say, I question every desion I make. I write one paragraph of my book, and I immediatly hate it. Then I question the fact that I'm writing a book about an addict. There are million and billions of addicts world wide, who the fuck am I to write about my addiction. Alot of people suffered worse than I have, have better stories to tell than I do, yet here I am writing a book about my addiction, and Manic Depression. There are probably millions of books like mine sent into liteary agents, and those writers are probably better than I am, and show more passion, but I swear on my sisters grave I have the most passion inside me to write, real raw fucking passion. I paint sometimes, and I find that I love doing that. Sometime I pain abstract, and sometimes I paint a picture. I know I'm not a talented painter. I should take a photo of one of the paintings I brought along with me to Hawaii, and you all can laugh, and think to yourselves a child could have painted that.

Sometimes I paint abstract, trying to colors right, and in making the red, I sometimes cut my finger tips to mix in with the red paint, so the picture is literally a piece of me. I shake out my dandruf, and mix it in with my paint, so pieces of my DNA are mixed in with my abstracts. When I'm painting I often wish I had a studio, where I could have huge canvases, and tons of paints, all the colors in the world, and I mix them and make new colors, and when I'm done hang the canvas up on my celing in my bedroom so I can look at everynight before I fall asleep. I like to put stars in my abstracts, or more like yellow spots spratically placed. In that abstract painting I've put all my emotions, every feeling I was feeling at that moment. If I feel like I'll never succeed, I'll paint that emotion, if I feel like the reincarnation of Kurt Cobain, I paint that emotion. I just use all these burshes and paints, and whatever comes out, ugly, or not I love it.

Unlike with my writing. My writing has to be honest, and I want to have flow with my words. I want my writing to be like my painting.

To all who read this I am sending out good vibrations, and good thoughts for each and everyone of you. Even if I have no idea who you are, or that your even reading. I will rub my Buddah's belly and wish that the universes will be done upon you. Lots of love, and thankfullness.

Anna Grace


Memoirs from The Black House said...

That's it a nice positive comment for once... just because we're smackheads doesn't mean we have to be down on ourselves.

I always think the world likes to see us struggling... they hate to see happy addicts. But I will never give in to that... I will smile and laugh even when I'm dying.

Don't forget Anna, there's not many people who've lived what we have... that's why it's always interesting what we say.

30+ followers is still good... there's not so many blogs with even that.

Shane. x

Anonymous said...

your chapters were very realistic. sometimes it was hard to tell if it really happened or just a story about an addict. did all this happen to you specifically?

AnnaGrace said...

Yes, everything that happened in the two chapter, and the rest of the chapters really did happen to me.

Is it how I wrote it that it makes it hard to tell if it is about me?

I'm horriable at dialouge and that can cofuse a reader as to who is saying what to whom.

Everything is the truth.