The Insurance Company

Another issue that directly concerns me about receipts is the question of my said father’s insurance company. He asked me periodically for my receipts. I had absolutely no direct contact with his insurance. But just before he passed away my father mentioned that this insurance agency would manage his financial affairs during his lifetime. But all his financial assets, upon his death, would go to this insurance agency.

Let me tell you what happened when he died. Someone (I do not know who) threw me out, naked, from his house out on the street. A neighbor, being embarrassed, wanted to take me inside his house. But his woman did not appreciate me going inside. After a discussion, they decided to give me shelter in the dining room. If I made a mess, it was cleanable.

So, there was not money after my father’s death. And the furniture and the houses remained intact. As for what happened to the valuables, including the jewelry remains a mystery to this day.

When my parents occupied the house, it was selling for $750,000.00 or thereabouts. However, the mayor of the city said there was no reason to leave everything. tact. What would I do so that it would be? Suffice it to say, I sold the house, and I have no proof of the fact, for $110,000 and I would waive the price if the man who got the house took care, as much as he could, of the messy financial aspect. To sum it up, the money and all the valuables disappeared pell-mell. The estate was in a mess. So much for good intentions.

So, I go back to my receipts. Did my father’s insurance agency claim they were responsible for all the purchases I made in that difficult and dangerous time when I amassed them for my cultural activities? And if they did, did they claim that they were supporters of my activities? How come they did not support my health situation? The only thing I can think of is that an unknown entity used the receipts for their own purposes.

 

Speaking of those receipts

I am not the only person who has been in this kind of situation. I have been in a residence run by an austere religious order. On the non-believer’s side, the staff gave me periodic instructions to avoid contact with the religious community. I have always thought it was not to contaminate them with my non-believer jive. So, I had a while time to observe two communities: the community of artists to which I belonged for a while and a deeply religious group of women. I noted that one had a reputation for being extremely poor and overly frank while the other, the religious community, was very wealthy but had taken a vow of silence. I wrote about this.

Life is fun. I often refer to Aesop’s fable of the Lion and the Mouse. The lion considered the mouse too small to pay back a magnificent lion for his good deed. Time would prove this wrong.

One fine day a group of devotees came to talk about the two communities and the fact specifically about vows of silence. The people who have associated with me have silenced me for years. This is why I write. I have a great fear of dying without having my wishes respected due to the simple fact that I cannot speak anymore.

This group said to me they have a terrible problem in the religious community. They are commonly bound to a vow of silence under bad circumstances. Such was the case of one lady who happened to have been particularly important in the French-Canadian music scene. I do not remember everything exactly except that she did not necessarily join the austere religious community in desirable circumstances. This was quite a terrible thing. The problem was, not only were people forced to take vows for distinct reasons, but they also had the unadmirable problem of the distribution of wealth and important personal items. Horribly to them, their assailants were routinely getting acquisition of all their important possessions. Okay, so force in the clergy is a huge problem. Perhaps an unsurmountable problem. But the vow of silence, which is routine, also does have the undesirable effect of having horrible people get all their stuff instead of the right people, the people they admire and love. After years in seclusion, if they would come out, people sworn to silence would be unable to rectify the situation, and this would be until death.

So, here I am talking about inheritance. My inheritance. Can the issues I am dealing with also be the issues they were working to fix?

For example, those that would be my companions shut me up effectively before I went into the residence run by the austere community. Sometimes community workers marginalized themselves but also by said family members and friends. It has often been the case, before I went anywhere near anything devout, that I have been in the company of people who not only were content but insisted on a one-way conversation. This involved me only listening to a complete monologue. This habit seemed to go from person to person, from social situation to social situation, and has been going on since the late teenage years.

But As I was eating my Saturday lunch, I realized that all the stuff with the Insurance company and the receipt taker that I have been writing about might be just the reasons this injustice is continuing in this austere religious community. They have all this money, and they do not have any possessions. But no one over-talks about what happened to the possessions they had before. Or what happens to the few possessions they cherish. Except one time, they came to me in a group to talk about it. Again, imagine significant others in your world horribly assailed you and successfully so, for a lifetime. (I feel the same.) But at the same time, imagine how it feels to have your special stuff, even your fortune, go to perfectly terrible people to you, simply because people that associated with you dictated that you must listen to their monologue in silence. It is my experience that a group of people condemning someone to speechlessness is not an issue at all. It is time.

Incidentally, one of the injured parties used to be a famous French-Canadian vocalist and composer. Immensely popular as well. She came out, at my suggestion, years ago to tape under her old stage name, a comedy routine. In this comedy routine, I told her, and she did it, to mention the people who were dear to her. And she did.

I had the opportunity to listen to her on our film day in the senior’s residence before someone left. I did not understand everything) but I certainly recognized the lady, and I knew what she was doing.

Again, let us leave aside that in the courts it is the men and the fathers of our society that decide the fate of women in terrible times of social turmoil. If it is not to solve the time to solve this problem, then at least we can aim for one thing. Let our possessions, even the authorities that confiscate them, go to the ones we admire and respect, not to people who have hurt us or even strangers who claim stupid things about getting these things with the injured parties’ permission.

 

 

 

My take. International Women's Day March 8 2023

 In honor of nationals international Women's Day our residents aired a film. Among many wise issues it discussed one of the things that hit me had to do with the fact that the more the victim is silent the more the victim is the victim. The victims worst enemy is silence period now this is not always gonna have been and since in the past I have been shrieking in distress and have been punished for making noise I guess when I published this article it will be private. Hence it's best to put it on the dark log.

I'm reaching 65 years old and I have been told that I now qualify for a Canada pension since I lived in Canada over 40 years. This has created a great deal of distress for me. I find it horrible that I have lived my whole life it's such a vile country in which I can only live I'm below the poverty line. I find myself in a great disgrace for that. And I'm surrounded by people who think it's a very high thing not to have money. As a matter of fact they think it's horrible to have money. That's just the tip of the iceberg. I find myself feeling a great despair now. I don't find myself so upset that it seems like that i'm unusual. Everybody seems to be happy to just live poorly. As a matter of fact I find a lot of women who are not just good they're holding because they have nothing at all. So why am I mortified and sick to find that at 65 years old I'm going to get it guaranteed supplement income worthy of someone who doesn't even qualify to live above the poverty line

So I've been doing a fair amount of thinking. And since I'm not to complain a hell of a lot of crying alone and feeling sick about the whole issue. So my memory comes back sometimes. And I'm hitting two workers from the halfway house I lived in for over 20 years. I'm thinking of them again and again. Because I remember them as part of a team when I went for a vacation in the country. This was a team of which they were the workers who came at the beginning to arrange things. And then there was a nurse who I don't remember as clearly. And then there was someone else. The reason I I was put in some sort of apartment hospitality apartment in order to be divested of every single thing I had and to be created as a new family and to be introduced by a man who would claim to be my father and has been for a while or his organization and simply and clearly divest me of every single penny and every single thing I ever had. Oh were they pious oh are they good to fight for me as long as that is what it is.

The man was introduced to me after a great amount of beatings on my head as my new father. Again he would throughout the years with his organization leave me absolutely destitute. Once that was established they would be my family and I would go to meet their house what 1/2 hours there and back to eat supper as a disobedient daughter. The problem with these two women is they surfaced again in the halfway house.

now I remember these two people clearly by face I recognize them clearly. The first primary workers came as a team the two of them in the halfway house again. Not only that the nurse that they started the nurse that came after them appeared in the halfway house for a time as well. I'm very disturbed at this because I have lost so much. Without even knowing it until I've begun to remember them as working first of all unabashedly and without any kind of concern for decency or any kind of ideas of a worker to break me and take my money and identity and give me some horrible man as a new father who would take duly everything which he was gonna do and leave nothing. And then secondly as a greatly moral high polluting pious and righteous people helping the unfortunate on the street until her other nurse came along. OK since I don't remember much what happened at the halfway house except everything kind of went to pieces and I've been in a horrible place for a long time as damned it occurs to me to wonder what I did or what happened that everything would be taken away if it was in the forward house because I did something. Because they arranged that I looked like it when they gave me a new family who took everything.

The thing that's been bothering me a lot about getting my pension because I lived in Canada 40 years is where do they think I lived before all this horrible stuff happened and I moved out of my house to get my university education. Now getting back to the question of silence is the worst enemy of human trafficking, I guess even before the silence is the breaking of her mind so that the victim like myself will not ever say anything about the horror they endure for a lifetime.

So instead of being grateful or happy from living for 40 years in Canada I feel a horror of the place and the horror of the whole situation. The thing that comes back to my mind again is why I am so distressed of my lifelong poverty. I should be OK with it at least if I was raised to harm that fate. Why. new line this is very hard for me too conceptualize so I'm writing this to clear my thoughts dude this has been bothering me for a while. And there's more thoughts about it but right now I'm gonna stop here and I'm going to publish it on the dark log which is a private blog just like this untouched and confused confused until I get back to it.

One other thing that's been going through my mind is why they would only break me as a mature woman of 25 years old and then later on the street in the halfway house. They have had ample freedom with these two attacks and I really don't see why they have to wait till I was so old before they attacked me. Could this breaking of a mind and spirit and social ruining have occurred many times before in my life? Of this for gross material gain gross material gain?

My legs. November 27th Sunday

I moved into a new apartment. It is a genuinely nice feeling. one thing that I like is the bathroom. For a long time in years, I have had my own bathroom. I came here with truly little money. I knew I would not be able to do too many things to beautify my apartment. So, I decided to concentrate on fixing up, as much as possible, the bathroom. One of the things I have there is a great big mirror. And today I got a good look at my body. And for the first time, I had a good clear look at my legs. My legs have been grossly injured. Well, that is why I cannot see the sights of the city and film them as I would have loved to do. It also shows me clearly. I have been in a devout house. This is a house to create women who will never leave their cell in a convent. Hence my crippled legs. Rose. It has been very painful to see it. but at least I could clearly see it now. I know the reason devotees to the convent hurt them. and I think the wanton attack on my health and my body is an outrage. And quite horrible to me.

No, it is not that no one warned me about it. Sometimes, however, no matter how significant others warn you, or if you are hurt or your legs are crippled, all you could do is listen. You cannot avoid it. How was I warned? I feel stupid. Warned? Hello. They were screaming about it all the time. The people of the religious order, in the house, thought that violent talk was the cat's meow. They could not have loved it more period from the weird and violent pictures in the Chapel to the incessant celebrations of the horrible demise of human beings in the name of All Saints Day, there was a steady stream of violent talk. Obviously, they were doing something. And obviously, I could not do anything about it but just endure consistent repeated violent and useless attacks on my body and my mind.

The thing that really revolts me, the thing that really perplexes me, is how I managed to get there in the first place. First, I am a pacifist. I hate violence. I get sick thinking about it. When I was a little girl, I did not even like sad endings in television programs. My parents would go through television programs with me to make sure they had a happy conclusion. So how did I end up in such a bizarre place for me.?

I came there once again as I have throughout my life because I did not have a place to find to live. The halfway house I had lived in for about two decades was centrally located downtown. Obviously in a troubled neighborhood. Obviously, since halfway houses are part of the periphery of a prison system, bloody attacks were common there. But one thing they did was make sure I could walk. Another thing they did was make sure I did the housework there. In the halfway house I mean. By the time the thing closed, because of lack of funding, I was so heartily sick of doing housework, that the small, tiny cell I found myself in, which only had a bed and very Spartan furniture, was a relief to go to. Because I did not have to do housework. I did not have to do it anymore.

That is another strange thing that I do not understand. Before I left my family's home, I mean, my mother forbade me to do the housework. That was my mother's domain. These were her expensive instruments. That was a long time ago. And yet I have retained throughout my life a great distaste for doing housework. So how did I end up in this halfway house? In which white place, was to clearly do the housework? That was so painful that the next step for home became a convent in which the modus operandi was extreme violence. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire.

So, as I said before, I got a good clear look in my legs today, for the very first time in a long time. And now I see what happened to me when I moved there. They beat me up clearly. Like they do to the pious women who go there. So, it could look like that I have taken the cloth and I have willingly forsaken the world and I would never leave the convent or my cell. Everybody I talk to (albeit there were very few I talked to) warned me. But it seemed like there was nowhere to go despite all these warnings. Just for your information, as the years went by and the deeply devout Were able to muster a great deal of money and looked with great disdain at inferior beings, there was, in this house of religion, a steady consistent stream glorifying violence. Not only was that the most important icon in the house, but it was also a symbol that made you focus on torture. The crucifix. There was no way I was going to follow that religion. There was talk about hell. but as people talked about hell, I looked at the devout women dressed in Gray and white and morbid colors like that. At first, I did not believe in my heart, and I still do not believe that they are righteous. And second, I did not feel they were good. And third of all there was no way I would come anywhere near them to listen to anything more than what they could not avoid telling everybody. That included, as far as I was concerned,  their religious teachings, and all talk about my lack of ability or dignity as a human being. The most I wanted them to do was just go away from them. Despite the beatings, which obviously were not that easy to ignore, I maintained a great distaste (and still do) for the concept of violence.

As I write this down, I realized just how much I was in trouble there. I also feel deeply, as usual, that the gross injuries that were inflicted on me were useless. I do not want to move to the country, I do not want to become religious, I hate to stay at home like I do, and I hate it more because it is due to a violent beating. I also realize, quite grimly, and maybe stupidly, and uselessly, I was the outsider there that way paid because everybody was wonderfully delighted with violent talk in that religious place. So, what was I to expect?

The funny thing is, when I arrived there, seeing that there were three meals a day, and no housework to do, I felt that intense feeling of relief. For years I felt that. And as the years progressed, I got increasingly severe beatings. Go figure.

 

Situational constraints changes things

I drafted this article before I changed residences

Prejudices and Problems

The gallery in our residence is my responsibility and has been my sole responsibility for about ten years. Although I had the permission of the management to put my exhibitions up this did not mean I had the support of one or two people. In fact, although people on the floor would complement my work from time to time one woman summed up the general attitude towards the project. I will never forget what she said but it hits the spot. She said no one ever cares what you put up on the wall: it is just a wall.

Despite this fact, I put up about forty different exhibitions in the corridor. I do not know what the order that runs place thinks about the art, but it was clear to me that most people who passed by our floor did not hold store pf the idea of art for art’s sake. Very soon, the works that the house sold had their price dramatically lowered to a small sum of money. A symbolic sum. I never really asked if the money went to the chapel, but I have always assumed that was the deal.

So, despite the fact I passionately believed in the value and worth of art (I am an artist) I had the dubious pleasure of working years on a never formally recognized or supported the gallery. Once an observer told me what it looked like. She had a friend that put up an exhibition on the waterfront. It took a long time to put up and he worked on it hard. But no one ever knew about it. And no one would ever see it. It disappeared without a trace without anyone having a suspicion that it had ever even taken place. This motivated me to create a copycat of the exhibition online called the Lost Gallery. This online exhibition exists to this day.

The Second Floor

The staff allowed the gallery to exist because it became useful for the people living on the second floor where it took place. The fourth floor of the residence was for international visitors. They were coming and had important things to say and associates to talk to in and out of the community. The first floor was where the offices were, and this was for residents who had more difficult problems. They too had people talking with them because they needed the support necessary even to just live in the residence. The second floor, however, was the floor where women were much more isolated. The general rule of the thumb was that on my floor, women were unable to say what they felt. They had no visitors and no discussion. (Mostly residents had to keep quiet and out of the way. This was a situation that was difficult (and this still is). It led to visitors avoiding the second floor because the women were difficult. So, second-floor residents became isolated, and their problems often remained unsolved. They also got a bad reputation with the floor.

 

The Exhibition and Change

When I started the exhibition, things started to change. As the artwork, I collected got more expensive another reason to stay away from the floor evolved. There was an expensive art collection. Remember what I said about the women on the second floor. I could sum it up with an old expression. Life is cheap. Society labeled us as middle-aged and isolated and relegated us as insignificant. But the ladies on the floor. became more important because there was something of worth on the floor. There was an expensive art collection and therefore they too were expensive. At least more expensive than before. This made a major improvement to the kind of women that got shelter on the floor.

The Course of Time

So, the deal is, that the community felt that art was not worthwhile. So, with time, the second-floor art achieved a purpose, organically, mostly. It became an avenue to redefine the worth of the women on the floor. It became a source of their own empowerment, a redefinition of their worth. Situational constraints, the very disapproval of art for art’s sake, became a tool to change the role of the art. It set up a greater worth of the inhabitants on the second floor, and for the shelter in general. And in this manner got more community resources and help for a population of chronically neglected.

Over time, the art that showed on the floor became more valuable. Right now, we have a series of hand-sewn tapestries framed with custom-made hand-carved wood frames installed there. They are examples of an inherited art collection. Even ten years before, the presence of this collection would have not been possible. Years ago, someone might have, in a fit of confusion, defaced one of the tapestries. Or one or two might have mysteriously disappeared. But I am happy to say they have remained unharmed in their respective places for a respectable couple of years. Life goes on.

My Position

Practically, because I have worked for over a decade at the Gallery, about a year ago the establishment that runs the place gave me the permission to assume the position of Artist in Residence of the place.

As for myself, after years of working on the gallery, and having a new exhibition of work each season it has been about two years that I now tend to a permanent unchanging exhibition. Right now, the home is in transition as the religious order is selling it. Management asked residents to vacate the premises in the coming year. So, I am now taking advantage of the situation and finally looking for an avenue to secure, permanently my extensive collection of art. So far, I have no information on how to do this because I have truly little money to live on.

Gratitude Journaling -November 1, 2021

 

Gratitude Journaling -November 1^st

 

S: let us start with gratitude for the present moment. Recall something you feel thankful for today maybe it is a person. or an experience. or even just a feeling. Whatever it is bring it to mind with every little detail. something you feel thankful for. Think about why it matters. what it means to you. How it adds to your life or your experience I will give you a minute to reflect.

K: I am grateful and happy with my new Snowball Ice Mike.

1.       I like the fact that I can easily record the instructions for my meditation.

2.       I like the fact that is faster than writing when I write down my own thoughts.

3.       I like the fact that it looks professional.

4.       and I like the fact that it hears me much better than any other recording device I have. This makes my work much easier.

 

S: Let us think about something you are grateful for in your past. Remembering the good moments throughout our lives can help lift our spirits. So what is one thing you are grateful for in your past? It could be a lesson learned or an experience or a person. Visualize it filling in every detail and reflect or journal about this thing and what it means to you. the feelings it created for you or the value and added to your life I will give you some time.

 

K: I am proud of the fact that I had some time as a news correspondent.

1.       It gives me the ability to have the courage to create even if I sometimes feel very ugly.

2.       I also like the fact that I traveled extensively around the world.

3.       A woman in action is often in very Spartan circumstances. So, this makes it easier for me to have a sense of pride when I live poorly.

It is not perfect but with this knowledge, I could function with a sense of my own self-worth.

 

S: And finally let us think of the future. we all have something to hope for, to look forward to. it is a place you will travel to or someone you will get to see and spend time with. or a change you are working on to create in your community or even a delicious meal you are going to cook today. Reflect on what you are grateful for in your future right now. write or think about how it will add to your life and why it matters.

 K: I am grateful that I have amassed enough materials and figured out how to label and identify all my books.

Today I am going to go downstairs to do some labeling for my supplies. I am going to have such an enjoyable time by saving time afterward. It is going to be a relief.

I like to work on it a little bit. Each time I work on it I think of something to make it more efficient. I realized I am not a professional but at least I am getting it done.

I finally figured out to just do the labels and not worry about doing it on the computer at this time it takes too long at this time. I must get the job done.

 S; Your gratitude is so powerful. Just reflect on gratitude for your present past and future.

I am grateful for my past present and future

 You are alive and there is so much possibility and what can come next. In the words of Maya Angelo: “This is a wonderful day.  I have never seen this one before.”

 When you are ready open your eyes and let your arms rest softly.

 

Gratitude letter June 11th, 2022, to myself

Answering the daily shine Monday, June 6

S: Mondays can be a lot. You are maybe diving back into the work week or the hustle of whatever your day today is…. but I like to think Mondays are a great day for gratitude. Because even though we can't know what the week holds we can be grateful for this chance to show up. We can be grateful for this opportunity to see what happens and we can be grateful to take on this week alongside people we care about.

Studies show that writing gratitude letters can improve our own mental health and if you give it to a person you write about, it can help them feel good too. It creates a positive ripple effect. So today let's try writing a gratitude letter together.

K: I find it very difficult to communicate with anybody today and have felt this for a long time. So as usual I'll be ready to letter to myself until I can get rid of this all-encompassing bitterness.

S: Now think of someone you would like to show appreciation for. It could be someone who's made an impact on your life, or it can be a friend or a family member who makes you smile. or maybe you would like to appreciate yourself. It works to take a moment to think about who you're grateful for and start your letter addressing it to this person

K: OK I'm going to start by addressing the letter to myself.

Dear Kathy……

 S: now think about how this person has impacted your life. Like how you met and reflect on meaningful words phrases or lessons they've shared. Or fun memories that stick out in your mind. Orr how they've shaped your life for the better.

 if you are writing a letter to yourself, think about one of your shining qualities, you're proud of. Or a moment where you showed strength and courage. I'll give you a few minutes to write and no there's no right or wrong way to do this just see where this exercise takes you to let gratitude be your guide. I'll let you know when you have 30 seconds left but you can always hit pause if you want more time

K: OK today was a tough day in the morning. I was crawling around trying to get my head straight in figuring out what I would do. I knew I wanted to go out for breakfast, but I somehow got muddled and distressed as to figuring out where. Luckily, I got to go to my favorite restaurants on Saint Lawrence Street. I arrived there and I realized the whole bloody street is closed. That means I would have to walk about a mile to get all the way home. This would take too much energy for me to get home. that would mean I would be useless after the walk. so, I was thinking of going downtown to an expensive store and just picking up my stuff and taking advantage of the more expensive bus schedules and not having to worry about walking too much. I was thinking about which direction to go… should I go east or west north or south. But as luck would have it, I finally hit the thrift shop and I was glad I did I found 1000 things. One good thing was I found an ice cream scoop. if I would have gone online to my favorite store, I would have to pay 1000 times more for the ice cream scoop. I found all sorts of stuff. Things worked out well because I found a faster way to get home as well. You just must use your mind; I just must use my mind. sometimes you must just sit down and think it through and this time I did it.

S: or reflect on your gratitude now I want you to imagine the receiver. Or you are opening the gratitude letter. Think about their response facial expressions and body language. Maybe they're smiling and beaming at your letter they could also feel overwhelmed and excited. On a separate page in your journal write down a couple of words you hope they feel.

K: I hope that I think of this and that I feel proud and pleased that the **** in my head is somehow getting together. often, I am muddled and confused (I also feel down that my portable Blender doesn’t blend- I was so looking forward to my breakfast smoothie).  but also, I have times when if I sit down and quietly think I figure out what to do and they get things done. This is new and this is rewarding.

S: Amazing work today. Gratitude is an incredible self-care and community care tool and know that you can always turn to it. you can keep this gratitude letter as a reminder of all you're grateful for or if you feel comfortable giving it to a person who wrote about it, I encourage you to do so just extending kind words and the surprise of a handwritten letter is enough to make someone’s day

¨Place both your hands on your heart. connect to this place where your gratitude lives… where your most caring self lives… and repeat after me: I am filled with gratitude.

Attaching to the Day

 Monday April 18^th

Three questions you can ask yourself each morning to attach to the day:

1.       Why does the work I do matter to me?

2.       Who are the People who support me in my success?

3.       What would I like to focus on today?

Why does the work I do matter to me? Why do I find it meaningful?

I surround myself with colour. I suppose it is in rebellion to the fact that society and the education system have relegated me to work that I find unpleasant in one particular manner or another. I do not know why. People talk about suffering the unpleasant stuff to gain endurance and understanding. But once you are in a position of taking difficult jobs it is there for a lifetime. Like it is a lifetime of enduring, for a large part of your life, unpleasantness. You never escape from it. At least that is what I found. Either significant others in the job refer to me as someone low or base. Or I work an unpleasant job. For example,  my repetitive job is agonizing and monotonous. Like doing one thing the whole time, I am working. Let us say entering receipts. I have no other occupation but doing that the whole time.

Or significant others make it clear that to them  I am stupid or brutish. I am a very poor woman at this time.  And yet I try to dress attractively as befits a woman who is working. I have my own company and poverty permitting, I spend all of my time trying to find that secret sauce to get rid of my own condition of poverty. And the big part of the struggle is believing in my own dignity. I find it quite terrible to think of wearing only one or two dresses. Like a uniform. Case in point, the mask thing, with the pandemic, bothers me. Simple dress codes and masks hide your face. You have no face. You have no identity. That is why working for the poor, or the rich, and taking nothing for yourself, bothers me. If you have no possessions that, is it. I find it does not make my life easier. It makes one truly poor. If you were to die tomorrow, you would have no testimony to your particular talents or that you existed at all.

When I work, I work always to create a legend of myself. It sounds contradictory: I on the one hand am extremely poor (and with low self-esteem because of it). And yet I try to surround myself with colours. Always colours. If I do not create a work of art, I create a fantasy world. I think about my life, problems, and solutions. I mull over situations both past and present. I keep on saying to myself, having no paying job, that I am base. And I suppose that is why I immerse myself in colours. If I were feeling better, I would love to continue going to the high arts. Also, if I had more money. Now the money I spent on live performance is going to money spent on my computer work.

Contracts, contract, contracts. Always contracts. Just today I had internet installed in my new apartment. They only do it with a two-year contract. Of your internet will be very slow. I also have a two-year contract on my phone. And yet, As I write and listen to Netflix and Spotify, to YouTube, and Facebook, I feel connected to somebody out there.

Who are the people who support you and your success? Who is in your corner who wishes you to do well? These are the people who are rooting you on. Even your younger self.

I am listening to meditation apps, and they repeatedly talk about getting rid of all this techno bulls**t. of unplugging. To go for walks, to read a book to get back into nature. Is there anybody out there who has had a world of only this? And has been sick at heart from the relentless reality? I find the social network like watching television but doing something that I dreamt of as a child. Now I can interact with the action. I do not do it very much. But the computer gives me a world of thought to step into. Like writing on a blog that people will read. Instead of being just myself, mostly unable to talk or mingle. But the contracts are scary though.

Occasionally in my life, I meet a celebrity. I really find these meetings very important. Impressive. I find a thrill in them. It is an old habit. I know that often they are not the way they look when they are “famous” Often they go back to being and looking regular. But I trip on the extraordinary encounters I have with celebrities. I believe I know, from life experiences certain celebrities write to me or about me. From another world perhaps once our very brief encounter has ended. But even though the message is not perfectly what I want it to be. I feel touched and important when someone writes a song with me in mind. I hear on the radio. I see it on YouTube. I still trip on it after so many years.

What do I want to focus on today?

The challenge is, for me, to look at the big picture. Right now, I just moved into my own apartment after living in a religious community for decades. SO, there are dozens of boxes of stuff to put away. The move has been taking up my time for months now. I just paid the movers to move me and there are still a lot of things in the old place. I have been packing. Now I am unpacking. Now really cool stuff that is happening. For example, I now have an easy chair with a stool for my feet. What a luxury. There is enough room for this. So, I do not have the time or energy to do the seven artwork a week (one for each day) as I want. But I am placing my stuff in the best way possible. So, although I am not producing as much as I would like I hope this experience will reap more and better positive work output. So, for now I focus on placing my stuff. Not only unpacking but getting the best bang for my bucks.

Note: APril 25, 2022

As I read what I wrote before, I think of myself as black: I write resembling someone with the same thought perspective as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman written by Arther Miller in 1949.