You have the ability to use your inner power
to attract what you want in your life.





Mon 5.23


On the worktable:

A: The new memoir, so far I have only a one word, I wouldn't call it title, appellation: Home. Its folder is filled with '08, '09, and '10 journal files and the script. I also research my daily, and business calendars, for the time period. I started writing it mostly reporter-style for about 10 pages, my year in housing court approach, and then I began adding pedals here and there, like a rose blossoming. My new style is mosaic; I jump backward in the text and extend it, then I go forward and back, and all over. I now see the memoir's basis of a year in housing court as merely the skeleton on which to build my story. That's not usually how I write. I'm the plowman forging straight ahead, click-clacking away, with mouse at left hand, one perfect line straight into the future. Characters' names are forgotten along the way and new ones are given, but I don't go back on the first draft. I don't mind jumping into the unknown, but I want to be in and out, no pauses, no longeurs.

Writing became truly unpleasant when I obsessed about how much I produced. My limit for the day was 2 pages, then it dropped to 1 page. Not that I was looking to produce more, on the contrary, Is it over yet, I would constantly wonder, have I reached my limit, can I get out of here? Then I would click the Print Preview button to see how many lines were left for me to achieve my day's quota, like a school child waiting for teacher's dismissal. I decided I wasn't going to write like that anymore, and it slowly changed to where I now realize that I need to write, otherwise I become unbalanced.

I once had a vision in which an eagle took me flying alongside it; when I looked down there was nothing below, or on either side, or above me. The eagle's message: you have to master the unknown; it's just you flapping your wings out there.

B: I have started working on my appeal of the Non-Payment trial where I counterclaimed, stating the problem of mold was making me sick, wasn't being removed and I shouldn't pay to be made ill. I lost. Bringing a case of mold contamination to housing court, or any other court for that matter, is akin to bringing in a dead cat. Unwelcome. One is caught in an Agent Orange conundrum; prove to us how the mold reaches your apartment, prove to us that your symptoms are caused by mold, sort of like asking how a person got their heart attack. Was it bad news at the office, the heavy dinner, the 3 Scotches, the romp in bed with Gizelle? There is no measurable causal link. I do my research at the public law library at 80 Centre St. and the internet. I have to approach the material logically and causally, a complete reversal of the memoir approach, but interesting in its own way.

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Current favorite this past month has been Seeress