Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

Dear Diary, My Head is Gonna Pop

Dear Diary,


I have to free write, I’m going insane. Turns out that putting together a well thought out, well organized, well edited book of poetry is not as easy as it sounds. The first two books I just threw together. So, seriously, the one that is still available will only be for a little while. When this comes out, the others disappear like they never happened. And since two copies ever sold, and I have one of them, it will disappear, likely never to resurface. They are raw and unedited and a lot of what is in it will not show up in the new one. I’m not just publishing to publish. I’m publishing to showcase my best work. That’s why so hard.


Love is a feeling, not a commitment, but marriage is a promise. A series of promises. And sometimes those promises aren’t kept. But you both made them, so when one slacks off, the other can take over for a while until things even out again. Does that make sense? I don’t have a specific in mind right now, I just read somewhere that love wasn’t a feeling, it was a commitment, and the wrongness of it has been haunting me since. But love is not a promise, and I don’t believe that there is such a thing as unconditional love. Everything comes with conditions. All the love I’ve ever gotten has had conditions and consequences. Unconditional love is something that people who needed comfort came up with, like religion. Nice thought, complete bullshit.


I’m all happy because Doc has gone to bed and I can relax. Something put him in a foul mood tonight, and I don’t know what. So we spent the last 5 hours avoiding eye contact or speech. No fighting, just tense shit. Even the dog is shaking from it.


I’m also happy because I have been stashing journal entries, essays, and untitled poems in notebook files, randomly naming them, and stashing them all in the same folder when I’m tired and stoned. So I have found this treasure trove of writing that I didn’t even remember I had. My memory is cool like that. If I look hard enough, every day is my birthday. But coming up with titles for poems sucks. I have always had problems with it, and there are piles from years when I didn’t care and gave them random, psychotic titles. I have to change those while I edit them. I’m not looking to scare people right out of the gate. Let them read for a while.


I started making a composite video today. A collage that will be mildly animated, in that elements will fade in and out. The soundtrack will be me talking about the piece. It won’t be long. It’s really complicated, but I felt I needed to stop relying on Windows Movie Maker to make my simple-ass videos, and dive straight into Adobe Premiere. I got a rough idea, and started messing around, looking for stock footage and photos for something else, and just ended up doing this. Once I got a clue of the elements I wanted to use, I started asking Google what was possible in Premiere (adobe,com has a wonderful database of how and when to use their programs, but their navigation and search capabilities of that database suck ass, Google is the one to ask, and it will lead you to the right place on the adobe.com site, this applies to other Adobe programs, too). Google answered, and I learned that everything I wanted to do, I could do with Photoshop, Premiere, and Audition, working together. I happen to have those three programs installed, so yay for me! Adobe has many other great programs that come bundled with the terrifyingly expensive Creative suite, I just don’t use them. And they are resource eaters. BTW, if you use Photoshop, let me know, I have a link to the greatest filter set ever. For free. Legal. Lilliane turned me on to it.


Oh, I am so tired of the election coverage. I so yearn to know what else is going on in the world when the TV is on. The European and Asian news shows don’t come on until afternoon, in the early mornings, I am stuck with CNN until 4am. Or, heaven forbid, Morning Joe. Some mornings, it’s fun to watch Mika try to keep from bitch slapping him as he bloviates, others, I just can’t stand his grating voice. This is one of the latter mornings. Last night was just too tense. I’m going to start taking more Xanax. I’m taking 1/4 of my dose per day, I’m not saying why. But I think I may need to throw caution to the wind and double that intake, at least some days. Or nights. I bet if I popped a half now, I would feel better in a half an hour.


Doc brought home some zucchini. I hate the stuff, but I know how to cook it deliciously. I can make a spaghetti sauce with it that not even the pickiest kids will turn away from. I make awesome zucchini/carrot bread, though I can’t share that recipe, as it isn’t mine. I also do a sliced, roasted zucchini and roasted red pepper sandwich with a balsamic vinaigrette. So, I’m pretty excited about what Doc might let me cook with the three in the kitchen. Tonight was not the night to ask. That reminds me to work on my cook book. Another project entirely contained in my spiral notebook in disjointed notes and strange shorthand, I must have learned in the kitchen, because I can read it, but it still looks strange to me.


My attitude toward my poetry has radically changed. I have always had poems I hated, but left alone because I wrote them out in fits of some emotion, and I considered them flawed but pure. And now, I’m not afraid to take a poem I hate and modify it. I am able now to finally read them and evaluate them and keep the spirit of the piece, while still making it readable. I was never able to read my own work before, let alone edit it in any meaningful way. Now, since I am sorting them by subject for the collection, I have to dive right in to each piece and read it out loud and add things here or there, or change words, or add a line. And the inspiration is there. I’m taking a break now, because it is rather exhausting doing the roller coaster of my emotions. I feel like I would after a really good performance.


Do you have any idea how many open mic poetry readings there are each month in this city? I can’t keep up. Now that I’ve embraced my teeth and what is left of my belly, the only thing stopping me is transportation and companionship. I don’t need my hand held to perform, I need someone to hold the camera and film me. That reminds me, with what I now know about Audition, I can probably clean up the audio on my live performance of the Pussy Poem. Hmmmmm. Yet another thing to work on. I need to go through my hard drives and notebook, find the projects and write them all down on a list. A running list because I have far more ideas than I have time or motivation to do.


And then there is one big art/documentation project I want to do, but it will take volunteer assistants who are good with cameras. I will do all the post production work, unless I trip over a sound or video editor. I want to make an immersive project of a grand social experiment that, in all the world, I am the only person who is in the position to do it. In fact, I could write it up and pitch it as a reality show, if I wanted to go that route. Do I want to sell out now? I don’t think so, so I’m thinking of it in terms of Andy Warhol-esque, epic amount of footage and documentation and art and performance, with as many guest artists and creators as I can get. I’m thinking I could spin-off a podcast around the guests, maybe answer questions, talk about the project with other artists and get their advice and opinions on what I  can be doing more or less of. I’m waiting for a respected opinion on the proposal now. The waiting is killing me, but the person is very incredibly busy.


Okay, a couple hours sleep, a couple of cigarettes and a cup of coffee . . . I’m ready to go back to work. I can get quite a bit done before Doc gets up, then when he goes to work, I am going to do some readings. And work on my composite video this evening. Everyone have a great day!

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