Rosie Today

If this doesn’t deserve a blog post, I literally don’t know what does!

Writing is easy. Making sense is difficult. Does that make me a bad writer? I can’t think that… I theoretically shouldn’t even type that if my manifestations don’t turn into my real life. But writing is a different art form.

the art form of writing is

no stone left unturned.

no tiny rabbit hole that can’t be reached.

Writing is starting to look like procrastinating my real problems, so then why is it so fun to procrastinate and at the same time so beautiful to type on my MacBook Air, exactly like skin brushing against piano keys, and the notes magically transform sound into a beautiful melody of an ear-pleasing story in a siren song? tomato! tomato! words perform a fun little story about a siren named Maria. Surround Sound. cut and paste. wants misplaced. Maria is better off as a nun, not some evil witch who murders and tortures poor, beautiful creatures.

Love inspires me. What else? What else could? Literally just love does, but I am an independent woman, and I don’t like to worry, but as a woman, I am a worrier. Like, not an unreasonable amount, it’s valid to get worried that my whole family could die. my friends hate me. they might gossip. everything I do is a flop. I guess there’s a part of me who wants to acknowledge how hard I have failed at life, how my perception of reality is totally distorted from what is considered “normal.” luckily, this is my last day of writing. I am going back to the real world now, where thoughts form coherent sentences, and I am not some pothead spoiled brat who follows her heart; it leads her to love. She miraculously always has everything that she could want or need. She gets what she wants and receives lots of abundance.

In all seriousness, there is a major astrological event happening right now. It is more important than ever to think positively, do your part to make the world a better place, and be there for people right now. Help those in need. love one another. Uranus has not been in Gemini since the 1940s. This is major!!!! The beliefs switch now! The belief that it would be hard, or that I wouldn’t be welcomed into this world, has to change. NOW>

Being this much in the dark looks like I might justtttt end it all. why would you say this during the gemini manifestation portal. congrats, this might just be your worst piece of work yet! who would ever want to read this? you’re no writer! you’re a fool. about to blow everything up in your perfect scared lost blue eyes. different. being different or neurodivergent is just lonesome.

having a different style of writing, I remember toni morrison, I am not alone. yanno, it doesn’t have to make sense right now. like i do need that professional mother within me to WAKE UP, I HEAR HER CALL, but i am just a young ho, aimless, awkward, agile.

I need professional help, that’s what I need. I can admit that to myself, but then ultimately just go EH, you got it.

a green Margiela tabi flat dips in and out of the wet forrest brushel like pistachio webbed feet tiptoeing across endless rows of dainty lilypads. I suck in the new air like water from a straw, just plain relieved to be alive, walking through Piedmont Park wearing baggy, faded denim Levi’s and a frilly off-white cotton top that swallows my torso up to the neck. relieved to be seeing green. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that Rosemary frolicked through the park, dancing with the trees as though it were money on the leaves.

walking along the jagged Sixth Street sidewalks toward a small Atlanta bodega with my millennial counterpart, landlord friend, and bestie boo. Every string of words that exits the girl’s mouth is like some conjunction of perfectly strung together insane nonsense in a Greenwich, Connecticut accent, and it makes me feel like I could use a tape recorder to jot this all down, so that later my words could please captivate and honor the way in which you talk.

“I like to let my armpit hair grow out, especially when I’m in Europe for the summer.”

people hate me for being a woman. women are difficult. pretty. petty. childish. strong. my friends are needy. i am not needy, but i am. i just don’t like to ask for help. say i need it. i don’t want to leave the MF house anymore… I got what I needed out of everything in the UNIVERSE. until buckhead tomorrow, I will not leave the house. stay in my portal, pack, pack, pack it up, until I decide on a new beginning. a brand new home.

[cazimi].

It’s giving . Don’t quit your day job just yet, queen.

My first love is something that I have rejected, denied. 

I fell in love with my manager, and I’d do it again. 

See. When you feel this deeply, 

You make mistakes along the way

You follow your feelings you do what feels good. 

You do think, you do

But those thoughts don’t matter. 

My first love. That blue heart energy. My boy. It’s a topic I have long avoided writing about because it is painful and disgusting. 

Forrest fucking, 

Always protected

Never together

Never loyal

Just wrong

But yeah, the love felt like I had a purpose and a meaning for once. 

Life is starting to look like this, writing shit isn’t such a good idea. Looking like the lights are off, nobody is home. I don’t know myself. Don’t have anybody left. Listened to so much pretty trap music that I thought I could do this too. 

Can I < 

Give in to drug addiction without giving all the way in? Was all of this created for me? 

How do I convince myself? Like, finish manifesting? I could not physically cope with being forced to do sterile corporate Amazon family tricks. I belong to the world of surf ski. the world where money looks like access. Hello Kitty wide, blurred, long, soft kittens. follow me, follow meeeee. The bow is BIG. The whiskers are wide, and the head is getting longer than smaller. drugs, sex, and weed.

Kitten heels, wide legged baggy jeans. Most people write, they are not completely conivnced that they are writers, though? WHy am I utterly convicned that this is my purpose. Like why do I relate to Marty Supreme. And how is my teacher? Who can I trust for guidance? Look to god?

I am a detective in a cloak, trying, swimming through the smoke, listening to Drake never lose hope

[six , six , six ]

When I’m not making art, my heart tricks me into thinking it’s love that I want. Claude is WRONG. Grammarly is wrong. I am right!

I think I know what the issue is. typing is fun. writing is fun. Typing, editing, and entering the creative space is way more FUN than working, so that’s where a lot of creatives start to lose their mind. because it’s invalidating to feel like your art is not work.

lighting my iridescent Groot blunt from the fourth-floor balcony, clear-headed. not as clear as I’d be from the San Diego pier dock, where cannabis is legal. The surf is sweltering. less labor. sunny days ahead. feminine space. giving up on achievements, or rather, finding greater purpose in the achievements of the home. of the crystals, of the phone.

flying higher. groot blunt on groot blunt. I am funny too.

Important to meditate, I’m just being honest.

I embody the character I was written to be? If it’s not me, I don’t take it with me.

Some mirrors are meant to be SHATTERED. EEEEEEIRRRERRSHBAK.

idk, when’s the last time someone picked up a book and read it? That’s actually a great question. When’s the last time somebody drank period blood from a goblet?

Does the world need magic, vampires, fantasy, and darkness? I am at your service, my audience, how could I serve.

I am a good listener. I listen to your problems all day on the phone. I am quiet. cool, calm, and collected like magic, I listen to your problems, and I hope my listening could take them away too, but I am now considering how I might have missed a step. I skipped the step of seeking help from an institution of higher learning. Although I did graduate from Emory University with my business degree, it was not easy! They say Emory is the Harvard of the South.

Fiction, nonfiction.

Fox’s long, upturned nose sniffs clovers and bugs in the dirt. The fox’s nose has a bump at the bridge and a jolly, round tip. The nostrils are the first organs. Sniff out that prey. Let the smell move your feet and take you to the corner of Maple and Elm. A kangaroo bounces in Australia with a joey in its pouch. The hippity hop of the kangaroo’s feet led the oversized rodent pest into a harmonious underground lab in the sweltering Melbourne air. The kangaroo is wearing a yellow trench coat over a natural-fur coat that resembles milky espresso. a red tie and a brim cap

in the joint. the fox and kangaroo have a business meeting. Acts 4:31

maria the siren is everywhere all at once, just floating in and out of her consciousness, teleporting through dimensions.

[problem I have is thinking all of the thoughts are good, valid, the sentences I write are art, and therefore not worth deleting] / even typos have purpose? oh yeah, get help.]

I think that’s why Young Ho’s love to text. Their words are their art. They love what they say, or I know I do.

I am highly biased, but I love Gen Z. We are the best generation. We are very funny. We don’t see the need to be buttoned up or to act like we’re not silly people in this crazy place, but we are highly intelligent creatures. We have a lot of drive, but don’t always have the tools or the know-how to execute on large visions of a big, beautiful earth. Or I guess that’s me I’m talking about.