Finally

I just finished with a good two and a half hours of listing the shots of the Heinz Chapel Project in my online shop http://dianaclarion.etsy.com/, then making the interconnections with the gallery at my web site http://www.fnordnet.net/~dclarion/. So, after about seven weeks, it’s finally real. I guess you could say that I take a little pride in the finished work; whether or not that pride is deserved is another story. I’ll keep the project up as my screensaver, anyway.

Taking A Small Break

I’ve got the first six HCP shots formatted for presentation; twenty-three more to go.  I’ve given up hope of ever selling a print.  The Etsy moos spent all their money freezing embryos in order to have six kids each, and don’t have enough going on to appreciate this stuff, anyway.  So, I’ve formatted the shots for use as “desktop wallpaper”; perhaps somebody will want one at $2 a crack.

Between shots, there’s enough to do.  I was bitched out of the closet, then I was bitched out of the bed.  No matter what I do, I’m a target; even if I do nothing, I’m a target.  Perhaps, I can arrange the living room as an apartment within an apartment and keep to myself as much as possible.  I wish I could afford a small desk; moving this one through narrow doorways and around tight corners is not going to be fun.

I wish I could manage a small house, maybe a RealDoll.  I could pretend I had a decent life, I could pretend that I was loved.  There’s not enough time for any of it, Chertoff and his RealID have seen to that.  I don’t see any success in repealing the ill-gotten legislation, so I don’t see much of a chance of living past May.  I want only a little comfort and peace between now and then.

So, I’ll get back to formatting, maybe another six before retiring.  I’ll unveil the whole thing at once; Drama “R” Us.  I just wish it was worth something.  I just wish something, anything, I did had worth.

Update: The Heinz Chapel Project

Shooting is done; I called it finished last week.  Now to the GIMP work.  Resize, crop, fight back the tears.  Rotate, resize, fight back more tears.  I just love the moos at the Etsy shop:  “Your pictures are so great!  I can’t wait to see more (so I can look to my heart’s content on your dime)!”  Perhaps you morons would like to foot my bill?  $350 and counting.  That’s my breakfast money, you twats.

Why do I even bother?

So Comes a New Year

I could tell from the sound of the small-calibre weapons’ fire.  Why am I alive in this new year?  Why?

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream?

Some years ago, I was a resident in a halfway house for “nutbags”, people with emotional problems real or imagined, who were warehoused to keep them out of everyone else’s way.  Most of these people spent 90% of their time sleeping.  I swore that I wouldn’t be like them, but I was young and stupid.  Over time, what was happening has become apparent.  These people had nothing, no chance of a real life with friends and keys.  Looking at the world of which they could never be a part was too painful, so they slept.

I swore that I would never be like them, but here I am.  I never considered that some people are not wanted around, I never thought that those who claim to be the closest are those who hit the hardest.  So I sleep, hoping for a nice dream somewhere between the nightmares.  Miranda stands her watch over me, sometimes Ariel will offer a cuddle, Winston will eat my fingers.  What more is there that they can do?  They are cats, they are not empowered to effect change in a human world.

So, I sleep.  I dread opening my eyes to the dismal room around me, and when I do, I shut them tight again.  I long for the day when I will not open my eyes, but it is too long in coming.  Why could I have not died in the auto accident thirty years ago?  Why could I not have died in surgery in 1976?  I can’t even do anything myself; I’ve failed at everything so far, why should I believe that I would not fail at suicide, and be left totally screwed up and unable to try again?

So I sleep.

Things To Do

There are so many things I need to do, so many tasks to accomplish. Can I ever do them?

1. I need to make enough money to pay the out-of-pocket startup expenses pack to my purse. So far, that’s about $200.
2. I need to make enough money to buy a camera that is clearly mine. I’m looking at about $2500 by the time I get through with that.
3. I need to make enough money to pay off my debts. How interesting that will be, as about a third has been defaulted for ten years. $50,000
4. I need to make enough money to afford a place to live that isn’t a gangland slum, a place where reason and decency dwell, a place without power games. Who even knows how much that would cost?
5. If ever all that is accomplished, I would like to go to the grocery store, buy a can of broth, and sip it slowly, savoring every drop of the first meal I will have had in a very long time.

No, it won’t happen that way, but I can carry the dream to my death.

Dear Santa

I hate you.

Love,

Diana

X-mas Day

On this day of renewal, of the return of light and lengthening of days, I am reminded that I am nothing.  I am reminded that I never will be anything, that I never can be anything.  I am reminded that if I am anything at all, I am Wrong.  Not what I say or what I do; not how I dress or the name I use; no, I am Wrong.  My very existence is an abomination.  I am reminded that, no matter what I do, the worst characteristics assigned to me — things I am not and things I have not done but are assigned to me anyway — will always be with me.

Tonight, when I lay upon a mattress on the floor in space I sublease in my own apartment, I will ask Santa Claus one more time to intercede on my behalf, to ask doG to end my life.  If all else is denied me, I ask this one thing, because if I do not exist, I cannot be hurt.

Please, whoever may be listening, let me die tonight.

So Very Quiet

The world around me is quite quiet since I left LiveJournal.  In some ways, it’s nice; solitude gives one time to think.  In other ways, it’s less than ideal; solitude gives one time to think.

No silly memes, no kids musing about how to defraud the student loan programs by using the money to pay for gender transition.  Just quiet, and the occasional echo, like Charlie Brown calling “Hello in there” into his mailbox at Xmastime.  So, I write about the little things: setting up another computer system, waiting for a clear day to continue shooting the “Heinz Chapel Project”.  I look in on LJ, seeing “business as usual” and remembering Germany in 1933.

Flying solo can be pretty nice.  If there’s no place to land, I can always ditch into the ocean.

Diana, The Bookkeeper

I’ve finished the bookkeeping for the day, after a trip to obtain supplies.  Who, though, am I kidding?  Without a major miracle, I’ll see my “net worth”, as I jokingly call it, slip further into negative territory.yes, I know, I’ve only been at this for eight weeks, but I’m not sure I do know how to put myself “out there” without driving everyone away.  I’m not even sure I know what they want.

I think I’ll go cry now.