So back in May 18th, if I’m not mistaken, Joy and Ruin (J & R) nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you for considering me J&R! I’m honored, tickled and still abashed.

Bloggies, J&R can write! He writes lovely poems and short/flash fiction pieces! I tell you! I mean damn good poems. And I know good poems when I read them, so that means you should go over there and read. Do you like the Misfits? Do you like poems? Well, get on over there!

Anyway, I didn’t want to take the award at first (well I was just waiting to take it later hehehe) because that’s around the time I started fighting with my blog, and then Mouse had to go and start playing with the PLDs, making them more cosy in my skull and shit. Fuckin’ Mouse! Ugh, they’ve made a mess in my head I tell ya–cigarette buds everywhere, pizza boxes, bread crumbs, ping-pong balls all over the place, beer bottles, knives, charred wood and glass, shitted toilet paper overflowing the trash cans, vomit, needles and other drug paraphernalia and they leave the lights on all night not caring about conserving energy–it’s disgusting!

****

Sigh, I guess I have to follow some stupid rules for this. But I’m only going to follow them the way I want because I’ve always been a rebel with a cause. If you shoot me for failing to comply to these rules, I’d be more than happy because that would make the PLD’s scatter out of my head, along with the trail of blood, like roaches. What?

********

Alright, the rules are:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to them in your post *check*

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

  1. I’m a very indecisive person, CHRONICALLY indecisive (I think it comes with the BPD now), so when I went to college, I switched from major to major so many times that I had accumulated enough credits for a masters degree even though it took me six years just to get a bachelors, granted that I COMPLETED IT even when I thought I was going to die, and I completed it Cum Laud. And in my defense, six years is the average for an undocumented student considering the trials and tribulations and legalities. I finally settled with Media Production though I wanted to get a double major in the school’s English – Creative writing program which I did get accepted to but didn’t go through with. Oh AND I also got an associates of applied science in sound engineering/music production. I say this to boost my low self esteem, not to be haughty; it’s just reminding myself of accomplishment more so, so I don’t start feeling like a failure for the six years thing.
  2. Speaking of music, I play the piano and the ukulele though I’m kinda nearly deaf in my right ear and somewhat in my left.
  3. I was a vageterian vegetarian for two years in college but since moving back with my parents last year, I’ve become a meat eater again. I still don’t eat beef or pork. I just can’t eat piggies. They’re so smart, well, you know not smart smart but smart enough to warrant me not eating them. So I just tell people I’m Jewish and/or Muslim when they ask why. That usually shuts ’em up.
  4. I’m queer.
  5. I got a toy French poodle for my eighth birthday. I was at this flea market with the family one day (it’s an outside market, Mexican/Spanish style) and I saw this little puppy, little fluff ball, curled up with a bunch of pigs! They had him in a pig pen! He was getting beat up by the much bigger pigs who rammed their heads against him nonstop; they were tiny too, but still, that must’ve hurt the little poodle puppy. I felt I had to save him. I told my mom and dad I didn’t want anything for my birthday, except that puppy! I said I’d refuse a cake even. My mom said that if I really wanted the puppy that I should go over to the guy selling the dog (and piglets) and try to work something out with the fella because all she and my dad had with them was 50 dollars. Well, I was a good talker then, and I talked the man into giving me a deal–$150 dollars! I don’t know if it was the cutsie face I made or the wheelchair or both, but he accepted my offer! And he’d let me pay the rest in two weeks! Just like that! We kept our word and came back two weeks later with the $100 and I also brought my new puppy along so he could see his former owner one last time. We named him Tito, like the latin drummer Tito Puente. He lived to be 17 and that’s well over a hundred in doggie years.
  6. I’m legally “insane”… NOT… You actually believed me? heheh. You’re so gullible! Insanity is not a proper term or how should I say, a “politically correct” term, but I do have a case of the mentals–a mental disorder, I suppose.
  7. I am “illegally” here and unless I get dragged out of the country in handcuffs, I’m staying here.

3. Nominate 10 or so bloggers you admire *I’m noting how they said 10 OR SO*

4. Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know *rain check*

********

Take your pick nominees. I find these awards often have poor graphic design quality, but I admit, these two are pretty well done! Kudos to whoever designed them! Not bad.

Salted Lithium writes about his recovery and maintenance of bipolar disorder.

Sailor Carrie from Hello Sailor is a wonderful mental sailor and blogger! She’s my MFF 😉

The Silver Poet is simplicity and complexity at its best.

Branches of Thought is a blog I just recently discovered on http://www.poetryblogs.org/ and I’m in love already. Her poem, “Transparent Armor” in particular helped me chill out after I was over thinking and letting my Punitive Parent (see Five Faces of Borderline) criticize me for sharing so much. I always carry such a heavy armor. We all do sometimes.

KJP García is another insightful poet I just recently discovered.

Peace the Consciousness by Mari Sanchez is bursting with trippy versus, so surreal. Her versus remind me of what a Salvador Dali painting would look like in words.

Downward Spiral Into the Vortex is a blog I just discovered, like two nights ago. And let me tell you, this girl nailed it for me! She’s also dealing with borderline personality disorder and being a “transparent borderline”. I just don’t have enough words for how much I connected to what she writes. I’ve always said that I can relate to some bipolar experiences more than the borderline ones, but I think I was lying to myself. I relate to the borderline blogs just as much, or moreso. I don’t know, but this one hit it home for me and it’s partly because Haven has such good wealth of BPD information.

Zen and the Art of Borderline Maintenance  (and her other blog How I Developed Borderline Personality DisorderI absolutely love Zen! I’m so glad I found her blog and you should be too. I’m serious.

Not Quite Lost is a funny lady like me. Her writing reminds me that I’m not alone in this rambling head.

Millie Ho is such a talented artist. She paints and doodles and writes nice flash fiction and what-have-yous.

My Medicated Cartoon Life is the blog, well, one of the blogs that inspired me to write this blog. See, when I first opened up a WordPress account, I had no idea what I was going to title it (as many of us do), but I did know what topics I wanted to cover. And I knew I wanted to doodle my stories in a cartoony fashion which I haven’t done enough of. Anyway, I had google searched “comic and illustrated blogs and depression” and BAM, I found the Bitter Animator of My Medicated Cartoon Life, and thus, my Melancholically Manic Mouse came to life. We’ll, she’d already been living there in my head for fifteen years or more, but I brought her to the spotlight when I found Bitter.

Kyle Mew is funny, is risque, is so entertaining.

Broken Light Collective, I thank you.

This Blithering Idiot  Hansi’s Hallucinations inspires me to draw again.

The Howler and Me makes me howl.

Dotty Headbanger | Notes From a She Hermit | Mental and Loving It is so dear and so dotty. And Dotty I know you won’t accept this but just know that you’ve inspired me in more ways than you know.

Bipolar Muse thank you! I just cannot say thank you enough. I think you know what I mean. 😉

Jen and Tonic is another bright and funny lady. Sip on some jin and juice and read this lady’s tonic. Wait, did that come out right?

Laments and Lullabies  is yet another funny mental lady. She draws nice things like four eyed mommies. She’s also got a funny husband over at A Clown On FireI like to pick on the Clown.

Totsymae is another tough southern lady full of wit. She’s also a talented artist. I’ll go on and pat myself on the back for finishing this now. I know Tosymae, these blogging awards are hard to accept. You don’t have to. Just keep being funny and southern and artsy and totsy.

Brainsnorts is the creative and wonderfully funny writer and nut that will stalk a neighborhood nut (you know how there’s one in every corner) and write blog post about it, with pictures and stick figure diagrams included! Oh right, and the snorty-brainiac (his name is Rich) has samples of his novels too. I particularly like “Disconnected”.

Disorderly Chickadee  just got me with her latest doodles, so she’s been taken as a last minute addition. Oh and she has a lot of good info about bipolar and in particular, bipolar II. You know, stuff like how to do mood charts, how they work and gummy bears–lots and lots of gummy bears.

A Canvas of the Minds is a wonderful space for discussing mental health issues. I have met some wonderful bloggers and dare I say even friends there.

********

Argggh. I hate this! I feel like I left so many out! BAGHaghahagh. I want to add more, but I think I’ve gone beyond taking my liberty. Ah, fuck it, I’ll be back with more nominees, eventually. And to Dear Dotty, THAM, Totsymae and a few others, I know you won’t accept this. I get it; I was indecisive about it since these awards can be silly and nerve wrecking. Well, I feel like I’ve gone with a lot of female bloggies in this one, so I’ll make it up to you fellas. I’m just in a feminist mood; I’m always in a feminist mood! hehe.

Also, I wanted to particularly post some of the mental/mental-health bloggers, the artsy bloggers, the poetry bloggers and the humor bloggers because they’ve helped me so much. Thank you guys.

****

Oh, I still have the Versatile Blogger Award in the closet; it was given to me by Beautiful Rose from But I’m Beautiful, actually I take that back. I have TWO. I got one from Zen also. So when I decide to dust them off and fully accept them, I’ll add those of you that I feel I’ve left out.

You all are great!

Much love from the Mouse and P (we’re one today).

Advertisements

Queridas Putas Perras

May 14, 2012

queridas putas perras,
quiero decirles que
son unas bellesas
de lo mas grande.
no se dejen llevar
por esa corriente
de rios bravos.
muñecas vestidas
de mafia, de magia,
criadas, levantas
de coca y balasas
enfrenten sus
corazones
sin rencor.
callen en tu
calor, tu
candor, tu
hablar.
amen con
ese amor del mar,
de espuma que sube y
baja
sin importar
dejando sus
huellas
con la marea.

© paz

Silver seed erupts.
Light’s germ curls from utero.
Bloomed Moon cradled by Sun.

© paz

*****************************************************************************************************

*****************************************************************************************************

addendum: I didn’t even write this haiku with this “holiday” in mind; I’d written it yesterday on my phone actually. I was looking at the moon while at a graduation party. I was sitting next to a pool, legs kicking at the water and seeing the moon’s reflected light. So yeah wasn’t thinking about a holiday to honor mothers. Not at all. But maybe subconsciously there was something there which is why I’m adding it with a slight change. It’s funny that poetry works that way. I say it’s the writing form that taps deepest at our subconscious, for me at least.

So now that I think about it, Happy Mother’s Day beautiful mamas! If you’re a mama, you’re a mama EVERY damn day, and only you know what that means!

Here’s a brief RADICAL history of Mother’s Day. You non-lefty, non-radicals may also appreciate it.

You know you’re borderline when you can not only relate to a comic book character that has of-the-charts anger management issues, but you suddenly feel deeply connected to this character as though he may be your long lost soul mate.

You wish he were real even, because then you wouldn’t feel so damn lonely. You imagine that the two of you would make the best of friends, so long as you’re a good dozen kilometers distance from each other when one of you ill perceives, imagines or exaggerates a slight and transforms in a fit of rage.

And you then imagine that the two of you, best mental friends forever (BMFF), would be able to stroll down Central Park sit down on a park bench and laugh and laugh and then SUDDENLY cry together, a long, hard cry.

As you sit there crying with Bruce, Bruce crying with you, Dr. Bruce Banner-Hulk suddenly hugs you and you hug him back, gripping tighter. And between sobs and drools, you cradle Bruce’s head, begin to stroke his hair and spit out, “I know man, I know what it’s like. I know exactly how it feels to wake up naked after a rage and feel confused and lost, not really remembering what happened, not knowing where the hell your clothes went or where the hell you are or if you’re still you or that dreaded other. I know Brucito querido. I know, oh dear god I do… And when you tell them not to push you there, not to take you back to that place you’d left because you fear you’ll loose control again if you go, fear what can happen if you abandon your new-found zen, you say, ‘DON’T, PLEASE‘. But you’re shoved inside a room, shoved between the wall and the Black Widow and her gun. Her tantalizing eyes intoxicate you and pierce your soul. Funny, because NOTHING can pierce you! Not even bullets! Not even the fire of bombs or radiation or torpedos! You say, ‘Please don’t. I’m done with that shit. Fuck off! I’m not going back there. I’m not allowing myself to go back to that level of rage. I’ve left all of that behind.’  You plead so much because you fear the other too, more than they do. See you’ve even tried to KILL the other, too keep him back at bay but he is YOU and he will NOT let YOU kill HIM  because your’re always angry anyway you say; you’ve merely learned to teeter on the edge of anger, learned to deal with that, to let the currents of anger swish you like seaweed swishes in the crystal blue. And then, SUDDENLY, it’s too late. You think you had it in your palm but the anger grows too big to hold: it takes control. POP POP–your muscles tighten; your veins flood; your fingers curl, only they’re more like claws than fingers now, and your bones pop. Everything swells! And you find yourself naked again, shaking your head in dismay, shivering body, fearing what you’ve done, hating yourself! Hating what you’d become even if only for a moment! So when everything around you begins to come back into focus, you grab the nearest person and demand, ‘Did I SMASH anything? What did I SMASH? Was it WORTH SMASHING? What happened? Answer me! Please!’ I know. Yo lo se querido Brucito… yo lo entiendo…”

This is exactly what comes to mind when I think of the Hulk as seen in the latest film adaptation of The Avengers, released this weekend but long overdue, anticipated for over five years.

The Avengers

A Brief Review and a Character Study

(minor spoiler alert)

********

 Joss Whedon, screenwriter/director, did it right! Whedon pulled off a REAL believable non-cartoon, no bullshit Hulk in The Avengers (2012), what director Ang Lee’s disproportional body-to-head, Eric Bana-faced Hulk (2003) failed to do while flying across the Rockies and being shot by jet missles; what Edward Norton was left hiding in shame from in Louis Leterrier’s 2008 Hulk–ugh, and his overuse of the clichéd one liner, “Hulk SMASH!”

Yes, WE KNOW the Hulk SMASHES. It’s what the Hulk fuckin’ does! We get it! Thank you Joss Whedon for not having Mark Ruffalo or his animated counterpart speak such ugly words, not even once throughout the film. Thank you for handing that down to Captain America, who towards the beginning of the last, epic fighting scene turns to Hulk and says, “Hulk, you can smash now!” That’s how you slip those words in, by handing them over to another character: it builds irony.

In fact, thank you for not having Hulk speak at all with the exception of growls, screaming and that one time  when he finds Loki in Tony Stark/Iron Man’s mansion and Loki’s mocks him by calling him a brute and claiming, “I am a GOD”. Only then does Hulk reply with a quick smashing and a, “Yeah, a puny god” remark. This should be taken as a serious lesson: DO NOT INVALIDATE or UNDERVALUE HULK FOR HE IS BORDERLINE.

So thank you once again Joss Whedon for keeping Hulk’s angry vocabulary nearly absent while maintaining a complex character. Bruce Banner’s “I am calm” and “I am ok” vocabulary is layered and intelligent. Ruffalo does an excellent job of charming the audience almost as much as the charismatic Robert Downey Jr.

This is the thing, Whedon aims to excite and entertain us with bombs and explosions à la Michael Bay style–and that’s what summer blockbusters do, that’s how they still manage to cash in–BUT unlike Bay’s sole eye-candy (think Transformers), Whedon does so with thoughtful, well-crafted artistic flavor. He does so while tending to character development. And if there’s anything I learned from my own film obsession and my film studies classes is that a good film need not have an amazing plot, or a sensible plot even (look at Easy Riders, 1969) if it has good character development.

So yeah, this 2012 Avengers Hulk is the REAL DEAL HULK. This is what I like to call, the BORDERLINE HULK, the way Hulk should be! This is the Hulk that will live up to his true comic book origins.

Hulk is and always will be about the loss of rational thought our primal, basal reaction to stress can leave us with; it’s about human anger. Hulk, however,  is the epitome of human anger response gone to extreme proportions–gone wrong, gone dare I say “disordered”.

And to portray him in a whimsical somewhat childlike but not one-dimensional manner (with few exceptions) says something about the quality of this film.

There was just the right amount of sarcastic wit in this film, a bit of cheese but not over-the-top cheese. Yeah, there was cheese of all flavors. Enough cheese to fill up a school bus full of melancholically manic mouses, but not so much cheese to make them all throw up out the windows. And for good measure, there is a pinch of darkness in the film. Mouse likes darkness more than cheese flavor and variety even, but not more than coffee.

The Hulk in an ending scene from The Avengers 2012. Look at that face. Is that not the face of a hurting borderline? And isn’t that gorgeous, realistic 3D animation?

********

We first see Bruce, played by actor Mark Ruffalo in Calcutta, India working as a doctor. He’s in this small, crowded shanty home caring for two sick boys when an impovershed girl runs in begging for him to help her dying father.

Of course this is all a lure, a lie the Black Widow also known as Agent Natasha Romanoff played by the sexy Scarlett Johansson, has created. The Black Widow has sent out and paid the little girl to deliver this deceiving message in order to trick him into joining the Avengers crew.

As fans may know already, Nick Fury, played by Samuel L. Jackson is the man in charge of getting all of these amazing superheroes (and demigod Thor) in a round table for round-house kickassery; they must save Earth from Loki, Thor’s adopted brother who’s filled with jealousy and has completely lost it, oh, and those evil creatures from Thor’s neighboring planet who are aiding him.

But the Hulk is reluctant at first, more so than pompadour sporting Captain America who also doesn’t want part in it and feels confused in the twenty-first century (with good reason). See, Bruce Banner/Hulk has taken a lot of shit from people, even more shit that Captain America has. That’s why he’s run off to India before they have to drag him back in to re-enlist as an agent (or a weapon of mass destruction depending on how you view it).

In the first half of the film Agent Romanoff/Black Widow tells Banner he must help because, “This is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet.”

Of course Bruce Banner is so self-doubting, so impulsive and quick to judge that he automatically assumes they only want the HULK side of him and completely disregards the fact that they need his scientific knowledge too. Black and white thinking ya’ll.

That is not the case, however, not yet, not until things have gotten really bad, not until that gigantic metal-covered slug teleports in from Thor’s neighboring planet and starts flying over New York City, killing hundreds and causing mayhem. (Why is it that every time something comes from another planet, it just so happens to land in New York City? Except for in Distric 9, good movie by the way–great social and political commentary.)

So when things get real bad, they will ask for the Hulk. But before then, when Black Widow is begging him to join because Loki has gotten the Tesseract–the energy thingy that could kill all living things–Banner replies to Black widdow, “What does Fury want me to do, swallow it?”

No Bruce, Fury merely wants your scientific genius for now! Jeez, they’re not all out to get you!

Remember what Captain America says, “We’re not your enemies Bruce!”

You sabotage yourself querido Brucito!

But you will help save people too querido Bruce, you will.

*********************************************************************************************************

Next

Part II: Why Bruce Banner/Hulk is suicidal and how the Mouse’s agressive vs. quiet borderline personality disorder (BPD) type and criteria matches up with his.

Why Hulk is indestructible but mentally vulnerable.

And…

Movie was great but why the hell aren’t they more like this second photo? Seriously, Scarlett is lovely and all, but she isn’t the only one with an ass.

Avengers, fo’ real.

Don’t remember where I found it. Sorry original artist. If I find your name I’ll post it.

*********************************************************************************************************

DISCLAIMER: By poking fun of mental health issues, I am not trivializing mental disorders. I’ve lived with a number of them most of my life, so I have no wish to trivialize and further stigmatize my own mental struggles as well as those of others. I am making fun of how others trivialize and misinterpret them. I’m merely a mental humorist and a poet (aw sheeeit, note what I just did there?). Besides, I just have to laugh a hearty laugh before I finally put the barrel in and pull the trigger. Also, this is more of a character study than a full film review.

Oh, one more thing: the “you know you’re borderline when…” meme was taken from Jaen Wirefly, LMSW & Nut Job’s blog. She has a great blog about borderline personality disorder, loads of humor too. Check it out, it’s a no bullshit, good information blog. If you don’t click, just remember I can go She-Hulk on you any moment.

“May is Mental Health/Borderline Personality Disorder awareness month.  😉

1.
un-birth me mamita linda.
no te quiero ver!

uncover me papito lindo,
pero no, no te quiero ver!

lo que ocurrió es que
el viento me
robó las alas
y borró
el polvo mágico
que me regalaron
las hadas.

sí, las que cantaban
dentro de mi, pero no las quiero ver!

***

2.
i was spleen-size
sucked out, cut clean from
below your womb,
a piggish wad of pink,
red, purple and blue goo–
grey sack you could’ve
thrown out.

seís meses, they said.
young men in white robes
out of universidades.
they probed and probed
and probed you,
they, youthful men
as fruitful as you
but not as torn.

“six months and her heart
will stop.”
too big for her fragile
chest
they said and laid me–
tiny bag of broken bones–
to rest.

un-birth me mamita linda.
no te quiero ver!

unearth me amor viejo, arrugado,
listo para fallecer
como yo lo he hestado.

oh yes, i remember
the story clearly,
remember it dearly.
how many times
hadn’t i heard it?
you’d resigned
dear papi,

already grieved
my death
with swigs
and nightly sighs,
“mija, déjala,
que yo la cuido
venga duerma.
de un modo o otro
uno de estos dias
se nos irá.”

you never gave up
though,
i guess
that’s love;
that’s hope
mamita linda
and i didn’t go.

but you know,
it’s difficult
to cope.
this heart is still
too crammed in this
barrel chest and one
day, someday
it will stop.

for my dear mother who endured all the poking, the prodding and was somehow able to birth me without a cesarean, and for Sailor Carrie

© Paz

*************************************************************************************************

[my lazy translation; some things will always be lost in translation]

1.
un-birth me dear mommy.
i don’t want to look at you!

uncover me dear daddy.
but i don’t want to look at you!

what’s happened is,
the wind
snatched my wings
and erased
my magic powder,
yeah the one
the fairies
gave me.

yes, the ones that
sang within me,
but i don’t want to look at them!

2.
six months, they said…

blah blah blah…

unearth me old love, crumbled
and haggard, ready for death
like I’ve been.

student doctors prodding you…

….

…hadn’t i heard it?
“honey, leave her,
i’ll take care of her
go on, go on
sleep,
on day or another
she’ll be gone.”

****************************************************************************************************

Guys, I was lucky enough to have lived past the six month mark those doctors gave me and have survived thus far (which sometimes still surprises me considering the crazies I get), but unfortunately, a fellow mental health blogger’s little girl did not; she passed during childbirth.  I can’t fathom what that must be like.

His blog is Salted Lithium. Maybe you can pay a visit and show some love. I’m sure he could use it.

I Am Not a Poet
a nursery rhyme for Dear Dotty & Ink Anette

I am not a poet.
By now, you should
know it.

I just like to spit.
I like to spit words,
spit words

like swords
and blades
spit words under my
seething shade;

spit when I’m sad;
spit when I’m joyful
reproachful or glad.
I’ll spit on your ass
’cause I’m a crass
little lass.

I’ll spit in my cage
when I silently rage.

I like to spit
shitey shit with shit

when I twitch’n “bitch”
n’ itch
and can’t scratch
my bum
’cause I have to
be a lady!
What am I, a nun?
Hell no.
I’m just somewhat shady
and shaky.

But I’m not a poet.
And none of this is
literal
or literary.

Just so you know it,
I’m somewhat cynical,
maybe even a bit scary.
Sure I like to spit
in the lyrical
with a clitic
or two.
After all, a lady,
a sensitive cynic
with two tiny tits
a clit and no wit.

But I am not a poet.
By now,
you should know it.

And this is not
not, not
a dotty poem
(or noem)
’cause I’m no
longer a sot.

© Paz

**************************************************************************************************

Sure enough, yesterday’s showers cooled down this inferno. It’s a beautiful, cool (even chilly) spring day. Unfortunately, I slept too much again–a little lowly and lonely. And my wheelchair decided to start acting up again. Bagh.

At least I’m following through with the NaPoWriMo deal, right?

*le sigh*