Category Archives: It’s My Dream

What Story To Tell

Today has been a day that began with a little lesss stress, or maybe a little more hope. Which it is.. is hard to tell, but it felt different.. LEARNING THAT YOUR ILL ALWAYS HAS IT EFFECTS…  YET i USE TO FANCY MYSELF A WRITER. Someone who is well apt with words and emotional overtures.. Yet I haven’t been abl to find any words that I can train together or even manipulate to sound like good anything. I wondered if it was because to truly write I would have to be so  honest… But I don’;t know exactly what is honest are not at this point. Thats when I see a post… ” my health is not imporoving… I realie at this moment that is not SOMETHING THAT TROUBLES ME.. Getting better.. then I see another post, the dangers of cancer, the pain of cancer, my family and cancer.. i am not stirred.. I am not moved… while I have this tumor.. am downing steroids after waiting four months for treatment after my state aid didn’tt seem to work ir self out… I realized that every experience of being ill is not always an emotional experience and that was my style of writing.. I am not feeling soemotional.. I am feeling like I wish I had more oney.. I am feeling like I wish I could center my thoughts like I use to.. I am feeling like I would sleep more… I wish my radiatioin treatment lasted longer everyday… because my technician is changing my opinions of my predjuice of people like him an the table is cold… and my body is usually so hot…. during these few minutes everyday I feel like I am working toward getting better. i am feeling like Steroids are a devil drug because they have caused me to gain 40 pounds in 4 months and I am so uncomfortable….. yet none of things make me feel like writing, none of things make me feel like me, but yet I don;t feel so detached from myself I pity anything about my experience about these moments in my life. I have a tumor.. I can’t wait and I don’t feel all that emotional… I can’t wait begin chemotherapy.. I am ready to move forward.. but I am not ready to cry.. Then it’s back to what story do I tell… Do I tell the story of a girl who escapes into a world of desire… a place she desires of a life after the struggle… or do I tell the story of the event, of the days, of the moments, of the cold slabs, and sweet technicians that make bad days seem like retreats for  healing… how God brought me back to a place i would have have seen as painful to find myself in fits full of laughter and introspection… Yet I suppose like all things…. the layers of situations are never quite as simple as they seem and every story is mostly likely buried way beneath the surface and are never what you think the story truly is…

Most of my answers are never quite as neat as I want them o be… and are left unanswered.. but I do know that this show…. Masters of SEX was addicting and mouth watering and heart snagging all at once….

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September 28, 2014 · 3:36 am

Revisiting Now Revised Personas

Seeing those places again, places that not many days ago were places of home, places of friendly faces didn’t feel so happy. It made me see days that have been amended and replaced those days. Slowed heartbeats and visual reminders of what I truly did miss. Even the bad I missed, missed being near blood ties instead of just years piled together. The core of me which is still so much the same, yet the actions of that interpretation of me were no longer my daily activities and I missed those bad things, missed the superficial graces and triumphs it had given me. Missed it so much, thought about making arrangements to visit my personal version of euphoria. Yet I never made those left turns to options that would destroy what I had begun to create. Just when it made me remember it’s beauty I cried for it’s pain as well. That euphoria was having no ties, no responsibilities. It bullied my mind with it’s heavy weight of love. See you love your habits, you addictions, but mostly I love the freedom on having no desire to meet the qualifications of others. They have heavy demands of you for all these reasons. I was comfortable those 285 days, and each moment I was high. So high that the negative of those around me didn’t weigh on me. I abandoned them and I taught myself how to survive and the person who is here now makes the choice to stay away from that love for my bad.  She appears here and there in the most serene and comfortable of places but these days they are further away from what I knew of soothing ways to cope with life. Understanding the why of your personas of who is reflected in the images of our mirrors.   Find that core of you are, then you can create these changes that will make others look to you with a quiet envy that is never loud because successes of this kind more of the building kind. Building a kindness for those who many others don’t understand. Sometimes the only way to truly connect with that you have had to visit those day and those worlds. Now green tree’s make quick appearances but doesn’t stay long. My love for her is fleeting unlike my real love. The realest love I have is for me. I acknowledge who I am on all levels, I relieve my sins to God where they belong. Not to any friend, family member or stranger on the street, and neither should you world out there. Being on this level of understanding is not for the meek at heart. Being bold, brazen and sometimes so wrong helps us to find right on levels beyond the average and I am above average, breaking away from the stereotypes because I don’t like stereotypes  all statistics and commonality are used against a group, to build this negative classification tools. Who you are is unique and similar to someone else s and sometimes feeling the ability to completely be your self is the true gift.

As I revisited that place that I use to call home I realized that who was lingering there in the peppered mementos of the my past I saw a woman loosely sewn together. loosely pieced in happy, these days and this revised persona was no much different, just stitched a bit better, double woven and erratically placed with grace and hindering heart strings. I am proud of her, but I am not ashamed of that fleeting me that was so present in my eyes as I laid to rest her memory and I do miss her, miss her audacious and prettier self. I miss her more slender hips, and helpful way. I miss her more focused mind. I miss all of her but I will find a way back to her kinder attributes,  I know I will because I demand it of myself.

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Filed under a rant of love, growth, Inspiration, It's My Dream, life, love

One Tree Hill, It’s Powerful TV


When I lose my way these days.. I find Netflix is my home of encouragement and rediscovering belief in dreaming, in creating. When I take the quick menu to my favorite app on my  precious online tv viewer. I find solace and I find belief in this little town in North Carolina and this week that home is going to be having its last dance and from the moment I realized that this is what tv can do. This is what a voice can do. I now see how a person can love movies so much they want to make movies. They are inspired and truthfully tv was never my thing… more my mothers thing and seeing as tho my mother has been my enemy for many years and to embrace something she loved would be to be more like her than I already was. It has become fitting for this little town, this little town made of experiences and emotion. This town made of images brought to life by paid liars to breathe a new life into me. I had spent 29 years living a lie of convenience of preservation to leave each day unfelt and undynamic. To be no more than a being living without a tribute to my deep emotion that left unattended made me an unpaid liar living in my own little town of experience and emotion devoid of being seen.  Little fictional towns were no foreign understanding for me and before an intricate moment a few months ago I didn’t see it. Those kids on that creek speaking in language of SAT practice test vocabulary flash cards and deep depriving emotional overtures and music made from that same place I had already begun to see myself. In late 1997 Dawsons Creek premiered and I left a game that I was cheering in early just to make it to my granny’s floor to watch and I was never the same.People laughed at me and asked why I liked that show so much and the answer that eventually came was it was the first show that I watched that no one said I should, that my family didn’t like first, that my friends didn’t invite me to. It was the first show that I could call my own. Yet in this last week of my second favorite show’s conclusion , I find that it was the door that had been opened for me to find my way to inspiration. The dreams of artist are always fought with either support or the lack thereof and I fought that fight against myself and have spent years just not believing and while the credit goes to more aspects than the shows I watch. It is no small coincidence that they play a dynamic part in the inspiration that dreams are no more untakeable and no less reality than each day we live. I was a young woman living in a fantasy that was no more reality then these little towns and when I believed that the world didn’t own hope, didn’t own kindness, born of evil inbred into our days into our moments of choice, Paula sang how she didn’t want to wait and Joey told dawson that she loved him and when they left that creek and reality seemed more prevalent as Joey chose Pacey and my world was angry with dissatisfaction. At that moment the world was loud,  it was true we don’t get no satisfaction in the resolution of dreams deferred. A couple years later as the gritty life of homelessness and drugs claimed my innocence, where storms proved stronger than I; a friend told me that her small North Carolina town saved her life in the adversity of growing….of becoming adults and I laughed. There it was the co signer in this life contract, no need to reevaluate my truth and lost of belief for I no longer believe. I  believe no longer in happy endings but as the words stayed put inside of my always verbal and loud presence I knew that our friendship was the hope that I would need one day. What I didn’t know was that her small town would become my own and she would have lived there before. She would guide me again to believing in me once again. Those days of lustful sex, self mutilating unkindness and emotional denial didn’t end that day, the home where I would live with my mother had strangled me,left riddled by undeniable scars of guilt and anger. Those dark days were tainting my belief in miracles and miracles can not be accepted when you are an atheist of those heavenly granted wishes. Beneath  my dirty dish water however was a dirty but beautiful  crystal just waiting to be reintroduced to life a survivor, a fighter a teacher. If anyone said that movie making, tv show viewing, paid liars didn’t and don’t change the world then I am the testimony to the inspiration and the beauty of the hearts and lives that they do touch. It was a moment of true miraculous intervention. God allows us glimpses in this life of his majesty  and that deity so strong and tall that I lost touch with was quite Shakesperian  when in ironic flair and style  appearred to me on the tv with words of a pastor whom I call Creflo. He stated Job had no book it was in his heart, days later if God didn’t appear there like a dream. HE showed my reality a wolf dressed as a man stealing peoples money with a lie to take their money stating he had these very expensive tv’s for a steal. HE was the pastor of a church and ran this scam on that congregation… just kind hearted trying in the way of God with the dream to be sold of a tv, for people who use that tv to people who just needed that tv to soften the blows of life. So when I tell you that dreams are for the taking then hear this story, that man came into the lives of a friend who opened her doors to me when the bottom could not be more than the life I was suppose to still be living and my destiny came to me in feeling so deeply felt it would not allow itself to be denied. It seemed magical and unable to be defined and that’s when my little town in NOrth Carolina became so real that I could feel the heartbeat of those pens hitting blank paper those hearts blending to descend upon people like me who needed to be reminded that dreams are not just fanatical and obliterated thoughts but subconscious triggers to taking the time to define the person who lies within each of us. The Spirit by which we call many names! The heart that binds us as humans with colored skin, without greedy desire, without separations or inclusions of ignorance and my spirit seemed to reek of apple lilies and pink. In those finals days of my storm I began something that my friends and family found strange,  weird and a signifier that I was a cause lost mending the guilt from the wounds of their neglect to find the little girl that once was so sweet. They called me crazy with a free tongue and now I didn’t sing my pain loudly with disruptive words instead I smiled and treated them the love that I felt was left abandoned from my perceived memories. I declared I would wear primarily Pink, black and white and I chose pink to display the inner skin left exposed when we scrape back that pigmented outer layer, it represented the heart,  the core of who we are. Black for the color black is the darkness that can consume our light when the heart is left hidden behind our fears. White for it is the representation in the only purity that distinguishes us the human race from the kind unknown and the kind unseen. I vowed to one day bring forth a creation of that would be named.. Our eternal souls leading tortured lives, AsK why? In those days of standing on my nexus of life, combining my spirituality, my humanity, and reality. I tuned in each week to my little town on that hill. That Tree on a hill is you, that tree was me and my roots were strong, my branches unwavering and those leaves of living were blowing away and a new season had begun, a new reason being born and it all would be a document of my lifetime. I had work to do, tasks to be defined and when I have completed these tasks, these days, these moments that will blow away I will have done for someone else what this show had done for me with many other departments of being each of us “works in progress”. We must start at the beginning of our pain so  I came back to that home I ran from ferociously and faced the villain with fortitude in my living nighttime drama. Alot like the now adult characters of tree him, my villain was known to me, apart of me, my mother.  I told my mother I loved her and I smiled and did my best to show her not in my words but my actions that it was hard to forgive but you must do so. Each time I would watch Lucus, Nathan, Haley, Brooke, Peyton, soon after Clay, Quinn, Skills Mouth MIllie, Alex and Steven and I use his real name as displayed by character CHase because for me Steven from Laguna Beach the beginning of a phenomenon shows me,  that from nothing something can be magical and beautiful. Mark Schawan created my place of emotional freedom. Each show I watched I cried tears left buried inside of me had corrupted my belief and with tears that will always be my liquid prayers. I could not control those tears as they rolled across my pecan dark skin and I realize that nothing in this life just happens to happen. Each day, each moment will reveal the depth of the miracle in each of us…… and this season marked finale of my little town of Tree Hill as well as the final expressions of my revealing as  I have been completely revealed inside out, All emotional rants and belief in miracles and evidence to enter to the Judge that living and inspiring for each of us well arrive in our disbelief. In the moments of confirmation we will find allies that across the boards of twitter and the noise of life might not have been touched had we not just stopped for a moment to be able to receive.
In the last two months I watched the seasons that I had never seen and just at this moment the last episode concluded of the shows on Netflix and I don’t only feel blessed for the creators, writers, production, the network which Ironically I live down the street from, the actors, the experiences and my best friend for telling me to watch, I feel inspired, I feel bold, I feel period. So thank you to those before me who dared to chase the dream, to create what I could not have found alone. I didn’t just watch those tree hill kids that year in 97 at 17 .. No I walked through the door that would leave me here in these moments with these experiences that shaped me and built a warrior of faith.. My friend was right One Tree HIll saves my life daily… When I get sad these days or need to remember why I do my best to show fortitude I watch for the reality in display of living that has proved to be so much more… like Gavin DeGraw says “ I dont this fiction wanna be anything than other than what I have been trying to be lately”…. Powerful isn’t it those words and at the right moment in the right village of love you see the miracle… the truth, the power in your life that you only need surrender to.  I hope this finds the participators on all walks of making this show happen. While I am quite happy with the way things have ended ultimately for even in the face of villainous creation it was shown all the things I believe in and to say it weird that words said by these characters have been my own is nothing less than serendipitous kismet.

In my unfortunate happenings that become moments that clearly illustrate my destiny.
To all those who wish to change the world… join me in being radically brave and courageous and know this.. love is what is all about.. love for yourself, love for your fellow brother, love for your community, your gift and only seek to touch the lives of those who need the embrace… and find our world of misery transform. it only takes one brave soul to believe that we as people are worth the fight.

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Filed under change, gratitude, growth, influences, Inspiration, It's My Dream, life, love

Truth in the Untruth

They call it spit

when a poet, hits the mike giving the gift of their spirit

I call that truth

they call it truth

when they use the proganda of experiece to to influence the youth

of our thoughts and belief

the mind accustomed to the grief

of lacking honesty in the communication of the “NEWS”

so lost in the blues

of money lacking, domain hacking

and subtracting our part in the history we create

Let us contemplate

the different hues of our industrial money making systems

and the role we play

in the delay of better living

the misgiving

that “we  are not the powers that be”

that shit don’t have nothing to do with me

I did not shoot the gun that killed those innocent women, men and children

to whom we have conquered in the pursuit of the resoucres

if not you, then who are the sources

of this human pain

what reign

of terror is to pay

the fines of life?

The wife?

Thousand of women who lose their men to fight the wars

that we endure

on the soil of their physicality

the guilt of our mentality

At least mine

My mind see’s with the eye  of my heart

and  the souls lost to greed superceed

the  “NEWS” called truth they tell to me

the untruth lives in the youth of so many of our thoughts

slavery was not reserved for the colored past, it last

now it’s an enslavement of mind

all the things that we forget are real

The deal, the deals made in the back rooms of justice

brothers killing brothers, mothers lost to demented intentions

minds sacrificing love, the untruth in the truth

that c hildren are their human extentions

added on to their fate,

after they breathe the first air of life, it’s to late

to save them….from this  battleground, earth we call living

the terrorist  we call Media, help to dull your active consciousness

The viewers of their demolition the average American continues

to ignore

The acts of terror, the war we live right at home, we willingly submit to

their hypnosis

I aked before

What side to you represent?

Who do you answer to?

What are these soldiers fighting for?

what truth do you promote?

What will be  left in the sleeve of your book? What note?

Have you stopped to take a look?

At the reflection that looks so much like you

I am American

many are so proud to yell

yet the hearts, respect and understanding of foreign tongues, repel

Snare noses in disgust

Instead of embracing the truth in the untruth

that they haters, maybe they are emancipators

Maybe the truth is that look in their eyes

Hoping to free you with there glances of disgust

Disquising the pity they feel

not not hate,

the truth is real

that we have the power of love, which has the power to heal

We are the doimoineering hands of catastrophe

A bully

that agregious, infectious conqueror

Being a bully is the rust that conjures and deposits it’s ugly on that shine

that once represented beauty

on that cent called penny

that shone love when collected and created many

those pennies of love, of beauty don’t exist when

they are stolen by  hands of tyranny

The infantry the followers of cowardice

the digust worn by the forlorn, born of the bitter

after taste of the dinner served by the executioner

we americans travel to their side to possess the experience of their

towers of eiffel, their beaches of black sand, their epic wonders identified

by books in stores, the creations of their influence that dress the manniquens on

show floors.

Mentally we have subtracted our minds from the crimes

of our heichary, yet we ridicule the monarchary

when at least the choices are made, set and confirmed their in that home of royalty

the loyalty

displayed to the people in which they rule

are not just rules set and enforced

their is no divorce of leader and people

no document read in city hall

Leaving the conjuctions to blacked out statements leveled “Classified”

Right in your face

they are marking you infintile. yelling outloud “KNOW YOUR PLACE”

The fight is not about the tent of your skin, the difference in the culture… it has nothing to do with race

When will you educate your mind, through the eyes of of your heart,

leave behind the infantry of “it don’t effect me”

What truth do you promote? Are you fine being fed the untruth when the truth is there

for you to engage and spread, be a leader, don’t be led

evacuate your mind of impressioned thought

Shake free of the hypnosis of the news

instead of singing, living, and engaging these blues

that with each view, is stealing the individual in you

Be the truth in the untruth of the land in which we reside

show those ignorant to the American way

That the way of that reflection you call American is walking the path of true freedom

The freedom to love, the freedom to fight for what is truth in the youth of their perception

Allow your intention to be the active movement for change… by making the label of American

Live up to the address back in Gettysburg that states that each man be treated equally

those men are not just the ones born of this continent , man is the kind

we all can check on the application of life

Freedom would include the truth in the truth, not the truth in the untruth

Not the moderated, edited version of the NEWS

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Filed under It's My Dream, The World

Word Press Introduces Dualitydefined: ANya Monea

I am starting a new journey in my life and why not leave a documented account of my hijinks, spiritual endeverors, random emotional moments and beliefts here with WordPress where a new friend mentioned me in a blog, that began me on a journey.  I just had to start my next level of blogging here in the world of WORD PRESS…

TheWritingChic is an awesome writer and definitely the type of advocate that you want on your side. Her belief in my talent in just the few short days since she posted what I am going to share has changed me on a level that even she would be surprised with. So in my emotional jumper, I am jumping higher and landing in the most intricate of thoughts that are all positive and I thank her for bringing the child to my writing that I had lost do to the lost of motivation, self assurance and good fashion faith. She has inspired me to do more of what I do, and to work that much harder to make my place known as a cannon in the industry of words… So to her and my fellow Tweethearts…thank you for the support and the faith in me…

You can follow me @dualitydefined


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September 5, 2011 · 5:52 pm