I’d love to be able to get ahold of Jake Gyllenhaal. What a minute, let me rephrase that. I mean, of course I’d love to get ahold of him; have you seen those big dreamy eyes and those perfectly pouty lips? So yes, I would LOVE to get a hold of Jake Gyllenhaal, but I’d really like to get in CONTACT with him and tell him thanks for what he’s done. Jake G has really and truly cured me of a long-standing childhood trauma.
I’ve had a little crush on Jake for a while now. When a co-worker heads out for lunch they’ll ask if I need anything, and I’ll reply “number 4 with extra hot peppers, and Jake Gyllenhaal please. Or if they’re out of peppers, just Jake is fine”. I haven’t stalked him in a parking lot, or posted his picture all over my walls, or sent him phone messages with my boobs in the file (because honestly, my boobs are pretty awesome and he should have the opportunity to experience them first hand really). (also I don’t have his number, any help with that is appreciated)
But I happened across this image of Jake and an axe.
Now what the hell is this for?
I suppose a hard core Gyllenhaaler would know exactly what this still is about, or promoting, or how it makes sense in the grand scheme of life. The image on its own is quite worthy of hanging in my room, so maybe I should start a pin-up collection, but the point for me is the axe.
I have written some about my shaky childhood traumas in my blog “Accidental Happiness” via wordpress, so people familiar with my blog know about alcoholism in my family, violence, insanity and other mayhem, and how I have coped with those issues and turned out a relatively sane and happy human being. And they have probably read about the axe.
When I was twelve, someone I adored and trusted completely attacked me with an axe. This person didn’t actually strike or dismember me, but he came within an inch or two of my body while swinging an axe full force, and he was a pretty strong, large man compared to my skinny twelve year old frame. So for the next hundred years of my life I’ve had issues with axes. This fear makes it pretty frustrating to watch movies that fall in the Horror genre, because inevitably there will be an axe involved somewhere. “One out of four horror movies must contain an axe” I think is how the Hollywood handout reads. So movies like the remake of Amityville Horror with Reynolds – beefy and handsome as he is – pretty much stop my brain and I leave the room in terror. And even in movies where the axe is just being used as an axe, to bust something open or to actually chop wood instead of chopping up bodies or opening skulls…I still have the mental freak outs and turn into a pile of weird afterwards.
But here is this beautiful image of Jake: a strong, handsome, interesting, probably kind and thoughtful human being. And he’s holding my arch nemesis, the dreaded axe. This image should give me the throw ups, or send me into hysterics, or unnerve me for a good day or two. But with all of that long-leggedness and fierce manliness he’s got going, he also has this ever-present Jake quality of chill. Good guy. Centered wise being thing. And I find I don’t want to run away in fear. I’m actually wanting to look at this beautiful human being, holding the scariest of things I have ever known, and think of what men are SUPPOSED to be like. Not creepy and dangerous, but glorious and capable. Not violent, chaotic and murderous, but protective, vital and healthy.
This might just be my favorite picture of all time now, of anyone, anywhere – because Jake Gyllenhaal has me thinking in a whole new way…maybe weapons are only as scary as the hands that hold them.
This post is going to go in Mexico’s page, in the Girls section after it appears here.
*Disclaimer* Feel free – anyone who doesn’t understand what the hell I’m doing – to un-follow this blog. It’s potentially going to be weirder than a SI.FI movie (though notably, maybe not as weird as Sharknado; c’mon).
The following posting here is a journal entry from 2009. I have been working on a memoir for some years now, and am plugging away at finishing that off. But have also another book I started working on in 2009, and this entry came up after doing some work for that book.
Generally speaking – at least in my case – having Multiple Personality Disorder … dealing with these aspects of myself just constantly brings up trauma I have been trying to avoid looking at for my entire life. Please bear with annoying repetitive stories.
The people listed in the journal entry are several of my “alters” or other personalities/sides that I have been discovering. Some have given themselves names back when I was a little bitty thing, some I have dolled out a name or position to for want of something else to call them. Several of the names here were found in a coloring book, each alternate person claiming a piece of work by signing their name in cornflower blue or Indian red. Anyway…this is the beginning of Mexico’s story…
i’ve started writing “(potential title of memoir style book here)”.
it smells like shit.
it smells like cat shit outside my window, or else one of my cat’s just shat.
now i have a headache, and my jaw aches, and i had to take 3 ginger chews because of my stomache.
i know i need to look at this stuff. i’m trying. but people get fucking NERVOUS!
today i did a picture project.
i looked through a bunch of old pictures and developed piles that i thought looked like different me’s.
a pile of little ‘tiger’s
a pile of denny’s ( i think it was denny, she’s so cute and jodie foster)
there was nellie bly,
and nervous nellie
and cindy or christy who is really a precious little thing
and the eraser.
my sister even recognized the eraser. i told her it was her, and when she saw the last picture (of the group) she said “yep”.
she could tell that pictures of denny were different than pictures of the other girls, not just because the hair was different, but other things. she totally saw it.
nervous nellie seems to be the only one with a big flat spot on her forehead. i guess i must have wrote the ‘shooting myself’ poem about her. (i’ll try to remember to put this poem up later…)
several pictures that i found i cannot find names for.
and there are names still that i haven’t determined a face for.
scritchy. little bird. sandi.
but most disturbing of all is a singular picture of a girl i didn’t recognize. all of these pictures i’ve seen a million times. i’ve seen them in photo albums while i was growing up, or at gramma’s or uncle john’s, and at my own house once they’d been passed on to me.
so i’ve seen this picture before.
but i don’t know the girl.
everyone else i recognized.
oh i didn’t necessarily know the name of the person, but i recognized the eyes, or the expression, or something about the way the person stood, and i could say – even if i didn’t know the name – here, this picture goes with all of these other pictures of that girl.
there are some pictures that are of no one. there is just no one there, and so it is a generic body or a generic girl that is there. tobie said maybe that is after the eraser has come through. so that might be. or maybe the downloader is a separate person than the eraser, and those are pictures of the downloader. i don’t know.
i just know that this one picture of this one girl sort of shocked me. everyone else rang out in my ‘self’ as a me, something familiar, even if old and lost. something recognizable.
this girl wasn’t recognized.
this girl might have been lost.
perhaps she has disappeared.
perhaps she is the poster girl for all the times i’ve been missing: in pictures at school, when yearbooks get signed, when parts of my life mysteriously go missing. maybe she is one of those milk bottle children who go away and are never seen again.
i don’t know who she is.
but she hurt my heart today.
Lansing seems to be so hot lately, i’m concerned there won’t be much of it left after the summer is gone!
well ok, this is actually a house left over from a fire. but it’s pretty cool. i mean – sorry – it’s never cool to have your house catch fire. so i hope everyone was ok and got out all right. but the melted structure looks pretty cool. interesting. odd. like the house was fed up with its outfit and decided to shed its old personality for something more up to date.
it’s fascinating. looks like sculpting clay being scraped away.
do you think houses have feelings? i wonder if the house is embarrassed about its semi-nude appearance?
well dang. gave myself a minor breakdown today.
i sometimes wonder why i put up weird pictures on here, because i might like it, but really – not everyone has the same taste. and i am well aware that i am on the “outer limits” of the norm, not only for my ‘condition’ but also for my taste, style, aesthetic…and humor. oh, and outlook. but i put up pictures none the less. and Accidental Happiness # something or other- i’m glad i have! i’ve started saving some of my pics on a new jump drive, cause i’m trying to get them organized. there are some shots i deem “cooler” than others, and want to make prints of, to maybe sell at local shops in my area. and FUCK IT if my brand new drive full of pictures didn’t say “corrupted” today when i slid it into it’s little home. WTF??? i completely freaked out, then did the melting down thing, then cried. lots of hours of work, and lots of anticipation fucked all over the globe. but i did a little research and found that i’d squirreled away many of the pictures i wanted; on other drives, here, and on my facebook account. (thank you facebook!) i suppose now i should make hard copies as well as do the whole shutterfly and/or flickr thing, which i just keep putting off.
some pix i can’t find. and i guess either i don’t need them, or they don’t want to be found, or i need to go make new ones. but what a panic! and i’m glad to have found the majority in other little places. so, accidental happiness: 80% of pix recovered. word to the wise: don’t skimp on jump drives and get the cheap ass ones on sale for 3.99 in a big barrel/bin at whatever office supply store is unloading them. major suckage.
these are my two favorite colors! or maybe, two of my favorite colors. OR BOTH!! 😀