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LadyLazurus

LadyLazurus - photo 1

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Friends:
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I'm a geeky, dangly earring wearing, pen loving, tree worshipping 38 year old woman living in southwestern NH. I'm interested in meeting and hopefully befriending fellow members of the LGBTQ and kink community in my local area. I'm pretty cool with getting to know anyone who saunters my way though. Most of my friends are married, living faraway, and tending to cute growing things. I'm here in my witch cottage with a very rambunctious curious puppy who likes to chew my hair. I'm saving the cats for a rainy day.

I'd describe myself as bisexual and queer. I 'm a masochist who identifies as property and enjoys brutal beatings, religious ass rape, toe kissing, large green bruises on my flesh, and serving tea. I do have someone I'm engaged with in a power dynamic so I'm not looking for that specifically right now.

In the mundane world I work in "ecommerce" and "technical support" which consists mainly of soothing angry and demanding customers while searching for new jobs between calls. My long term goal is to finish my Bachelors Degree and move onto graduate school. I'm quite interested in medicine, dietetics, and psychology but I haven't quite decided which one I want to pursue. I'm also an aspiring writer and poet but still a bit too chicken to pursue it as seriously as I should. I might be old enough now to actually have something interesting to say.

I like exploring dark corners of the world, reading books, worshipping the old gods at midnight circle sessions, cooking and dining out (I'm very much a fan of Sushi, Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Continental and Ethiopian cuisine), music, music, and music. Music is as important to me as oxygen. I'm big into jazz (the old and new: Trane, Miles, Billie Holiday, Kamasi Washington, Vijay Iyer), classical (Bernstein, Rostropovich, the "Philadelphia Sound", Russian romanticism), Soul/R&B (Beyonce is Queen, Aretha Franklin, Amy Winehouse), arty pop (Bat for Lashes, Anna Calvi, Florence and the Machine, Lady Gaga, the list goes on), and alty rocky electro worldy stuff.

I'm also a gluttonous consumer of film, television, and all matters pop culture. I'm just as happy streaming The Red Shoes as I am catching the latest episode of Game of Thrones or Stranger Things (come on Season 3, get here already!).

I'm somewhat of a political junkie. My day to day conversations tend to revolve around the politics of the day. I would describe myself as a socialist but I'm open to exchanging ideas with folks with differing views in a civil manner. I'm quite passionate about labor, class, poverty, and income inequality and think about these issues quite a bit. I'm a member of the Democratic Socialists of America. They're not without their flaws and I'm probably still to the left of them, but I'm quite happy with where I am.

I tend to be drawn to those with dark romantic streaks and a certain intensity. But you need to have a sense of humor too, or at least be able to put up with mine.

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11/6/2021 8:38:34 PM

Holy shit, they brought back the journal feature. 


4/4/2018 12:31:39 PM
Early morning, April four
Shot rings out in the Memphis sky
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride 





7/28/2017 4:43:40 AM
Trump tears are delicious this morning.

12/6/2016 8:30:29 PM
If you're a huge fan of Donald J. Trump, we probably won't get on too well. 

9/10/2016 2:35:54 PM
A blood clot....

I have one in my leg. I wrote a fancy note about the experience of being treated like a piece of meat through the whole ER/Ultrasound/Hospital/Daily Injection phase, but I'm too tired to finish that one right now.

Apparently I have a genetic clotting disorder that magnifies the risk of estrogen based birth control by quite a bit. I won the clot lottery. I'm swimming in my skin thanks to a healthy daily dose of Warfarin. If my blood behaves I will only be on it for six months. If it ever misbehaves again I may be on it for the rest of my life.

Now that I've passed the scared of dying part I am a bit concerned about my future masochistic endeavors. I have taken quite harsh beatings in the past without incident, but I understand engaging in that type of behavior increases the risk of developing clots. Certainly right now I'm choosing to abstain from having large multicolored bruises inflicted upon me.

This is difficult. My masochism is a fundamental part of who I am, it informs my mental, emotional, spiritual and physical self. But I'll be okay. I'm breathing, that's a start.


7/31/2016 2:13:41 PM
Donald Trump is terrible and I'm overjoyed that more and more  folks are realizing this everyday. Even if he were to win he's not going to bring back the past in which merely possessing a white penis gave some kind of advantage. He doesn't care about you, he's a liar, and he can't do much of what he claims he can do.  Thank  the universe for that. 

3/20/2016 10:27:21 AM
Dear Republicans,

I strongly support your 100 day campaign to stop Donald Trump and wish you the best of luck in recruiting a third party "true "conservative candidate. Rick Perry sure sounds swell . I'd recommend he wear the glasses. 

Love,

A happy liberal masochist

10/26/2015 9:34:29 PM
Her/Me/Him

I was exercising at Affordably Priced Corporate Gym when it happened. Maybe it was the song , or how I was scrawling his name across my chest over and over again, in rhythm to the humming of the machine. Or how I was skimming across the carpet, sweat rolling down my cheek. Maybe it was the lack of wine, the lack of cheese, the addition of leafy greens and cardio to my life. It made everything a bit sharper, harder to hide from. Or it was her. How he described touching her, penetrating her. And not me. “You rotten vomit head”, I thought, yet out of my mouth in a breathy unrecognizable voice came the words “That’s interesting” as he described how he planned to make her beg.


It happened in this moment. The unmistakable tightening of strings and bells and buttons, restless toes, fingers touching the emptiness in front of me. He lost that objective quality , a thing-person I could have polite exchanges with at dusk over tea. That I could enjoy and turn off at will. That I could impress as my audience. His hand slipped up my thigh and he laughed, and all I could do was close my eyes and mouth the words against his shoulder blade.

1/4/2015 9:46:47 AM

When I lash out I know that I’m doing better than I was. To feel nothing or to feel limpid is always a sign of ill emotional health. The slow growing, gnawing, wanting is welcome, is a necessary part of myself. I can go nowhere without it. But then again I sometimes say horrible things to people when I’m in this mood. Things that I regret instantly. I don’t regret letting myself go a bit, letting the sharp, bitter, cynical thoughts slip to the surface. Letting myself say real things instead of comforting fictions. The feelings are real. The feelings are me.  About half of the time that I do this I hate the way in which I do it. It’s usually done in an impulsive, unthinking way and the words I use are not elegant, thoughtful or kind.  I don’t like causing emotional pain to the people I care about.


We speak of  the insane woman with a golden pussy that one is cautioned to sample but never get too close to. It’s a degrading, shallow image. Just another way to objectify and catalogue women. Yet, I can’t escape this notion, that I’m one of those women, and that I walk around barely containing myself in a civilized manner. I’m dressed in a costume of kindness and caring and unselfish purity because I’m scared of being found out for the other thing.


It bleeds over into my relationship dynamics. I’m not one who sets out to be deliberately difficult or challenging. I don’t intend to hurl firebombs. I think perhaps I strive too much for inhuman servility and get lost in it.  I don’t know at times whether what I am feeling and doing is real, or just another way for me to delude myself and hide from the world. Sometimes I don’t want to say “yes” or to smile pleasantly, to be respectful, to be this thing or that thing. Sometimes I want to say “No, fuck you” and push you against the wall and gnaw at your neck and feel the blood pulsing through your veins. Sometimes I want to be the one acting, not acted upon.



1/2/2015 8:51:01 AM

I've barely written anything over the past year. I lost the drive/energy/impulse to do so because I was laid off from a job I was too emotionally involved in and then spiraled down into a dull depression. Constantly struggling for my own financial survival sucked up most of my energy.  Not having enough is thirsty and tiring work. I didn't allow myself to feel much of anything. If I let myself feel, it would have been too much. And writing is one of those ways that I feel. In the past when I've been drowning I have turned to writing, but this time I couldn't bear to pick apart my own pain.


I’m in a better place now financially and professionally and emotionally thanks to much loved friends and family in my life, luck, timing, and a slight upturn in the economy. I’m on a very low stress, predictable, quiet career trajectory now. It’s delicious to feel this sense of relief, to be a part of the everyday hum.  I know exactly what will happen every Monday to Friday 8:30 am to 4:30 pm without fail. I try to take pleasure in  this routine, as it’s the one I must live with at the moment.


And yet, I feel at times somewhat irritated and anxious, and craving darkness and intensity and bruises across my thighs. I have trouble with calm, it makes me want to turn over the furniture and chew on the curtain rods.  


But I’m here.

11/28/2014 7:34:00 PM

I was thinking about you and I was thinking about my life. I've always had these people telling me I should do all of these things, because I'm witty and quick and bleed myself and cry for small causes. I said today no I couldn't have survived without the small hand prints of those around me. But someone I respect immensely said I was wrong, that I could have always made it on  my own, I just did not understand my own power. And no, maybe I don't. I don't understand the in between and the belch and the leather belt and what happens in two hours. I don’t understand how my hands can surround flesh and squeeze and kiss and frolic in the grass and be something other than the afraid girl, the one in service. I don’t know how much of that I am and how much of that is a reaction against a strange world.


I spent most of my childhood thinking I was odd misbegotten trash, and then some people touched me on the head and said it wasn’t so. Then I entered adult life and some people said I had things worth salvaging and it’s taken me a long time to dig out of that, to feel anything, to want to shoot my rays of destruction and electricty in some wayward direction.


Because I’m not pretty and light. I’m disturbed and distracted and sagging and full of lines and scared and crying and hoarse. I don’t know.  I’m a just a small part of me tonight.

6/11/2014 11:34:30 PM

Poem 1


There is nothing I can

Unsay to you


In dreams I say unspeakable things


Two dollar beer in a convenience store freezer

Stale and old, overpriced, yearned for.

That is my speech.


I can’t tell you who you are

Or what you should be.


You’re not any richer than

I am poorer in spirit

and humor.


Here is a terminus overgrown

With weeds and scattered with relics.


If I hold out my wrist

Delicate dented bone

Can I keep you from

My collision of metal and blood?


Poem 2


You are cutting my hair

And I  am smearing myself

Across your  lips


You swallow

Your latest anti depressant


It makes me love you more

That you are cracked in half.


3/4/2014 2:49:18 AM

I only met my paternal grandfather once in my life. It was the summer of 1990. He was dressed all in white and his slate blue eyes matched my father’s, there was no denying that they were related to each other. I remember getting ice cream and seeing him off at the airport. He seemed warm and jovial. He had those piercing eyes and that jagged face, a more elegant version of my father’s... But that was the only time I met him in person. Two years ago he joined Facebook and friended me. One night I asked him about our family history and he gave me some information, which I will be forever grateful for.

 

 

Today I found out that he died on February 28th from a wife I didn't even know existed.

His history was a secret. My father held those secrets close to his chest and now he is mute. What happened in 195-? Why did my grandfather leave five children and a wife? What was that silence in between? Did he really do those things they said he did? My mother used to joke that he’d call once a year to let us know that the FBI still hadn't caught up with him yet.

 

I knew him only as an old man in white. I didn't know him as a father, a heart breaker, a tear bringer.

 

He died an old man’s death, broke a hip, and declined quickly, with a few complications. If only I had five more minutes than I ever had with him, to confirm or refute all the outlaw rumors that I heard about him.

 

It’s hard to miss someone I did not know, but there is an sadness beget from the absence of what never was.


12/26/2013 6:37:35 PM

Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind,

child of Zeus, who twists lures, I beg you 

do not break with hard pains, 

O lady, my heart

 

but come here if ever before 

you caught my voice far off

and listening left your father's

golden house and came, 

 

yoking your car. And find birds brought you,

quick sparrows over the black earth 

whipping their wings down the sky 

through midair-

 

they arrived. But you, O blessed one,

smiled in your deathless face

and asked what (now again) I have suffered and why 

(now again) I am calling out 

 

and what I want to happen most of all 

in my crazy heart. Whom should I persuade (now again) 

to lead you back into her love? Who, O 

Sappho is wronging you? 

 

For if she flees, soon she will pursue. 

If she refuses gifts, rather will she give them. 

If she does not love, soon she will love 

even unwilling. 

 

Come to me now: loose me from hard

care and all my hearts longs 

to accomplish, accomplish. You

be my ally. 

 

-Sappho 

 

 

 

 


12/21/2013 4:51:40 PM

http://vimeo.com/10405177

 

The lady with the white hair and the lady with the haunting brown eyes are the same lady across decades. 

 

Kind of lovely. 


12/14/2013 11:23:16 PM

It is time for an anarchist ( Post Soviet Emma Goldman) revolution. Join me and you shall! not regret it! 


12/10/2013 7:37:31 PM

I am a communist revolutionary anchoress. 


11/16/2013 7:12:56 PM

I've started a combined Buffy/Angel marathon in chronological order. 


11/14/2013 9:41:57 PM

My first birthday memory is of waking up irritated and frightened. Five meant only three more years to eight, then eight to twelve, then twelve to sixteen, and what existed beyond that which was worth talking about? I watched Cinderella on video cassette and cried.


One or two years later my mother threw me a birthday party.  I wore a puffy blue dress. Little girls from my class were invited to this party.A gnawing awkwardness and panic rose up from my throat. People. Social situations. No. I tried out my best imitation of  a chatty social little girl (something that seemed so much better than being my introverted self). It paled in comparison to the actual chatty social little girls at my party. I opened my presents and cried.


This pattern repeated itself once or twice more before my mother gave up on throwing  birthday parties with big guest lists. We had intimate family affairs instead, my happiest birthdays, wrapped inside the people who knew me best. Mom let me decide what I’d like for dinner and we’d consume carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. These birthdays are small, warm pouches of contentment.


I went to live in the city and study theory and history and fall in love with a boy. First love never seems like first love. It is the only love, great and complete unto itself, and the imagination cannot fathom losing it. He bought me three books on my twentieth birthday and of course because a boy had never bought me anything, nor had I ever expected something like that would happen to me, that birthday became The Birthday.


Until it wasn’t.


On my twenty first birthday I didn’t have him to love anymore and I was failing math. I walked to the corner bodega and purchased a forty ounce bottle of Steel Reserve. I sat on a bench in front of St. Mark’s Church on 10th street sipping my beer and cried.


Life became even more confusing and painful but the birthdays kept happening, they just didn’t want to stop.


I found a simple job that was not very simple and formed close relationships with people I’d never even stood in a room with. I stumbled about and tore my knickers but there was someone there at 2 am to sew them back together for me, or share a laugh or shake their head in indignation on my behalf. And it got good, very good. And so did the birthdays. No more crying.


I lost my job last month after seven years, eighty hour work weeks, and hundreds of bottles of red wine.  People that matter most to me  from that place and the other parts of my life  were essential, are essential.  They haven’t gone away now when it’s harder and colder -we’re still swapping jokes and having conversations  and talking about life.


Because I am not alone, I am here.


I am thirty years old today.




10/16/2013 11:08:59 PM

I would like to fall asleep next to him. 


10/8/2013 4:31:20 PM

Today they finally came for the box containing my phone, computer, ID and credit card. I stared at it, sitting there in the middle of my apartment, willing myself to get rid of it, but not quite ready to do so. I kept opening the box and sticking things into it last night, everything that reminded me of where I've been and what I've felt over the past year-fear, uncertainty, failure and doubt. I tucked all of that neatly between the bubble wrap. When the delivery man took it away, as it disappeared down the stairs and out the door, I felt a lightness and possibility that hasn't existed within me for a long time.


spent the past week and a half drinking, sleeping until afternoon, starting bonfires in my kitchen sink, crying, screaming and feeding my employee manual page by page to the flames. I let them make me feel like I was nothing.


Now the box is gone and I’m here with myself. It’s just me and my oddity and the human connections made. There is so much I could not do except breathe in and out, accept the grotty circumstances and sign away any sense of justice or finality in favor of survival.  I wanted to create something humane and productive, not based on ripping each other open for the next dollar or promotion or on the fear that tomorrow we’ll sleep on the concrete. I’d like to think, that for a moment, I was a part of something resembling that, and there will be more moments like it, and they’ll spiral outward.



10/5/2013 5:15:22 PM

When my company terminates people they send along a packet titled "Separation Benefits". The font is large and rounded, emanating a sympathetic air, if a font could ever be described as sympathetic, against a pale background. It's as if the words are floating in front of a softly flickering candle. I've stared at it countless times this week wondering how many psychologists and and human resources specialists were employed to design it.  Yes your separation benefits include the fabulous discontinuation of your health and life insurance, the turning in of your company iPhone and computer, and the roll over of your 401k. The manual seems to have left out additional separation benefits like crushing debt, cardboard box living, $5 liters of vodka and cheap cellphones bearing someone else's name. 


8/31/2013 12:07:22 PM

Today I’m catching up on work and drinking wine. I've become particularly fond of wine this year on a personal level. I’m also concentrating on becoming more knowledgeable about the topic to become a better servant for the gentleman in my life. Right now I’m working on reds, researching and learning the basics of wine and venturing out to my local grocery stores and state liquor outlet to make some prudent buys. Yes, yes this is such an arduous undertaking!


I’m not desperately poor but on a budget, so I've focused my research on good to great (?) wines in the $10 to $20 range. I want to build a solid database of go to everyday wines I can handily pair with meals, long conversations and intense beatings.


My parameters are no big box wines and wine that has some character and pop to it. I understand that more wine is mass produced on a large scale than I probably am aware of but I’m steering clear of the most obvious and most flavorless ones. My mother is quite fond of a major mass produced wine that tastes like sweetened dishwater to me. Drinking her wine put me off of the stuff for years.


So far “hits” for me have been Argentinean Tilia Malbec 2012, attained at my state liquor store. I also quite enjoyed Penfold’s Koonunga Hills Shiraz, an Australian wine, also obtained at the same location.


Prior to this experiment my go to table wine has been Big House Red, which is serviceable and a bit fun and very cheap. It does come in a box version that I’ve indulged in.


Today I ventured out to do some bargain hunting. As I live in a rural area the only places one may obtain wine is at one of three grocery stores or the state liquor outlet. The liquor outlet strength is imported/international wines, they have a great European/South American selection. Except for the Tilia Malbec, I’m going to explore those ones at a later date.


The grocery store I usually avoid because it’s kind of gross and creepy actually has a small but impressive wine selection. Right now I am sampling the Ravenswood Old Vine Zinfandel 2011, vintner’s blend. It was on sale for $8.99. I’m quite enjoying it.


I’m not including tasting notes at this point as I don’t feel I have the expertise.


More to follow!


8/27/2013 3:25:54 PM

I've decided to drink wine tonight. I've started out with a Argentinean Malbec. 


7/27/2013 9:54:09 PM

I am hungry. It is a gnawing sickly emptiness, sometimes a wave I swallow. When it is fulfilled, there is nothing at the other end but more hunger. Pursuing, arranging, and satisfying it thrills me. I drive in the humidity in my broken down car scribbling the perfect words across the center lane,  perfect inadequate words.


I am drawn to those who are hungry in their own way. I know within minutes whether a man I encounter understands it. I have nothing for those who cannot feel it.  I can feel them in an affectionate familial way, but I won’t crouch inside their broom closet shivering and crying.


I am his. It rushes into my ear drums.


I am metallic at times in the daylight hours, otherwise my hands are constantly reaching inside, slipping through guts, breathing against that curved bumped behind the ear.


Words are a disguise, the yes, the no. I couldn’t say these things in tongues.Each minute is a connection between the last and how quickly I can ink it out.


When I hear his voice all I can think about sometimes is blood smeared across my face while his body presses me into the floorboards.


I crave the sounds-the shift in his voice, the growling breaths, the clinking of dinnerware. I  imagine his limbs wrapped in other limbs.


I want to lick the floor clean before he treads upon it. I am made, my teeth tasting the stones.


He is the origin point for me, there is no other.


...why him? Why me?


I know he will hurt me in fundamental ways, and I will bleed and obsess and love him for it.


7/22/2013 11:02:06 PM

 You knew every time she sang it was real. Two years. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=362JArvhAqg


7/16/2013 8:56:49 PM

I don’t know how to do the next two months. I imagine living in an alternative universe. In this place my father sits on his couch at night drinking beer in his dusty apartment. He’s not paralyzed in some nursing home bed and his siblings aren't possibly absconding with his funds. I’m not looking up lawyers. I’m a teacher or I've just finished my PhD. I’m probably still broke though.


I think about packing up what I can stuff into a suitcase and burning everything else. I scan listings for flats in various corners of the world. I’m living in some broken down cottage on a deserted beach in a warm land or I’m renting a closet in some cold urban location.


I say these things but I’m not miserable. As many times as my plans have been derailed and crises have unfolded, I’ve raged, then accepted and found a way to get something out of it, anything.


I’ve become the one who endures.


I hate having to be that one, because I possess none of the natural confidence or social intelligence to pull it off, it’s all an act. I fake it but I can’t convince myself that I’ve actually made it yet.


Everything seems so petty and stupid, I want to scream at people I care about when they  go on about which color notebook to buy or where they want to eat dinner or what’s the proper procedure etc.


It’s obviously me.


I’ve cut myself off from doing  things that used to give me a false sense of hope and security. It was all an illusion. Instead of burying myself in these other things I have to deal with my raw emotions, and that gets ugly. I’m figuring it out.


Also, there’s someone in my world, or rather I am in his world. And all of these alternative plans make zero sense. They’re just fear reactions to horrible, stress. He doesn't make me want to run away, the opposite actually. He listens to my inane chatter about work and my problems. He doesn't give out stupid, treacly advice or false comfort. But damn talking to him is like some kind of relief, it makes me feel better about everything.


I’m okay with that.


7/4/2013 5:08:22 PM

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is light somewhere.

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

 

 

The Laughing Heart, Charles Bukowski 


7/3/2013 2:13:05 PM

I heard this for the first time today on the radio, almost convulsed in pleasure at the wheel! 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGdSYPh5_BI


7/1/2013 8:32:35 PM

I've come to the conclusion that I hate corporations, corporate culture and management in general. This is not to say that everyone (and let’s face it most middle class Americans are entangled in it somehow) involved in it is evil. But what’s it good for? I've helped make millions of dollars for narcissistic twits that were already filthy rich to begin with. These are narcissistic twits who couldn't even begin to understand what it’s like to be a member of the economic underclass. Anyone in such a position is somehow at fault, merely because they’re not “managing their money correctly” or some other inanity.


It’s difficult to be the manager of the most exploited group of employees at my company, many make close to minimum wage or a bit above, hold down multiple jobs, and have family to support. I’m not that far above where they are. I’ve had the distinct displeasure of having them come to me with medical crises, afraid of not getting paid on time, and for the second time today, someone who’s on the verge of homelessness. I’m not displeased with them personally, I’m horrified at the system.


I’m not expecting a money making venture to be a charity but it sickens me that a company that so lavishly wastes money on certain expenditures has zero care for employees in crisis. As long as you’re still punching your time card each day, they could give less than a fuck if you’re going home to a cardboard box after work.


What make’s it even worse is that on it’s face the company presents an image of being “progressive”. Yet they engage in horrible work practices and exploit their workers just as badly if not worse than the worst of the worst.


So why do I work for such a loathsome entity still? Well I desperately need the money myself. But I’m finding day by day that I can barely stand to keep doing what I’m doing. I’m not creating anything, I’m not helping anyone, I’m not contributing in anyway whatsoever towards society in general. I’m seriously contemplating a career path where I might feel less like a loathsome servant of the power elite. But again such transitions require a certain well of funds in the first place that I just don’t have.


The part of my job I’m most passionate about is advocating for my employees, not “team projects” or boosting the image of the corporation or sucking up to the CEO. I’m a horrible manager in that regard. I’d rather go on strike and become a labor organizer.


This isn’t very sexy or fetishistic but it’s a piece of my real life.


6/25/2013 4:24:38 PM

This is exciting to me in ways that close ups of pink bits oozing and mashing into each other never will be. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W__NkiMeOag


6/18/2013 9:51:53 PM

Sometimes I feel like I'm not fit for human interaction based on the number of ridiculous things I utter and write. 

 

I don't like being a cold wall in terms of how I express my emotions but I seem to create a pile of raw refuse whenever they tumble out unchecked. I need to work on that. 


6/14/2013 7:31:34 PM

Total Loan Balance $0.00


This has thrilled me throughout the day. I keep going back and staring at it. I made my final car payment today. When I bought the car I was 24 years old and making $10.00 an hour. I hated that I needed to take out a loan, but I hated not having a car more. It’s impossible to live in this part of the world without one.  I imagined this day over and over but shuddered a bit, I’d be almost 30 years old by the time I paid it off. Yes I’m almost 30 years old now, and the car is paid off.


I need to go stare again.


I feel a tiny sense of relief that I did not have yesterday. The car has always been mine, kind of. But there was a fear in the back of my mind that I would not be able pay it off and it would be repossessed. No car means no movement, no independence, no escape. If I lose everything else at least I’ll have my car. I’m not planning on losing everything that I have but loss doesn’t warn you of it’s impending presence.


I try to be aware of the possible damage my words or actions may do to others. I’m so imperfect, I know I fuck it up and hurt people, but I wear my empathy like a comfortable suit, life is better when I focus on others. But there’s this creature on the other side of the looking glass always feeling it’s way out, warning me, preparing me. It’s served me well at times. It’s served others well. Sometimes it peeks out from under my skirt and I kick it in the shins. I feel like I need it, and it needs me, and my car. My car is it’s chariot, the manifestation of the safety of running away, erasing self and wandering aimlessly through the broken down parts of the world. Somehow in doing that I’m always able to talk some sense into myself, in those times I thought I was a permanently cracked teacup.


6/8/2013 6:31:51 PM

I need more violence in my life. 


6/8/2013 12:08:52 PM

Joss Whedon and Shakespeare......

 

Oh my god.....

 

Yes.....

 

Yes.....

 

I'm coming !!!!!! 


6/5/2013 6:08:52 PM

My idea of excellent rock music, exhibit 1. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qhu3HNvBk3w

 

 


6/1/2013 2:15:42 AM

 I am supposed to write something profound. So here you go. 

 

"My loving people, we have been persuaded by some, that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects. And therefore I am come amongst you at this time, not as for my recreation or sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all; to lay down, for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honor and my blood, even the dust. I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England, too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realms: to which, rather than any dishonor should grow by me, I myself will take up arms; I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, by your forwardness, that you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble and worthy subject; not doubting by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and by your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people."



Queen Elizabeth I, 1588


5/24/2013 3:58:02 PM

This sucks, he's amazingly talented, one of my favorites. His legs looked wonderful in fishnets. 

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/24/tim-curry-stroke_n_3331852.html


5/24/2013 3:54:26 PM

This is beautiful. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0zhiE2SNbk


5/21/2013 7:34:31 PM

I haven’t opened my trunk in two years.  There’s always something more important to do, a pile of books in the corner to sort,dust bunnies to vacuum. I bring it all around to the garbage bin behind the house and forget about opening the trunk.


The oranges are in a plastic bag locked in the trunk, inside of a bowl, inside of another bag. As oranges rot they let off a sweet smell. Then they turn to dust. My dusty oranges are waiting for me.


It’s summer now, melting. Other than the oranges the trunk contains stained recipe books, a black pea coat covered in lint, an atlas, the shirt I wore when I told him I loved him, my old dolly. I left it all in there, the things I didn’t want to see for awhile.


I’ve been half fearing the contents of that trunk for two years. This week I decided to get rid of the dust bunnies for good and finally put the books on the shelf, rather than pile them up in the corner. There is an order to my universe, it chaotically unfolds in comforting ways for me. And I have let myself move on.  


The trunk contains the things that cannot be. I’m done mourning it. I just need to open it.



5/19/2013 7:52:45 PM

I am asked sometimes what my name means. It comes from this.  


I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.


-”Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath



5/18/2013 1:11:17 AM

Catholic.com has one of the most entertaining forums. 


5/10/2013 9:17:52 PM

I like taking my metaphorical knife and slicing it slowly across some white fleshy part of my body. It’s the only way to explain why I do some of the things that I do.


5/6/2013 9:09:55 PM

"The modern Antigone is not fated to share her father's curse, not obliged to share his guilt. But she is compelled to share his grief out of compassion, and so strong is this compassion that she wants to share also his guilt-wants to make of herself, retroactively, an accomplice to his crimes. She loves her father with all her soul, Kierkegaard writes, and it is this love that 'pulls her away from herself, into her father's guilt.' 

 

But love it not merely a feeling that overcomes her-it is a feeling she happily affirms, actively reinforces. Oedipus gives Antigone's life a center of gravity, something that binds her freedom. She welcomes the suffering that manifests her love of her father and to a certain degree she inflicts it upon herself. Love is indeed ambiguous between passivity and activity, necessity and freedom. On the one hand, a lover regards the beloved as the cause of her love. Love appears to strike us from the outside and we cannot love at will. In this sense, loving is passive. Yet when I say that I speak 'from the bottom of my heart' or that I do something 'whole-heartedly,' I use a metaphor for love to express full and voluntary investment in what I say and do. In these idioms, love represents responsibility, activity. 

 

Life is partly a task and partly a gift, Kierkegaard wrote. Unlike a curse, a right or a genetic disease, a gift cannot be bestowed upon a person against her will. She can choose to accept or decline it. A child does not choose her parents but is offered them as gifts upon her birth, and to love them and grieve with them is to appropriate them as her kin. Love is this project of accepting a gift, cultivating a heritage, assuming another's fate as one's own. If freedom is the ailment, it is willful surrender to her emotions and her ties to others that is the modern Antigone's redemption." 

 

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/05/05/kierkegaards-antigone/?src=recg

 

 


5/5/2013 8:05:18 PM

Peggy and Don are back together again. That thrills my slashy fan girl heart. 


5/4/2013 11:30:13 PM

I’m feeling kind of glum lately. I’m too sensitive to other people’s moods and if I’m not careful I start to absorb whatever it is they are feeling and by turns I start to feel a bit wretched. Being empathetic has it’s advantages but there’s a dark side. It’s easy for me to sense when other people are obscuring their feelings, or lying, or in a bad mood or depressed or traumatized or whatever. It’s a struggle to not let that affect my own mood.

 

I have to, as I often advise others who are going through rough times, “be kind to myself” right now I think. Otherwise I will start caving into the paranoid critical self centered voice in my head telling me that any negativity or darkness I’m experiencing or sensing in others has something to do with me personally. Because it’s not always about me (unbelievable I know!).


Then there are my own real feelings. I keep pulling myself back to  now because I become too obsessed with the future.  I've lived with myself for a while and have discarded certain notions and ideas and courses of action that haven’t worked out too well for me in the past. I have a hard time imagining myself in different ways or in believing that I can change some things. I've failed so many times in the past at it.


5/3/2013 9:46:01 PM

Highlight of my Friday evening: Finding out Netflix now has all 4 "Scream" films on Instant stream. Woo hoo. 


5/2/2013 1:16:43 PM

Elise, Part 3

 

She hated arriving so early. The restaurant was deserted except for a group of old men drinking tea. The shades were drawn,  the carpet  frayed and stained, and the wallpaper peeling.  She contemplated driving home.  She’d send him a quick text,  tell him the car had broken down on the highway or she had a cold or or or....

 

She looked at her phone again, 1:32. He had told her to be there at 1: 00 pm. Where was he?  Her shoulder blades dug  into the back of the cheap plastic booth. She was tired of sitting straight as a rod with her eyes on the door. The smoke and grease wafting through the air made her nose itch. She ripped paper napkins into thin strips and arranged them into three neat piles on the table. There was still time to sneak out the back entrance or hide in the restroom.


Then the door opened. It had to be him.  She had gone over this moment many times in her mind. She’d  make an impressive and sweeping introduction, striding confidently towards the gentleman and kissing him on both cheeks while offering him a Martini. Jazz music would play in the background. Now she stared intently at one of the piles of napkin hoping to vanish. Maybe if she didn't acknowledge him he’d go away.


“Elise?”


She looked up, focusing on his hairline. He had wavy brown hair, more than she had anticipated for a  fifty five year old man. She mused over the meaning of his hair.


“John? “


“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”


“Likewise. It’s always a bit stunning to me when someone emerges from the cyber pixels.”


He smiled,  grasped her hand, and shook it firmly. She smiled in a nervous goofy way and looked at his face for the first time.His eyes were gray and hard and he seemed to be staring inside her.


She focused on his hair again, it was less intense than the rest of him. He smelled like fresh laundry and wore a well tailored gray suit with impeccable shoes. She didn't trust men in suits. He was a wolf in a suit. And she was a plain neurotic girl desperate to look pretty in her crinkly black skirt.


“May I ?” he said, motioning towards the booth.


“Oh, of course, by all means.”


He nudged her a bit with his body and sat next to her, which sent her mind into a fuzzy state of non comprehension for several moments.


“Oh, you want to sit next to me?”


“Yes, move over please.”


She didn't like this. She could cope with him sitting across from her, but now they were sitting shoulder to shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his body. At least she wasn't forced to look him in the eye.


He patted her leg and she jerked a bit.


“Oh, sorry. It’s just that we don’t really know each other.”


“You don’t think so?”


She started playing with the shredded napkin again.


“Stop that.”


“Okay.”


“Okay is not an answer.”


She didn't like his tone but felt uncomfortable contradicting him.


“ I will stop fidgeting.”


“That’s better. Now, answer my question.”


She took a breath.


“ Well, the internet creates a sense of intimacy, yes. But it’s not like we’ve been communicating non stop for the past ten years. And in real life, we’re imperfect. The internet can create the impression that the person we’re talking with is flawless. It’s a distorted reality, you can’t really know someone that way.”


“ What do you think so far?”


She felt like scratching his cheek.


“ I don’t know. I've spent five minutes with you,  not long enough yet to be disappointed.”


He snorted.


At that moment his left hand drifted beneath the table. She was aware of this and even though she thought he might only be scratching his knee or making some other innocuous gesture she spread her legs slightly under the table.


“Good girl.”


His hand slipped beneath her skirt, his fingers teasing her inner thigh, stroking it.


She stuttered, “This place is gross. Is this your idea of seduction?”


“ It’s nice and secluded. You should try the apple pie too, it’s damn good.”


He continued stroking her inner thigh. Elise frantically looked around the restaurant, the old men were bent over their tea.


“Maybe we shouldn't. “


“ If you’d like, you can leave. If I’m making you uncomfortable at all.”


“Um. No.”


He started talking to her about her job and her goals and her outlook on the economy and world politics. She felt childish and completely out of depth. She also gave distracted answers because his hand slowly moved up her thigh to her cunt without actually touching any part of it. She wanted to flee and she wanted his fingers inside her.


He ridiculed one of her opinions and her face flooded with indignant color. At that moment his fingers began playing with the delicate flesh of her cunt. She was wet, and his finger inside her, playing with her, probing her, made her more so. She started breathing a little more heavily, stumbling on her words, unable to focus on anything. She could feel herself almost involuntarily thrusting her hips in a subtle manner.


“Elise, there’s a bathroom at the back of the restaurant. Kneel down on the floor in the bathroom.”


“But what about you?”


“Just do it.”


He removed his hand. She stood up unsteadily and for half a second considered leaving out the front entrance. Instead she made her way to the bathroom, her cheeks burning. She was certain everyone else knew exactly what she was doing, what she was.


The bathroom was dusty but clean and the linoleum worn and slightly uneven. She knelt facing the doorway, her head bowed. A minute later he entered and stood over her. He said nothing and did nothing for several minutes. She felt exposed and nervous, what did he want?


He grabbed her by her hair, twisting it slightly until she let out a small sound and guided her head towards his crotch. He unzipped his pants and pushed her head towards his cock. Without thinking she started licking and kissing the area around his cock, the insides of his thighs in a worshipful manner, sometimes nuzzling it with her face, rubbing her cheek against it. She started to reach out with her hands to play with it.


He slapped her hand away. She flinched.


“No hands.”


She took him in her mouth,her lips and tongue moving over it. His hand was at the back of her head again, forcing his cock down her throat. She started gagging, unable to breathe but he forced more and more of his cock down her throat. Her eyes were watering and a bit of saliva dripped out of the corner of her mouth. She tapped him on the leg, hoping he’d let up a bit.


“No.”


He pushed her even further until his cock was completely down her throat, then he began throat fucking her, thrusting into her. She gasped as he totally disregarded her discomfort, force. She didn't feel like much more than a hole for him to use. He pushed her away.


“Get up, turn around and lean against the wall.”


She did as he instructed, confused and disoriented. He pulled her skirt up and shoved her panties down around her ankles.  He pressed his body against hers, pressing against the wall. He bit the back of her neck and her shoulder. He licked her ear and then with his mouth pressed against it in a low tone said “You need to practice cock sucking in order to get me off. I will be expecting that of you.”


She could feel him pressing his cock against her ass crack and ass cheeks but he did not fuck her. He let out a low growl. She thrust her ass in his direction, rubbing it against his cock.


“Are you going to fuck my ass?”


“No, you haven’t earned that yet.”


He grabbed a handful of her flesh hip and began twisting and digging into it to the point, over and over again. She started whimpering, and he thrust harder against her until she felt him groan and shudder against her. Her hip was throbbing and she could feel his cum dripping slowly down the length of her ass. He jerked her panties up around her hips.


“I want you to walk around for the rest of the day soaking in my cum. Do you understand?”


“Yes I understand.”


“Good, now clean me.”


She knelt again and licked his cock clean of any remaining cum.


“Crawl over to the toilet and position your head over it.”


“What? No. No.”


“Do it now.”


She was torn, what he wanted from her was too much, too degrading, too dirty. But she couldn't disobey him. She crawled over to the toilet, lifted the lid and positioned her head over it. She closed her eyes and sighed.


“Open your mouth.”


She did so, then she felt a warm stream of piss on her face, dripping into her mouth. He finished, she held her position, uncertain as to whether she should move to adjust herself.


“You’re a good little whore. You may get up and  wash your face and hair before appearing in public again.”


She did so, and he moved towards the door.


“What was this? Will I see you again?”


“Yes.”


He left without saying another word.



4/28/2013 7:04:54 PM

I am contemplating beginning my career as an anchoress somewhere in the Chihuahuan Desert.


I live as a recluse surrounded by books to a certain extent now.  I have four rather than three windows in my “room” although the air conditioner is in one of them, so technically yes, I have three windows.Too bad I’m on the second floor, it makes it difficult to give advice to those who seek out my window.


Are anchoresses allowed to drink whiskey ?


Reclusive. Physical discomfort/scourging. Meditation, prayer, writing. Holy anorexia ( in vogue circa 1265).


I could get into this. Do anchoresses believe in ass rape, choking and black eyes ?  I’m assuming not, but what if I did it all in the name of Christ?



4/25/2013 7:11:43 PM

I don’t want to be an emotional sponge, but I have difficulty understanding a thing without feeling it. I can’t simply look at something and move on,  a scientist poking at a specimen under glass. I can’t understand an experience without jumping into the skin of the people involved. How did they feel when this happened? What was he thinking? Every time I internalize it I feel it poking through my skin until I want it out of me. Maintaining  indifference is safer for me. But I can’t.


Killing hundreds of thousands of civilians in pointless wars, on an intellectual level I lament it but then I go back to drinking and masturbating and working. Maybe it’s harder to see violence in a place you are familiar with, on a street you have walked down many times.


I couldn't sleep, eyes on the television, working non stop because the rhythm of work is the only certainty I possess. “Evil” turned out to be so happenstance and normal, per usual. . Someone, everyday, in no way distinguishable from the rest of the crowd, has worms in his heart. Or something. You’re convinced there’s a part missing and only if you could find it, you could finally understand what he was all about. But really you can’t. That part isn't missing, it was never there to begin with. Once you come to this realization it’s easier to understand how someone can impose their selfish or deluded desires on the rest of the world.


I could write a poem about  the boy bleeding in the boat, he may have shot me in the head while I formatted it though. I would have asked him how it felt laying there in the dark, surrounded by police, knowing your future is nothing but a dark blur, round and rounds of concrete walls. And what about the little boy splattered all over the sidewalk and the limbs delicately hanging from trees and telephone wires?


I suppose that’s a horrible and macabre thing to contemplate.

 

There’s the other side of this  far away from twisted bone and pavement. I’m not in pieces.  I’m here in my apartment contemplating when I should mail my rent check so as it doesn't bounce before my next pay day. I don’t have to feel like this, it’s my own choice to allow myself to feel like any event has any importance to me whatsoever. I should watch sitcoms in the evening and knit socks.


There’s too much hate and cynical and cruel in the world. I don’t want to be that way. I had trouble dragging myself out of bed to work this week, and since  I work from home it’s easy to half work and half bathe in the sun. So I bathed in the sun. I opened all of the windows and planted myself head first in the sill, and I drifted off into trance. I was still aware of myself, awake in some sense, but an overwhelming contentedness washed over me. The wind and my love and the fusion of all life into the tree across the way calmed me down. This is how I've spent most of the week.


I began to think of playing in the waves with my siblings, twirling them around, rolling in the sand. I thought of everyone I’ve ever loved, his brown limbs, their curve, our kiss. I thought about the man I so desperately want to devote myself to, and how stupid on some level I am for that, but how right it feels, that even if it’s a spoiled carton of milk, I don’t care. Force it down my throat, like the breeze between my toes.


When I connected to the leaves and grass and dirt I didn't feel so lost. My lumpy body, my tummy marked with lines and sagging a bit was no longer there, I was just the blood and the dirt once again.  My face turned a bit brown and the strands of hair that fall towards the front of my face became a bit more blonde than usual. I could hear the children of the tenant downstairs playing outside in the yard, yelling and playing tag and kicking their ball about. And this is what is good,  there’s so much more out there, so much to love.



4/23/2013 11:16:09 PM

An Almost Made Up Poem 

 

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it's all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I'm not jealous
because we've never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame ---- not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they've told
us, but listening to you I wasn't sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers, 
editors, "her, print her, she' mad but she'
magic. there' no lie in her fire." I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn't happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn't help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.

 

 

-Charles Bukowski 


4/21/2013 8:27:44 PM

He bought me a pair of three inch heels. It was a shock, I don’t  receive gifts, I’m not the kind of girl someone gives a gift to. I felt a bit like an impostor, undeserving of it, trying to cover my hesitation, to not seem mawkish or overly sentimental in reaction to his generosity, yet flooded with ecstatic gratitude. I was afraid that the intensity of my emotion upon receiving this gift was completely irrational, lopsided, containing too much of everything. The shoes are beautifully constructed and reflect “me”. This is unsettling and exhilarating, do I want someone knowing me so well they can pick out items like that? Yes I do.


These shoes are a version of me that wears three inch heels, existing sideways inside a shelf in my head. I keep the shoes separate from all other pairs of shoes I own, they’re not really shoes of course, they’re a piece of him, maybe some kind of talisman linking me to the future and to him and to my messy fucked up emotions. I don’t know. But they sit on my table and I wear them each day. I’m wobbly, not an expert heel walker yet. Sometimes I wear them as I work or while I do daily chores. I haven’t been brave enough to venture out in public in them. I like to smell the leather of the shoe, pressing my nose and cheek against it, cradling it. Yes, I’m a mad woman and I’m not exaggerating, I have done these things.


4/18/2013 10:56:10 PM

red plastic

cup under the sink


i am not staring

at the same star


crawling down the stairs in

my loafers

i tell a thousand lies


a wave

muscle merging

tendon tearing


what i won’t say

fading away


too essential now

like an artery

connecting heart to

bone and nerve


4/18/2013 10:55:28 PM

undress flesh

dissolve bone

swim through the stars to

Kepler 62


inhabit atmosphere

twirly whirl  the silence

no embrace

dry dirt

i trace

the rock

i am  alive


4/18/2013 10:55:01 PM

eight years old

you didn’t know


we spun

collapsing

in the summer grass


running to your daddy

under blue sky

still running hopefully

with butterflies


4/18/2013 7:26:47 PM

Every so often I go into obsessive mode. It’s one of my strengths in a way, obsession results in good to above average work. It can also lead to pointless perfectionism and wasting my time and energy on things that don’t even matter. .


I’m drinking a bottle of wine and listening to music with my window open, trying not to obsess over obsessing.


4/17/2013 3:42:47 PM

“The Giver” is a dystopian children’s novel, although sophisticated enough for an adult’s taste. In this world there is no color, no sexuality, no music, and no real emotions. Everything is ordered and calm and pleasant. One member of the community though is charged with retaining all of the memories and history of the community’s past--within him are memories of war, brutality, suffering, love. In the rare instance that there is a community crisis the Giver draws upon the memories. He eventually takes a young man as his apprentice when he grows old and he transmits the memories and emotions to him.


It feels like this for me this week and last week and the week before. I feel overwhelmed somewhat by the thoughts and emotions pouring out of other people and into me. Usually there is a wall but it’s a bit eroded this week.  Doing it for twelve hours a day is difficult. I try to see the “good” even in the horrible but it’s difficult when minute after minute I’m absorbing irrational fear and hatred and anger.


It’s sharper now because I’m feeling more exposed emotionally. That tends to bleed into everything I do.


4/17/2013 1:06:02 AM

Is it possible for a human to change? I don’t know that I believe that. We can transform certainly, but transformation isn't change. Transformation is an evolution of what is already there,  the possibility of throwing ourselves in another direction. Change is turning brown eyes into blue, altering fingerprints. That doesn't happen, whatever reality you force yourself into, you can’t detach the original from what you are now. It’s always still there, faded wallpaper.


I can transform my appearance and my demeanor and the things that I say and the things that I do or don’t do. But altering self and patterns of behavior isn't change. The emotions inside of me don’t change. The splatter can’t be altered. I am always hungry and I must pursue that hunger, but the end object doesn't need to remain the same. It’s the ritual, the going through the action, the sick mad way the world crackles, that matters.


The hunger is my religion and my love. It’s what I have, the way that I surrender to myself and others. I fall obsessively in love with abstract concepts and theories and creation,  and with people, and desire to lose myself in them. I have to be careful because this way of existing has the potential to be disastrous and tiring.


I can’t alter what I need. I can try and alter how I fulfill that need.  I have this horrible habit of seeking out inevitable emotional pain via certain choices I make. My masochism doesn't live in the bottom of the dresser drawer. It’s just like another organ, inseparable, unalterable for the most part, functioning separately and as part of a greater unit.  I can’t not be hurt and wanting and begging. It’s how I love, it’s how I translate the world. If that doesn't exist, then they do not exist, not in my space, not in a I want to drown inside you way. And that’s how I need to feel, I want to drown inside you.


4/15/2013 1:16:00 PM

I want a hug. 


4/11/2013 11:06:48 AM

A major reason I support marriage equality and LGBT rights. These sad situations should NOT be happening. 

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/11/gay-man-arrested-missouri-hospital_n_3060488.html


4/8/2013 11:44:42 AM

Yeah. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgmOZ6y9qzw



4/7/2013 8:51:44 AM

Mad Men tonight, season premiere! 


4/6/2013 8:54:54 PM

Drinking wine. Listening to the sounds of the universe. 


4/3/2013 7:54:31 PM

I had this dream a few times last week. I am with him, and everything around us is white. It seems like we’re in some cheesy film, sitting on a rock under a waterfall. We’re in close physical proximity to each other, actually pressed against each other, I can’t tell my limbs from his. Instead of water though, there’s just a lot of blood. Neither one of us is bleeding, there is no pain involved, but there’s blood everywhere, coming from the sky, from the cliff above. It was almost like a painting.


4/2/2013 10:13:32 PM

oh- did I offend it-
Did'nt it want me
to tell it the truth
,
Daisy- Daisy- offend it- who
bends her smaller life to
his (it's)(,) meeker (lower) every day-
who only asks- a task-
Who something to do for
love of it- some little way
she cannot guess to make
that master glad-

 

 

A love so big it scares
her, rushing among her small
heart- pushing aside the
blood- and leaving her
(all) faint and white in the
gust' arm-

 

 

Daisy- who never flinched
thro' that awful parting-
but held her life so tight
he should not see the
wound- who would have
sheltered him in her
childish bosom (Heart)- only it was'nt
big one for a Guest so large-

 

 

his Daisy- grieve her
Lord- and yet it (she) often
blundered- perhaps she
grieved (grazed) his taste- perhaps
her odd- Backwoodsman
life (ways) troubled (teased) his finer sense (nature)-
Daisy fea knows all that-
but must she go un-
pardoned- teach her grace- (preceptor)
teach her majesty
Slow (Dull) at patrician things-
Even the wren open her
nest learns (knows) more than
Daisy dares-

 

 

Low at the knee that bore
her once unto royal (wordless) rest,
now- she Daisy scoops a kneels,
a culprit- tell her
her offence- fault- Master-
if it is not so small
eno to cancel with
her lifeDaisy she is satisfied-
but punish- do notnt banish
her- Shut her in prison-
Sir- only pledge that you
will forgive- sometime-

 

before the grave, and
Daisy will not mind-
she will awake in his your
likeness-          

 

 

Wonder stings me more
than the Bee- who did
never sting me- but
made gay music with
his might wherever
may should did go- 
Wonder wastes my pound,
you said I had no
size to spare-


You send the water
over the Dam in my
brown eyes-

 


I've got a cough as
big as a thimble- but
I dont care for that- 
I've got a Tomahawk
in my side but that
dont hurt me much,
If you Her Master
stabs her more-

 


Wont he come to her-
or will he let her seek him,

 

never minding whatever
so long wandering(, if) out
to him at last-

 


Oh how the sailor strains,
when his boat is
filling- Oh how the
dying tug, till the angel
comes. Master- open
your life wide, and
take in me in forever,
I will never be tired-
I will never be noisy
when you want to be
still- I will be glad
as the your best little
girl- nobody else will
see me, but you- but
that is enough- I
shall not want any
more- and all that
Heaven will prove
(only) disappoint me- (because) will be
it's not so dear

 

 

-Emily Dickinson, Master Letter 2, Early 1861 


3/31/2013 8:16:33 PM

Why do I always miss the good stuff? 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIgGrzQVK3g


3/31/2013 6:25:05 PM

Blank spaces sometimes mean more than words.


3/27/2013 3:40:54 PM

The past week and a half has been  difficult for a few different reasons. When I arrogantly start thinking there couldn't possibly be anything that I haven’t faced before the universe throws something else my way.

 

Of course it's not like these things randomly happen to me, I own the fuck ups. 

 

The only thing that feels good right now is the Spring air. 

 


3/18/2013 1:01:38 PM

I want to be punched in the mouth, grabbed violently by the hair and pushed into a wall. I want my bottoms ripped off of me. I want to be violated bodily and otherwise. I want to feel blood dripping out of various orifices while my opinions on the Supreme Court are mercilessly mocked. And there’s only one person in the world I want to do this to me.


3/14/2013 8:20:18 PM

Sometimes I do the most idiotic things for the most fucked up reasons.


3/12/2013 5:18:01 PM

Stay out of my territory. That's my feeling today. 


3/8/2013 11:32:06 PM

she swallows
her tongue

 

it is less savory
than his
heel
in her mouth

 

a palm pressed
against twenty
below
glass

 

a death line
her last line

 

rhythmic consumption
of worm rocks
undress her
eye slats

 

she is stain

 

a shoe lace
crushing
the electric
dark

 

drowning into he
drowning into she

 

now they are one
ache

 

-----By me, searching for things to contemplate on a Friday evening. 


2/24/2013 4:18:25 PM

Ahh tonight is Oscar Night. Yay, movies make me happy. 


2/22/2013 4:31:23 PM

Today has been a shitty McShit day with a shit cherry on top. This is the only thing saving me. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzyOs2bh3PU

 

It's time, its been 25 years. This is surely a sign. 


2/19/2013 10:13:18 PM

I want to stay up all night listening to Jazz and drinking wine. This record is tugging me at me lately, filling me up and giving me what I need. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uLPPd7qsdA


2/11/2013 11:51:44 PM

I end up in his bed, next to him. He’s allowed me to crawl into his blankets. I've spent months pretending I was already there half asleep laying alone in my own.  I touch some part of him. He’s warm and I’m warm so I understand not wanting to be on top of each other all night, but I need that contact, even if it’s just my hand touching his hand or his leg or his back. I close my eyes.


2/10/2013 2:29:38 PM

Victory is mine!!! It only took me 1.5 hours to shovel out of 2 feet of snow with only a hand shovel. I only fell into a snow bank once. Go me. 


2/9/2013 11:02:59 PM

I need to get out of here. 


2/6/2013 11:43:54 PM

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ethan Rayne died. 

 

Sadly there are no good clips of him floating around Youtube. If you don't know who he is please do yourself a favor and pick up one of the best television shows in the history of the world (Buffy of course). 

 

Okay he was in other stuff too. 

 

RIP Robin Sachs. 


2/4/2013 4:05:35 PM

I gave a girl good advice at work today because I like her and I don’t want to see her fired. I could have told her go ahead as is, you’re great and your inflammatory memo is great, and watched her disintegrate. But she’s good for us, so I’m giving her my actual input. Sometimes work makes me hate myself because it’s all about calculation and politics and survival. The sucky thing is that I have to get a permission in two days time to do something that’s uber important. And I hate doing that because I have to make a pitch perfect argument. The pressure of this sucks, because it involves so many lives other than my own. I hate having to be this responsible.


1/29/2013 9:44:57 PM

I have slept about three hours the past two nights. I’m not sure why that happened. When I’m more sleep deprived than usual I start not caring at all about it, not wanting it. And I'm emotional,  someone could speak to me in a slightly disapproving tone and my gut reaction is unreasonable and over the top, I feel everything in my bloodstream, before I bite my lip.  I slip into my own alternate reality, micro-sleeps I guess. Those are kind of fun, as long as I’m not operating heavy machinery.

I hate this time of year, it’s gross and gray and cold and bleak. It’s been winter for about two months and there is probably another month and a half to two months to go.

I had to be an extrovert and that’s exhausting in a different way.

I have nothing clever to say.

Right now I want to eat a lobster roll and a plate of french fries soaked in vinegar and salt. Because that’s warm weather food.

And then there’s the rest of it, my wanting obsessive self. There’s always that.


1/26/2013 12:31:07 PM

http://gawker.com/5979104/requiem-for-a-dolphin



http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/26/nyregion/dolphin-in-gowanus-canal.html?_r=0



http://www.nytimes.com/imagepages/2013/01/26/nyregion/DOLPHIN2.html



http://gothamist.com/2013/01/25/bdolphin_reportedly_stranded_in_the.#photo-1



People are dying the world over and suffering in more profound ways so I know I shouldn't care about this. But I wanted the dolphin to find a way out, I was so hoping for that. It struggled for a long time, bleeding and confused and crying in that gross canal, a canal that is gross because of humans.

Where did it come from and how did it get separated from the group? It swam into New York Harbor and up the canal. Did it consider itself to be on a grand adventure? Was it curious? What made it do what it did? It was stuck in the canal at 9:30am and died around 6:00 pm. Human intervention wouldn't have been possible until the tide rose again at 7:00 pm. Almost, maybe, almost.

However much it suffered in it’s last moments, I want to believe this dolphin had a nice life swimming about the ocean, that it was the end of a mostly pain free existence.

I’m kind of jealous of it in that respect. I’d rather be at the ocean, in it, living in it? I was lucky enough to go on family summer vacations as a child, to Cape Cod and Maine. We’d go to the beach everyday, 10 am to 4 pm. I hated sitting on a beach in the sun reading and tanning and playing in the sand. The beach existed as a place to leave all of my things while I swam and jumped and played and floated in the water. My mother had to call me out of the water every now and then, my lips would be almost blue and I’d be shaking, because dammit I was going to go swimming even if the water was only 59 F.

I’m still like that. It’s not really a day at the beach unless I’ve spent five or six hours in the water.

I don’t have to be anything, just a speck of flesh swirling around weightless and clearly feeling myself. I dive into the waves and bob up and down sometimes. Other times I like them to crash on me and feel the water closing in on me, to slip under it where it’s quiet and I’m tumbling about. I’ve always wanted to live in a tiny shack near the water or be a dolphin. Neither has come to pass so far but I believe it’s still a possibility.


1/24/2013 9:28:38 PM

These people are no fun. There go my plans....

 

"By registering for Stripe, you are confirming that you will not use the Service to accept payments in connection with the following businesses, business activities or business practices: (1) door-to-door sales, (2) offering substantial rebates or special incentives to the Cardholder subsequent to the original purchase, (3) negative response marketing, (4) engaging in deceptive marketing practices, (5) sharing Cardholder’s data with another merchant for payment of up-sell or cross-sell product or service, (6) evading Card Network’s chargeback monitoring programs, (7) engaging in any form of licensed or unlicensed aggregation or factoring, (8) airlines, (9) age verification, (10) age restricted products or services, (11) bail bonds, (12) bankruptcy lawyers, (13) bidding fee auctions, (14) collection agencies, (15) chain letters, (16) check cashing, wire transfers or money orders, (17) counterfeit goods, (18) currency exchanges or dealers, (19) embassies, foreign consulates or other foreign governments, (20) firms selling business opportunities, investment opportunities, mortgage consulting or reduction, credit counseling, repair or protection or real estate purchases with no money down, (21) credit card and identity theft protection, (22) cruise lines, (23) essay mills, (24) flea markets, (25) drug paraphernalia, (26) extended warranties, (27) fortune tellers, (28) “get rich quick” schemes; (28) gambling (including but not limited to lotteries, Internet gaming, contests, sweepstakes, or offering of prizes as an inducement to purchase goods or services), (29) sports forecasting or odds making, (30) illegal products or services, (31) mail-order brides, (32) marijuana dispensaries and related businesses, (33) money transmitters or money service businesses, (34) multi-level marketing or pyramid schemes, (35) online or other non-face-to-face pharmacies or pharmacy referral services, (36) prepaid phone cards, phone services or cell phones, (37) pseudo pharmaceuticals, (38) quasi-cash or stored value, (39) securities brokers, (40) sexually-oriented or pornographic products or services, (41) shipping or forwarding brokers, (42) substances designed to mimic illegal drugs, (43) telemarketing, (44) telecommunications equipment and telephone sales, (45) timeshares, (46) travel agencies or travel clubs, (47) online or other non-face-to-face tobacco or e-cigarette sales, (48) weapons and munitions (49) virtual currency that can be monetized, re-sold or converted to physical or digital goods or services or otherwise exit the virtual world, (50) personal computer technical support, (51) selling video game or virtual world credits (unless you are the operator of the video game or virtual world), (52) selling social media activity, such as Twitter followers, Facebook likes or Youtube views, (53) human hair, fake hair or hair-extensions, (54) any product or service that infringes upon the copyright, trademark or trade secrets of any third party, or (55) any product, service or activity that is deceptive, unfair, predatory or prohibited by one or more Card Networks."


1/20/2013 9:07:10 PM

I’m studying Sufism again ( I took an entire class on this subject years ago)  in my latest academic dabbling, although it’s just a short unit on the topic.

I copied this passage years ago and it finds me when needed.


“Rabi'a was a slave girl, set free by her master. The most famous story illustrative of the single mindedness of her devotion is this: Once, in the streets of Basra,she was asked why she was carrying a torch in one hand and an ewer in the other, and she answered: "I want to throw fire into Paradise and pour water into Hell so that these two veils disappear, and it becomes clear who worships God out of love, not out of fear of Hell or hope for Paradise.

This love for love's sake has become the central topic of Sufism; almost every mystical poet in Islam has expressed the idea that "the lover must be in the way of love so that he does not remember Hell or Paradise". For "a few houris and castles" that are promised to the pious in Paradise are mere veils hiding the eternal divine beauty-"when He fills your mind with Paradise and houris know by certain that He keeps you far from Himself". It would certainly be better if God took away Paradise or cast the ascetic who feared hellfire into that very fire, for both Paradise and Hell are created, and thus distinct from God.

Rabi'a's love of God was absolute; there was no room left for any other thought or love. She did not marry, nor did she give the Prophet a special place in her piety. The world meant nothing to her. She would shut the windows in spring without looking at the flowers and become lost in the contemplation of Him who created flowers and springtime. This story has often been retold by the mystical poets of Iran. Every true mystic should know that "the gardens and the fruits are inside, in the heart," as Rumi says in his version of Rabi'a's story. Rabi'a seems to have been the first Sufi to speak about the jealous God-a concept not unknown to prophetic piety; but whereas the jealous God of the orthodox does not allow anybody to worship anything besides Him, Rabi'a's God "will suffer none to share with Him that love which is due to Him alone." And so she addresses Him in small poetical effusions:

O Beloved of hearts, I have none like unto Thee,
therefore have pity this day on the sinner
who comes to Thee.
O my Hope and my Rest and my Delight
the heart can love none other but Thee.

In such perfect love, the mystic has "ceased to exist and passed out of self. I am one with Him and altogether His." Rabi'a had meditated upon the Qur'anic statement that God's love precedes man's love: "He loves them and they love Him." "Love has come from Eternity and passes into Eternity and none has been found in seventy thousand worlds who drinks one drop of it until at last he is absorbed in God, and from that comes the saying: He loves them and they love Him". It was this Koranic passage that provided the Sufis of the following generations with proof for their theories of the mutual love between the Creator and the creature.

There is nothing left to distract the lover from God-the spiritual eye sees nothing but Him when the eye of the body is closed. He is enough for the loving soul: "O my Lord, whatever the share of this world Thou dost bestow on me, bestow it on Thine enemies, and whatever share of the next world Thou doest give me, give it to Thy friends-Thou art enough for me". Rabi'a's prayer has been repeated, with variations, by Sufis of all ages, probably in the most shocking form by Shibli, the mystic of Baghdad whose paradoxes are famous in Sufi history: "O God, hand this world and the Otherworld over to me so that I may make a morsel from this world and throw it into a dog's mouth, and make a morsel of the Otherworld and put it into a Jew's mouth, for both are veils before the true goal". For Rabi'a the only thing that mattered was the hope of God and the word of His praise, which was sweeter than any other word. The nightly prayer, one of the pivots of early ascetic life, becomes, with her, a sweet and loving conversation between lover and beloved:

O God, the night has passed and the day has dawned. How I long to know if Thou hast accepted my prayers or if Thou hast rejected them. Therefore console me for it is Thine to console this state of mine. Thou has given me life and cared for me, and Thine is the glory. If Thou want to drive me from Thy door, yet would I not forsake it, for the love that I bear in my heart towards Thee.

-from "The Mystical Dimensions of Islam" by Annemarie Schimmel, pg 38-40


1/20/2013 11:38:56 AM

I drank wine out of a plastic cup at 3:00 am at a friend’s apartment, which is odd for me. I hate going out in the winter weather. I didn't feel like sleeping and she was awake. There are no words to describe 3 am and the kind of  wondering that happens, like what the fuck am I  doing or look I broke a fingernail or this song is dark and melodic, my favorite kind of song. I didn't need to think about the wild beast thing ripping apart the pillows and spitting on the floor when I was thinking about the music and the wine and smiling and nodding my head at her.

3 am turned into 4 am. She talked about her job and the 120 pound man with tiny legs that asked her out on a date.I talked about being kicked in the face and how the sensations are different between a bare foot and a shoe. She didn't gasp in horror, she’s fascinated by my masochism and I don’t have to dress it up politely for her. She’s the kind of girl who likes to make crafts and volunteers at the Humane Society while hiding bottles of vodka in her linen closet. She’ll drink it in front of me, actually I think she invites me over at 3 am to drink it in front of me. She can be a drunk who likes to make dream catchers and I can be a fat girl eating cheesecake talking about  how I want to watch someone cut me open because that is my only language of understanding. I kind of think we’re after the same thing.

I hadn't been over to her house in months until last night and I declined the cheesecake and settled for the glass of wine in a plastic cup so things were a bit off. And we talked like this and listened to music.And really I just needed to fall asleep next to someone and maybe she needed that too. And we did fall asleep on the couch next to each other, hands and legs touching, slouched in opposite directions.


1/10/2013 8:14:31 PM

I feel. And I don’t want to stop.


1/9/2013 9:53:59 PM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mlFg2Bb_5gg


1/8/2013 4:22:29 PM

Everything is the same as it ever was. I choose certain things because they are difficult and make me cry and spit and scream. That’s my way. It doesn't distress me too much these days because I've tried the other way and it’s just too damn easy.


1/7/2013 5:34:26 PM

I was so happy to find a video of the complete performance, one of my favorites. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hlu7jPQSOuE


1/2/2013 4:23:32 PM

How not to message me. 

 

"12:46 PM

 

Oh gorgeous geek: I am besotted.Tell me your first name. Let's meet on January 12 (Portsmouth,Boston, Portland?)to begin our Dady Dom relationship. I am clean, educated, witty, and have stamina from daily 5 mile speedwalk. My expressive lips will please you as I know yours will please me. I am an excellent editor who looks forward to reading your prose and to giving you more to write about.Don't think about it. Just say yes."


"2:45 PM


IM me now. you won't regret it."


"2:53 PM


I am a retired military lawyer/psychologist who was an English major long ago. I am perfect for you and you know it. Talk to me. I want to know you and share my mind,body, and soul with you"


"2:55 PM


readwer, I married him. I am your Rochester. I am also very hard for you."


"4:35 PM


I lik bright womenwho know where they are and should be.You have a lot of potential and need the right DOM to make you shine!"


1/1/2013 7:52:29 PM

I don’t do the New Years resolution stuff, it seems more like a marketing scheme and shouldn't I be making goals and plans and doing all that happy go lucky motivational shit throughout the year? I've decided to focus my efforts on completing my degree, the thing that’s kind of been pushed to the side now for a few years but continues to gnaw at me. I only need ten credits to graduate, I otherwise have a happy shiny academic record and a solid 3.6 GPA. It’s been so frustrating. I feel like I’ll always be waiting for the right moment and that’s never going to happen. It’s going to be painful and emotionally draining and stressful no matter when or how so I might as well just do it.

And no I don’t want to do all those other things like transfer to a different school, start another degree program, blah blah blah. I put all of myself into this and I can’t walk away no matter how ridiculously naive I was to even believe I could do it in the first place. I have this odd habit of doing things that I shouldn't do and telling everyone around me to fuck off when they tell me I can’t. Some of the time these people are right and I should have listened to them for a more placid less stressful existence, sometimes I’m right but I always seem to choose the most painful difficult things.

My former school does have a  readmission process. The theme of the application is “What the fuck happened to you? What have you been doing?” I've been very lucky in that I have an interesting, not very common job. I’m grateful for this and I’m hoping that highlighting it, that yes I wasn't sitting in my mom’s basement eating Cheetos and that some crazy circumstances led me to where I am today, will help. I've been writing the application since last week, tweaking it, trying to tell my story of the last five years. That part isn't really the hard part though. It’s the whole paying for it thing, but I’m going to do whatever I have to and I actually wrote a damn outline and steps what I need to do. Planning it out makes it less overwhelming.

I sound completely self centered about this. I need to be though or I’ll never get it done.


12/30/2012 9:07:29 PM

I like dark and burning things. And music. 


12/21/2012 10:35:50 AM

I’m not very good with Christmas and I need to find a way to fix that. I got into an argument with someone I care about a great deal and I let out my evil side for no real reason. I felt nothing but burning emptiness. We did resolve it with understanding and clarity but it didn’t need to happen in the first place. I have to make a great deal of effort at this time of year to remain a civilized human being. It’s like there’s an invisible thread connecting the rest of the world to my insides and the thread goes taut and I am strangled by it.

The answer of course is my father. It’s not his fault, but December is tainted forever by that crisis. I’ve fooled myself into a certain kind of cynicism but there’s a part of me that is touching the canopy of stars and wanting something more and feeling something more. It doesn’t forget what I felt when I stared at the carpet stains in the waiting room or how I stepped into a grey puddle of slush on the curb. Time is important to me, past, present and future. I don’t forget dates and times and when a time passes in which something has happened I automatically begin to focus on it a for a certain period of time.

I feel grief because his life and world are now in a nursing home and he can’t talk and he can’t walk and he can’t even eat on his own. It’s grief because he’s lost himself and we’ve lost our relationship, as fragile as it was.  There is anger because I feel like I didn’t do enough or haven’t done enough, that somehow there was something I could have done to make it better. I feel anger at myself for having the opportunity to find out what he would have wanted but being too scared to face that reality and talk to him about it beforehand.  I feel anger at several of his holier than thou devout Catholic life at any cost relatives who insisted upon taking extraordinary life saving measure to give him this “life”. I am angry at myself for not being angry enough, for not knowing how to stand up to them, I feel like I failed in an essential way.

There’s fear too that I’m going to end up like that, broken and alone. And essentially he is alone in there and we can surround him, but there is an essential aloneness within him and within all of us. I run away kicking and screaming but I can’t run away from being a part of him.

I know this will recede, and thinking and writing about it helps me to understand it better. Beyond that I’d like to be punched in the face and held, no words.


12/14/2012 3:40:10 PM

What kind of world have we created? 


12/13/2012 10:14:16 PM

little dark girl with 
kind eyes 
when it comes time to 
use the knife 
I won't flinch and 
I won't blame 
you, 
as I drive along the shore alone 
as the palms wave, 
the ugly heavy palms, 
as the living does not arrive 
as the dead do not leave, 
I won't blame you, 
instead 
I will remember the kisses 
our lips raw with love 
and how you gave me 
everything you had 
and how I 
offered you what was left of 
me, 
and I will remember your small room 
the feel of you 
the light in the window 
your records 
your books 
our morning coffee 
our noons our nights 
our bodies spilled together 
sleeping 
the tiny flowing currents 
immediate and forever 
your leg my leg 
your arm my arm 
your smile and the warmth 
of you 
who made me laugh 
again. 
little dark girl with kind eyes 
you have no 
knife. the knife is 
mine and I won't use it 
yet.

 

 

-Charles Bukowski 


12/8/2012 12:45:51 PM

I grew up on the NH/VT border in a tiny town that had no services of it’s own save for a few gas stations, a liquor store, a fireworks store and a non-Super Walmart. It is isolated from the rest of the state, just a dusty corner one would rather forget. The world inside of our home was much different from the drabness outside, at least for a few years. This was not a perfect world but it was nice while it lasted. There was a total lack of awareness on my part that being gay, black, disabled, purple, blue, trans or a cucumber bagel sandwich was somehow inherently off or wrong or unnatural or somehow disconnected one from the rest of humanity.

I knew from a young age what “gay” meant. I don’t remember if my mother explained it to me. I just knew it always existed. My understanding at that young age was that  two men or two women loved each other and were together like my mom and dad. My mother invited her friend to dinner at our home with his partner. His partner played games with me and the other children, we shared meals, we watched them hug and share affection, we knew they were a couple. Nothing about that felt uncomfortable or wrong.

I was fat and awkward and shy in middle school.  While reading books during breaks this same group of boys hurled assorted objects at my head, once a basketball left a bruise on my cheek. Gym class was torturous. I was picked last and deliberately tripped or pushed at least two to three times a class. A skinny boy with hair dyed a different color each week wearing black nail polish sat out gym class most days, the other classmates seemed to have a fondness for tripping and pushing him. At a certain point I couldn't take it anymore and started sporadically sitting out of class. By midyear a coterie of fat kids, geeks,gays and weirdos formed on the bleachers. Black nail polish boy used to call us his sexy bitches. He was fun and had a great sense of humor. We had a grand time failing gym class. It was one bright spot in a multi year arc of horrors. That boy married his husband in a lovely Cape Cod wedding a couple of years ago.

My parents spent years striving to be one of those nice middle class pillars of the community. It ended with them screaming at each other in the backyard. Soon they became known as the town slut (not true) and the town drunk (true). The children at school would tell me these things to my face. When you live in a small rural community there are consequences when you don’t follow the program.

The coterie on the bleachers migrated to the lunchroom-the assortment grew to include a large percentage of fatties, freaks, geeks, gays,  goths, redneck trailer trash and a few potheads. We were ragged and stuck out in awkward places and knew what it felt like to have objects hurled at our heads. I stopped caring about the other people who didn't understand our language and ways, accepted my own dna and composition and fucked up ness.

There was a boy in our group I’d known since grade school. In fourth grade he liked to send me notes on graph paper in colored pencil. The notes always said, “Will you marry me? Check yes or no”. We liked to swing together during recess while discussing politics. When we were 16 we were paired together several times during driver’s ed lessons. The instructor liked to yell at me for not being able to do “back in parking”. The boy would do silly things to make me laugh like turn the wipers on while the sun was shining and then pretend he didn’t know how to shut them off while winking at me. The instructor went ballistic, it amused me. One day he stopped coming to school. Someone told me that he came out to his parents and they kicked him out of the house. He spent a year homeless and sleeping on the couches of friends. I saw him a few years later and he was doing better, had found a passion and purpose in life.

But it was at that point that I thought to myself, what the fuck? Why would you kick your sixteen old son out of your house and disown him for this? Much of intensity behind my support for marriage equality comes from  my personal experience and my belief that it’s wrong to treat gay members of our society as second class citizens. I can’t claim to have experienced one one thousandth of the harassment, idiocy and pain that a gay person experiences, but I have an inkling of it. And while I understand all of the intellectual arguments surrounding the issue for me it comes down to this. Gay people are still people. They breathe the same air. They have the same desires.

These people are not outside of anything, they are inside, among us, our aunts and uncles and parents and friends. There’s no reason why gay people should be barred from participating in the same institutions as the rest of our society. In fact I’d posit it’s harmful to all of us as a society to arbitrarily bar any group from full citizenship based on gender, sexual orientation and race. You’re restricting people who may have much to contribute to our well being and strength as a community.  

In 1999 the Vermont Supreme Court ordered the state legislature to pass legislation legalizing same sex marriage or it’s equivalent. It happened right around the time my friend was kicked out by his parents. As we lived right on the border, it was a drama playing out almost in our own backyard.  Vermont is known for it’s liberal views but there is a more conservative contingent of folks there too and the fight to legalize Civil Unions was a brutal one. Hearing the stories of ordinary families and the struggles they faced because their union was not legally recognized made me look at this issue from a larger less personal perspective. These folks told stories about being barred from being by the hospital bedside of their loved ones, having inheritance and estate planning issues, unable to be on their partner’s health insurance plan or to receive social security, medicare and disability benefits for spouses just to name a few difficulties.

The very popular governor at the time Howard Dean faced a firestorm of criticism for his support of Civil Unions. Right wing extremists from outside the state including Operation Abortion founder Randall Terry set up shop in the state. These organizations hoped to pour money and activists into the state to defeat the legislation. A funny thing happened though, Vermont legislators barred people from out of state from participating in the public proceedings and outside money was refused. Even Anti Civil union groups within the state did not take outside money there was so much pressure on them to keep strangers out of the proceedings. As a result only about half a million dollars was spent in total on this campaign, a horrendously low amount when considering the kind of money poured into the Prop 8 fight in California and other states. The result was a much heated but still civil debate and ultimately Civil Unions legislation was passed and signed into law.

Witnessing this with my own eyeballs put me firmly in the pro marriage equality camp. In NH a few years ago gay marriage legislation was passed. Every year conservative groups try to repeal this legislation claiming that the polls showing a majority of support for gay marriage among NH residents is “skewed”. So far these challenges have failed. I can’t imagine surviving on such a fragile precipice, that the person I’ve vowed to spend my life with may legally be declared a stranger to me at the change of legislative bodies or the right amount of spending or right sort of ads to convince people how sinful my lifestyle is.  But why indeed should a gay couple need a special dispensation, a special law, to do what others in our society may do if they are of human, legal consent and not related to each other? I’m obviously not a state’s right kind of gal, because I find it incongruous that something so fundamental as marriage is denied to so many unfortunate enough to not live in a state with a special law telling them it’s okay to get married.

SCOTUS will hear two gay rights cases next year-Edie Windsor’s DOMA case and the Prop 8 case. A recent Gallup poll showed that a majority of Americans (49%-47%)  support legalizing gay marriage. Among 18-29 year olds 73% support legalizing gay marriage. There are several possible outcomes to these cases.  There is so much more to say and do.


12/5/2012 4:13:43 PM

Tonight is Barbara Stanwyck night on TCM. I'm quite happy, it will be a nice break. 


12/2/2012 8:30:57 PM

he populates my veins
his body on top of bodies
consuming hips and wrists

dinner is served
sauce over hair
it’s his, this sauce covered hair

I’m licking the rim of his
programming gravelly and needful
the brown stain across my nuclear dreams


12/1/2012 6:56:27 AM

I feel like such a trash bag right now. I'm not cut out for management, I'm not sociopathic enough. I am not a numbers driven person but when someone has been given extensive help to improve and they don't, and then I have to make a decision (a decision I was forced to make or I'd be out on my bum) between them and other people who have been doing well...I can only do so much. But I feel kind of evil for it anyway. 


11/30/2012 9:51:05 PM

I started thumbing through my Foucault and Butler and longed to smell the library at 2am, hide myself in a stack, read until my eyes hurt, wallow in theoretical postmodern orgasmic glorious wankery. Or occupy the computer lab with it’s garish lighting and constant humming, my favorite hang out in the spring of 2006. It was close to my cramped six person dorm room and usually quiet except around midterms and finals. I rather liked staying out all night studying and sleeping through the morning when everyone was out and about. I often slept through a literature course where I still managed to achieve a 4.0. My roommate happened to be in the same class and signed my name on the attendance sheet every time I was absent as a thank you for not caring that her boyfriend came over at night to fuck her while I was gone anyway to the computer lab or out on the streets or listening to jazz music at some dump. I liked walking to the bodega at 4am to buy a cold bagel with cream cheese and a container of strawberries at the end of the night, wherever I was.

But I’m not there. I’m here. And my feet are cold. And I wish I was talking to him, listening to his voice. I don’t agree with some of his ideas but he states them in a seductive way. I like big words and intensity. And when he’s talking I’m focusing on him and focusing on the way I’d like him to bite my lip, split it open, split me open. I’d like to split him open in a way, I’m curious and intrusive like that. I’d like to lick the inside of his thigh.

This is really about nothing. Or maybe my desire for things and people and smells and tastes and cold bagels and feet. 


11/25/2012 5:56:36 PM

Somehow I ended up watching Tina Turner music videos. 


11/22/2012 4:39:53 PM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg6BwvDcANg

 

 


11/21/2012 7:54:20 PM

An extremely thin man at the liquor store blocked the champagne/sparkling wine aisle today as I scurried to obtain my bubbly. There were at least 50 bottles of cheap wine in his cart. Was he hosting a soiree or the proprietor of a greasy bar or planning to sit in his recliner alone at night downing bottles while staring at the wall? He appeared to ponder serious matters, staring at the bottle on the shelf with intention, brushing it with his hand as if he were dusting it, then placing it in the cart and repeating the process.

After making my purchase I decided it would be prudent to drink sparkling wine tomorrow night rather than feel groggy on Thanksgiving. My mother invited me to her house for dinner.  I need to be on my best behavior, clear eyed and focused on dead leaves in the backyard while we talk about renovations and our work and the table wine.  I am relieved because otherwise I would sit here alone all day. I did that last year. If I do that without too many shiny distractions I’ll end up stewing myself.  I try to approach my family delicately. The prospect of losing links to them makes me anxious, even if who I am in relation to them seems to not make much sense. It’s a careful exercise, I don’t want to drip on the snow and cause a scene.

And the drip is frequent. I’m learning to be leaky again.  I imagine that I’m creating a watercolor on the apartment floor. I’m not content with the painting. I’m hungry in the ways I’ve always been hungry, but it’s worse because my veins and guts are being demanded of, and here they are, and here I am with the window open feeling my feet get frostbitten. And I’d like to throw the guts and blood at the window and scream “Here, this is what I am” Because all of me includes not only the delightful parts but the ugly and stupid and impulsive and sticky parts.


11/20/2012 8:03:35 PM

Nothing is wrong except it’s pitch black by 5pm. And my headphones are broken. And I hate my student loans. And there’s  too much on my mind and strangeness in my  heart. I visited my grandmother this weekend. When exiting my vehicle in her driveway I stepped oddly and fell flat on my face, nose pressed to the ground. It was an odd three step process. First there was the losing of balance in agonizingly slow motion. Then there was the hard landing on the knee, which hurt. But really it’s a small thing one could recover from quickly, at that point, on the ground but not splayed out in every direction. I couldn’t fall halfway though, I can never only fall halfway. My arms gave out under me and my nose ended up in the dirt. I felt more honest in that position than I usually feel, on level with the ground, below most things. Somehow the getting up felt that much more painful and humiliating. I felt fat and awkward and shaken. It is the middle of November and I was behind a fence so no one was around to witness my lovely spill but in my mind I’m surrounded by a leering crowd at such moments. My knee aches remembering.


11/17/2012 8:43:16 AM

Dirty Valentine by Richard Siken 

 

There are so many things I’m not allowed to tell you.
I touch myself, I dream.
Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending
that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,
these shins, these soapy flanks.
The musicians start the overture while I hide behind the microphone,
trying to match the dubbing
to the big lips shining down from the screen.
We’re filming the movie called Planet of Love-
there’s sex of course, and ballroom dancing,
fancy clothes and waterlilies in the pond, and half the night you’re
a dependable chap, mounting the stairs in lamplight to the bath, but then
the too white teeth all night,
all over the American sky, too much to bear, this constant fingering,
your hands a river gesture, the birds in flight, the birds still singing
outside the greasy window, in the trees.
There’s a part in the movie
where you can see right through the acting,
where you can tell that I’m about to burst into tears,
right before I burst into tears
and flee to the slimy moonlit riverbed
canopied with devastated clouds.
We’re shooting the scene where
I swallow your heart and you make me
spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls
right out of my mouth.
You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.
Lying on the sofa with my eyes closed, I didn’t want to see it this way,
everything eating everything in the end.
We know how the light works,
we know where the sound is coming from.
Verse. Chorus. Verse.
I’m sorry. We know how it works. The world is no longer mysterious


11/15/2012 5:12:34 PM

I probably shouldn't be following alcohol advice from Ernest Hemingway but I made myself a  Death in the Afternoon and I'm quite liking it. 


11/14/2012 9:02:59 PM

And today is the day. This is the first birthday in three years whereupon I haven’t freaked out about being almost 30 years old. That’s odd as I’m closer to 30 than I ever was. I envisioned turning 29 and immediately losing my teeth and hair and needing a cane. By age 30 I’d be an 89 year old moldering corpse. Shockingly I still have my teeth and hair and can walk unassisted. As I mentioned in last years birthday entry, I could never envision myself older than age 28, for a long time  it was the dividing line between youth and dotage and dotage was too horrifying to contemplate. I passed the point of caring or I figured out that I liked being older at some point this past year.  I am generally still unwise, impulsive, too quick to apologize and headstrong.

But I like that I am a bit older. I've lost some of my uncertainty and hesitation and inability to be assertive. When you are responsible for the work lives and by extension in some ways  the lives of 60 plus people you have to be willing to be their advocate and to stand up for them or you don’t deserve the position, and I feel like everyday I’m trying to deserve the position.

I still suck at expressing my emotions, at saying “ I want to be by your side until I am indeed an 89 year old rotting corpse and I expire.” Oh wait, I’m wandering off topic, kind of. But yes, there’s still that. I’d like to get better at cutting myself open and exposing all the ugly, confusing, loving, sad, strange stuff inside of me and showing it to him, to others who are close to me.

There’s him. He is angled differently than I am but somehow the angles fit well with mine. He is the place where I want to cook dinner and bleed into the soup.

There are others too. And I’m grateful for them and their conversation and their caring and the way they splash themselves openly all over the parchment. I’m lucky enough to have a few people like that in my life. 


11/11/2012 7:39:00 PM

I like that I could use Google Maps to get directions from Kabul to Mumbai, India. It's only 34 hours! 


11/11/2012 5:00:43 PM

Someone I know and someone I don’t know essentially have said the same thing to me. Which I guess is based on my schizophrenic, kicking up the dust and kind of all over the place writing. That was more stream of consciousness and maybe I need a “Don’t allow the world to view this until you've thought about it” button. I think it’s because this week is the week. There’s only a few more days left. It’s not that I’m sad, quite the opposite. But it’s been a busy week for me. It’s been a week of absence and fulfillment, remembering and wondering about what the fuck happens next.

It’s easier for me to bury anything I’m feeling because then I won’t get irritated. Like, distance sucks. Circumstances suck. I suck. I can’t help thinking those things but then again they are those things. And they’re there, and I’m doing, because I always do, no matter what. But yes this week has been about a lot of remembering what was lost and what isn't lost and that I’m not perhaps so different in some ways than I thought I was.


11/9/2012 11:31:24 PM

Oh well I flamed out. I only drank about a third of a bottle because I got pulled into a long and interesting conversation. I just can't do it like I used to....


11/9/2012 8:33:35 PM

Drinking most of a bottle of whiskey in one evening is perhaps not the best course of action.  I realize this. But as long as my tummy remains strong and I’m upright and staring at the stars, all is well in my world. Kind of. I can still remember my name.

Sometimes I think what am I doing?  Because sometimes I want to stop being polite and accepting and go gnaw on something. Sometimes it just all fucking sucks.  I have good music with me. But I have a scar on my ankle from the mysterious bug that bit me during the summer. And sometimes I’m impulsive. And I live in the middle of nowhere between a few mountains. I don’t express myself often enough. I don’t know how to make curtains. I tell men I’ve never met that I would have their baby and I mean it. I am fat and even if I’m someday not fat I’ll have scars and marks on my body. I like the taste of whiskey.

The screw on my table came loose. It’s nonsensical and it’s dripping slowly down my leg. I hate this.  I want to gnaw on bones.


11/8/2012 9:13:03 PM

I am asked why I am not emotional. Or why I am so guarded. Or why I do not communicate or verbalize in ways that other people do? Why can’t I say what I am feeling at critical moments?

I need an out, someone actually knowing me too well is disconcerting, like somehow I’d be less free, less able to hold onto the illusion that I operate independent of anything or anyone else even though I know that's not true. There's still a backdoor and I can slip away if things get too intense or messy. A part of me says be careful and protect the assets.  I’m afraid sometimes I will say the inappropriate outrageously emotional thing. It’s easier to have a bit of space between what I am feeling and what is expected of me. Because at my core unless I am controlling it I can be an emotional and impulsive person. I try to channel it and mitigate any damage from my barely thinking, only reacting feral side. If someone pricks me enough in the right way it can be drawn out though.

A lot of things make me feel but I tell myself to not go insane, find something else to pour that emotion into. It’s not really a burden in that sense, it fuels me in my creative endeavors and my work. But I can’t tell my boss she’s a psycho bitch who treats her employees like fecal matter. I have to channel it. Because really only so much of that is within my control.

I do have emotions. Strong emotions. But the weird intense shit, the longing and devotion and love, well I am more circumspect in opening that part of myself to anyone. That doesn't mean I’m incapable of it or don’t want to. I want to do that, but I’m a bit distrustful because when you do that you’re vulnerable and there are a few different sides to vulnerability. One side of it is horrible gashes, pain, bunches of unpleasant stuff.  Even an emotional masochist like me shies away from that to a certain extent. But I’m an optimistic fool. I’ll always do this thing even if I write long journals trying to intellectualize and dissect why I do what I do. I’ll keep having these “Oh shit, what I have gotten myself into? “ moments. And despite everything I've said the Oh Shit moments are necessary for me. 


11/7/2012 8:24:47 PM

I got my liberal wet dream. 


11/5/2012 7:12:37 PM

Everything has been amplified for me the past few days. The things that shouldn't annoy me are tugging at my toes. It’s cold and dark outside and I’m not enjoying it. Work angers me. I want a warm body to collapse into and the one I want is nowhere close. Tonight I allowed myself to feel what was actually bothering me. I’m sad. It’s easier to bury sad under everything else, as everything else can be fixed or corrected or will change eventually. This will not.

Most families are sentimental over birthdays and anniversaries and family photos. But elections really get to me. This is the first presidential election without my father.  I've come to accept that he is not generally how he used to be, that in his bed now, unable to talk or move much at all, he is who he is today, and the other guy is not coming back. I never stop feeling sad about it but I don’t want to walk around acting like a pathetic headcase, so I only think about it sometimes.

I don’t remember a presidential election without him, either us watching the returns together or exchanging multiple phone calls an hour all night long if we were apart. My love of politics and debate and reading comes from my father. He was a book lover, a poli sci major, a young  volunteer for Bobby Kennedy’s presidential campaign in 1968. He used to tell me the story of watching him get shot, and his eyes always got a bit red. He told it to me dozens of times over the years, that never bothered me, I always felt sad and proud of him. He taught me how to debate an issue without attacking someone. He taught me to look at the other side of things, to be skeptical, to not be dogmatic.

Often uninterested adults patted my head and said “That’s nice honey” as a child when I’d excitedly tell them the  latest political news. Not my dad. He’d perhaps tease me about it and then engage in conversation. He always played the devil’s advocate. In 1996 he swore up and down that he was a fervent Bob Dole supporter. I was quite the Clinton fan girl and we’d argue for hours on end about the whole thing. Finally one day close to the election when I’d gotten into a snit he laughed and said “You know I’m only doing this to help you become better at arguing your point.”

In 2000 I stayed up all night watching the election results alone in my room.  I called him at 2am, knowing he’d be awake, and he was. He told me to be patient, that Al Gore would succeed. Of course he didn't  I was so pissed off and angry and he let me rant away. Then he did his Joe Lieberman impression and I laughed. We talked intensely the whole month of November. He believed the Gore campaign was fucking it all up, not being aggressive enough in demanding a recount, then he was unbelievably pissed off at the Supreme Court decision.

In later years he loved watching Fox News so he could make fun of them all. He found humor in the most idiotic circumstances-Fox News being exactly that, absurd and idiotic.

In 2008 he was rather serious, different. This of course I think was because of his impending medical procedure. But he an early and serious Obama supporter and believed that it was important that he be elected. He urged me to volunteer and donate and vote. On election night I was with my mother and stepfather watching the returns on television but sure enough every 20 minutes or so my dad would call me or I’d call him and we’d talk about the latest state Obama had won. He seemed genuinely thrilled, and at that point he didn't often seem thrilled at anything.

And that’s gone now. I accept it, but it’s sad. I will be spending a large chunk of tomorrow with my mom. She invited me to visit about a month ago. It’s strange, as much as we are opposites and disagree, she knew before I did that I didn't really want to be alone tomorrow. 


11/4/2012 6:40:38 PM

 I ask myself constantly why do I choose the most difficult constellations to align myself with? I’m polite and calm but I want to  tear the shades off the window and throw my shoes through it until the glass shatters at times.

But I’m not like that anymore, most of the time. I’m nice and polite and behaved and I only think these things while typing them. It’s too dangerous to think them at other times of the day, it’s not appropriate.  I only feel the wild freakish wave of insensibility rise at certain moments.

Perhaps it’s a side symptom of that unspeakable word, of that irrational feeling. And I feel like saying, “Screw you, it’s all your fault.” But I won’t. I’ll modulate my voice and continue on this way because I’m meant to keep tearing off the scabs and watch the blood flow and licking it up with my fingers. I can’t escape that. 


11/3/2012 10:56:11 PM

i am afraid that my rent check bounced
my landlord knocks angrily on my door
my mother weeps and by turns
screams at me and i run away in my chevy malibu
to barstow california and the salton sea

but it appears on the bank ledger like clock work
another future bounded by the first of the month

the boy next door did not turn on his electric
now the hallway is dark after five o'clock and the paint is still
peeling on the hood of my car

a trash bag in my trunk is filled with rotting oranges from 2010
i need to toss it into the plastic bin behind the house on top
of the hill. it is time to make room for new oranges and inky flyers
and cookware and quarters unlocking the interstate.

The window is open and i want to fly out of it because roots
disturb the process of not thinking and the wind rushing into
my mouth in the middle of a rainstorm 


11/3/2012 10:14:16 PM

Tonight I wished that I wasn’t alone here eating my dinner and reading the paper. I’d like to spend several hours daily in the kitchen chopping and dicing and sauteing and skimming and running about preparing meals for him. I have found that this is more satisfying for me than most things, even my line of work, which in the end is about making money for a soulless corporation run by psychopaths so that I may continue to pay my rent on my little spot in the world. I’d rather devote my full attention to someone who makes my plaster crack and the world shake a bit, that I’m finding I want to devote all of my intensity and purpose to.

I’d start by making Cream of Spinach soup with fresh spinach (of course), onions, butter, egg yolks, heavy cream, a pinch of nutmeg, salt and pepper and a few other bits. I am partial to soup, I prefer it as an appetizer. It’s filling without completely stuffing someone.  As a main course I’d serve Bouef A La Bourguignonne (this is what I actually had for dinner this evening). This is a beef stew in red wine with bacon, onions and mushrooms. Usually some form of potato is offered with such a dish and I might do that. But I’d also want to offer something like zucchini sauteed in butter with lemon and parsley.  Or maybe a casserole of creamed carrots with onion and garlic, who knows? Finally I’d want to make a chocolate and almond cake.  This would be my fantasy menu for the evening. And of course for the whole meal I’d be waiting hand and foot on the guest, serving his food, fetching drinks, engaging in conversation and taking care of anything else that came up. Yes, this would be a much more interesting version of Saturday night for me.

Alas I’m here drinking alcoholic lemonade and alternating between watching grainy vintage porn and listening to jazz and electro pop. 


11/2/2012 9:40:14 PM

I often read statements such as “ I’m submissive only to him, no one else.” Or “I’m not passive/meek/accommodating”  Or “Even though I’m a slave I’m the fucking CEO and the world submits to me!”. Well, I’m not any of those things. I’m drawn to service and I have a submissive, people pleasing personality that I struggle at times to control in day to day interactions. I am a shy person. I am a quiet person. I am an introvert. I tend to desire to be helpful and accommodating  even with complete strangers. I’ve stumbled into a manager type of position at work, but even in that I see myself as being of service to others.

I am weak at times.  I’m strong when I have to be,I’m competent, I’m scared, I’m content. I am disconnected and quiet and stumbling about stuttering. I’m an expert at concealing, I’m an expert at diverting, I’m an expert at hiding the things I feel. I’m better at pretending to be certain things because it is easier. It is easier to be certain lines than it is to be what I really am, which is a mass of confused paint blotting out the canvas. Other times it’s like a transparent puzzle, and every piece fits.  I don’t see the point in pretending that I’m always perfectly composed or that life is a straight logical line for me, it is not.

I shudder to think of an alternative reality in which I am something other than what I am. 


10/30/2012 11:35:10 AM

I am tired. I want to wrap myself in a blanket in a dark room and listen to the ocean. 


10/28/2012 5:46:20 PM

I wonder how I will be in practice not only in theory with him. When I say I will do these things I believe it, I’m not thinking in the back of my head that I won’t. But I try to keep my mind focused on reality. I try to remind myself that complete obedience is not an easy task, no matter how much I strive for it. I’ve made mistakes in my past, I’m not perfect. I don’t live in a puffy cloud of euphoria. I feel more like I’m sitting on a park bench in Union Square in April on a weekday evening. I am here because I want to be here I am here because I am who I am. I find it somewhat silly (for me) to behave otherwise.

I’m awkward when verbally expressing myself so that sometimes it seems I don’t care when actually I care a great deal, my brain and my mind are shoving each other about in some fog. I have an ego and it gets bruised. I have concepts and ideas that I believe are correct and sometimes I have difficulty accepting the flaws in my own world view. I possess a map, and this map is my certainty. I created this map, and it helps me keeps things tidy and on the shelf. I think I bury myself in it sometimes because I’m afraid otherwise I’ll veer in an unknown direction. And other people don’t understand it or think it’s garbage. And the thing is they may be correct.

I see myself as the geeky girl in the glasses sitting in the corner. It’s a comforting and nice image, I know myself and what to expect, how I will react and be reacted to. I’m going to write books and drink tea at midnight in my leggings and large fuzzy sweater alone in a cottage by the sea. It is a bit startling to feel like I’m running around tearing down the wallpaper of this nice safe idea of myself. It’s necessary though. It doesn’t fit me the way it used to. I realized that at some point in the past year or so, but also more recently. Because that image of myself doesn’t exactly coalesce with my desire to serve him, to live as his. I realized that image is not doing much for me anymore, actually nothing. There are other images there now, things that seem odd when considered in conjunction with myself but somehow make perfect sense with him. 


10/28/2012 12:19:41 PM

I pretended the oncoming hurricane didn't exist until today. Everyone else seems to have had the same idea...


10/27/2012 8:49:00 PM

Snow and Dirty Rain

By Richard Siken 

 

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close
to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me
with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending
to sleep, while I’m in the other room. Imagine
my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots
in the slatted light. I’m thinking My plant, his chair,
the ashtray that we bought together. 
I’m thinking This is where
we live. 
When we were little we made houses out of
cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It’s not because
our hearts are large, they’re not, it’s what we
struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring
your friends. It’s a potluck, I’m making pork chops, I’m making
those long noodles you love so much. 
My dragonfly,
my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing
for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,
and this is the map of my heart, the landscape
after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is
a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me
tight, it’s getting cold.
 We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I’ll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there? The splash
of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We’ve read
the back of the book, we know what’s going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left
broken in the brown dirt. And then it’s gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye
Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all
in Heaven. But there’s a litany of dreams that happens
somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling
on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we
transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands
and record stores. Moonlight making crosses
on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
We have been very brave, we have wanted to know
the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.
This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in
the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms.
Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried
in the yard. 
Someone is digging your grave right now.
Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said,
so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It’s a fairy tale,
the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished
halls, lightning here and gone. We make these
ridiculous idols so we can to what’s behind them,
but what happens after we get up the ladder?
Do we simply stare at what’s horrible and forgive it?
Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are
the monsters we put in the box to test our strength
against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here’s
the desire to put it inside us, and then the question
behind every question: What happens next?
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me
I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,
and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding
the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t
stitched up quite right, the place they could almost
slip right into through if the skin wasn’t trying to
keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side
of the theater where the curtain keeps rising.
I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.
I had to make up all the words myself. The way
they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed
through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled
around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made
this place for you. A place for to love me.
If this isn’t a kingdom then I don’t know what is.
So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields?
Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?
I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters
kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter’s heart,
the hunter’s mouth, the trees and the trees and the
space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words
frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce
leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere.
I was away, I don’t know where, lying on the floor,
pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you
but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have
swallowed him up, 
they said. It’s beautiful. It really is.
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room
where everyone finally gets what they want.
You said Tell me about your books, your visions made
of flesh and light 
and I said This is the Moon. This is
the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you
there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar
cube… 
We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart? 
and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

 

 


10/27/2012 11:29:54 AM

An important message about voter fraud: 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypRW5qoraTw


10/25/2012 9:34:56 PM

Today was decidedly horrible. The universe is trying to tell me something. I am listening now. 


10/23/2012 11:20:47 PM

I read a message board where a slave wrote a post about her experiences worshiping her master’s feet. She asked if anyone else did this/had a similar mindset. I was fairly surprised by the “Ewww!!!” and “God no” replies. I don’t crave to randomly worship the feet of strangers walking past my window. It is something I am compelled to do when I am owned as a way to express my  devotion towards my owner. I don’t attach much glittery sentiment to it or have any breathless statements to make about it. The act itself can be physically unpleasant. It represents in my mind and gut the connection between myself and the person I am serving.

It’s like worshiping any other aspect of my owner’s body or countenance .I don’t worship him literally, seeing  him as an infallible god. I’m acknowledging the control he has over my life, my obedience to him, my desire to please him. I also am a masochist, and I like to feel dirty and disgusting and I like to be dirty and disgusting. I like doing things that are unappealing and uncomfortable, perhaps terrifying. I like to know that I will be pushed and will push myself until I’m crying and begging, asking for it to stop. But I’ll still do the thing anyway. My inner landscape needs that kind of upheaval, it makes me sharper and better in all aspects of my life. Even in worship, in my own subjugation, I am getting my needs met. I’m not some quivering starry eyed completely selfless girl when I do these things. Feeding his need feeds mine.

But foot worship. Yes. In a quiet moment, maybe when we’re doing something else my mind will begin to focus on the feet. I can physically represent myself as lower/lowest/beneath in my worship of this part of the body. Usually I start by running my hands over the feet, not tickling, just lightly tracing them with my fingers. Sometimes I am swatted away or told to stop, sometimes not. If there’s no objection I’ll usually continue touching the feet. At some point I’ll begin to rub them. This is supposing the feet are bare. I am able to create a whole ritual out of removing shoes and socks if needed.

At some point I’ll crouch down,perhaps I’ll actually get on my stomach, it all depends on the positioning and whether he is directing me. I love the moment when I first put my mouth to flesh. Most feet are anywhere from neutral to odorous smelling. Usually the feet I kiss and lick are super clean, but even if they aren't there is no hesitation on my part. I like to kiss the top of the foot lightly, kiss each of the toes, kiss around the outline of the foot. Then I’ll kiss the underside of the foot from the heel and along the arch. If it’s requested or is accepted I’ll lick and suck on the toes and in between the toes.

When I’m doing it I concentrate all of my emotional and mental energy on the task. It’s a way of pouring myself into him. It’s symbolic, it’s small, it’s not some ordinary routine task. It’s also  not useful like cooking dinner or cleaning the bathroom. But it’s good for keeping me grounded in who I am and what my purpose is. It’s all of my emotion, all of my wanting, everything is right there. 


10/21/2012 8:43:37 PM

Oh I'm so silly, so tempted. I honestly thought the apartment next door was empty. As I'm  coming up the stairs getting my mail in the middle of the night, I had this sudden urge. Go jiggle the knob of the apartment next to me. And there you have it, the door was unlocked. How odd. There has been no indication that anyone moved into the place. No car parked in the driveway, no hustle and bustle of moving in.  But suddenly through the darkness I hear, "Hello?" when I jiggle the knob. Oh shit. Yes, one of those impulsive silly moments. My slightly anti-social odd and intrusive personality getting the better of me for a moment.  I uttered, "Umm sorry, wrong door." No one emerged from the darkness. It was one of those silly I'm doing something I shouldn't moments. Oh yes I felt a thrill but then I had that oh crap moment. 


10/19/2012 9:24:07 PM

 i am in bed
the window is open it is 7 pm my fingers are
interpreting the crease
below my rib cage.

dunes are
eroded when
it storms when the sky is a
hurricane
the sea eats

i am in bed
you are crushing my creases
you own the string
you are  tying
around my extremities your fingers
cover mine

the hallway is unlocked the carpet is
dusted the wire bathroom is stacked
neatly on a shelf

i am in bed
we are throat to throat
you read the inside of my
eyelids i trace words against
the surface of my radiator 


10/19/2012 8:16:20 PM

Where can I find a girl like her? 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uG2gYE5KOs&feature=related


10/19/2012 8:03:55 PM

We’re inching closer and closer towards getting DOMA and anti-gay marriage laws struck down. Sometimes it seems like such slow progress is being made. Then we take a step back (California, North Carolina).  I wrote a blog here in 2009 about Ted Olson and David Boies’ (love that guy)  Prop 8 case. Only now (and only if they choose to hear it) will it go before The Supreme Court.

This week DOMA was ruled unconstitutional by The 2nd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in New York. The majority opinion was written by conservative (appointed by H.W. Bush in 1992) Judge Dennis Jacobs. What makes this ruling significant is that Jacobs said discrimination against gays should scrutinized in a heightened way by the courts, the same way that courts scrutinized cases for example having to do with women’s rights issues.

The woman behind the case, Edie Windsor, is quite amazing. She is an 83 year old widow who shared a life with her partner Thea Spayer for 42 years.  There is a wonderful documentary about the couple that came out a few years ago (before Thea’s passing) called “Edie And Thea: A Very Long Engagement”. The full version is available on Netflix streaming. Thea proposed to Edie a few years after the start of their relationship and they spent the next four decades by each other’s side. Thea was diagnosed with MS and eventually became  wheelchair bound. Edie stayed by her side through it all. Finally in 2007 the couple wed in Canada. You can still see the devotion, passion, and humor these two shared even in their old age. I watched it thinking that I could only hope to be so lucky in my life.

This is where it confuses me. Are vague passages in the Bible so powerful that we are willing to suppress a whole group of people just wanting to participate in our greater social and cultural project? These are  people who are devoted to each other and want the social and legal protections and recognition. I know that if I was barred from marrying the person I loved only because we are of the same gender,  I would be devastated. Why don’t social conservatives support gay marriage? Shouldn’t we want to encourage devoted couples to marry and raise stable happy families? Often the argument is made that a marriage is not valid unless the couple is capable of purely biological man/woman procreative sex. So what about infertile couples and the elderly? Should these people be banned from marrying in that case?

Because two people are of the same gender, does this negate the benefits of marriage? How is a same sex couple fundamentally different in terms of human emotions, wants and needs from others? I don’t think there is a damn difference.

I feel this battle will be won if we can start turning social conservatives towards the argument that marriage for everyone is beneficial and good and that gay folks are like everyone else in the world. As we’ve seen in several of these struggles it has been conservatives supporting these causes that have led to greater understanding and the crumbling of these discriminatory laws. There is always going to be a hardcore group of people who will reject gays as anything but sinful. It’s the more moderate folks that need to be won over-folks like Theodore Olson.

I’m really hoping within the next few years we will see DOMA struck down and that these anti-gay marriage laws will all crumble.


10/17/2012 9:02:12 PM

I would have rather spent today cleaning his kitchen. 


10/17/2012 3:43:27 PM

So it's happened. The boss is resigning, leaving behind a nifty salary, office in New York and world travel. There will be a bloodbath of epic proportions to find his replacement from within or without the company. I will probably end up training the new boss as I did this one. :) 



10/16/2012 9:25:39 PM

I was nervous going into this debate but Obama was on point and engaged Romney in an aggressive manner. I liked the moment when the moderator crushed Romney’s assertion about Obama’s Libya speech and the audience cheered her on. I appreciated the whole, “My pension is not as big as yours” line. I liked that Mitt opened the door to the 47% topic and gave Obama a perfect opportunity to use it-right at the end of the debate in his closing statement. I enjoyed that moment early on when both candidates seemed perilously close to invading each other’s personal space. I liked that Obama clearly pointed out Mitt’s contradictions on coal, trade, China, assault weapons bans and health care reform.

Obama is most passionate when he’s connecting  policy threads using personal anecdotes. Even if he does not construct the sentences when he speaks on certain topics you can almost see him visualizing his wife, daughter, mother, grandmother, father. Some of his strongest moments tonight came from this-talking about women, talking about immigration.  I believe he is an introvert. People mistake this for coldness or disinterest. It’s not. It can be tiring for an introvert to put themselves out there in an aggressive manner. We require much recharging and sometimes we’re just off. I don’t believe Obama does not care. He’s just not one of those down home types who tells you they can feel your pain as their eyes brim with tears.

There are significant differences between the two candidates. I understand that we’re all part of the same neoliberal paradigm and will forever be disappointed by our leaders who seem to not do enough, that no one has come along to dismantle the system and build anew. But there are definite differences between these two candidates, differences that matter to me personally.

Is this debate relevant?It’s only as powerful as people believe it to be.  It does not reveal anything, it does not add to what is already known about either candidate. It’s pure political theater, a contest in sophistry. But it’s damn fun. 


10/16/2012 5:05:19 PM

Debate Time! 


10/16/2012 10:06:12 AM

I've figured it out. Drink the night before the presidential debates and write kooky schizophrenic nonsensical essays and journal entries . Get it out of the system.

 

 I am too excited on actual debate nights, like fuck yes the world is exploding excited. That kind of excitement and alcohol lead to puking. 

 

I'm so smart. 


10/15/2012 7:44:50 PM

I am totally oriented in his direction.He’s  there sticking to the inside of my skull. It’s not like I’m trying to resist it. But it’s there poking at me always, there is no time to forget it. I practically drool when my phone rings and the caller ID shows his name. Such a sad thing to admit. I can’t admit it in normal space. Only when I’m itching my ear  and I’m staring at crushed ladybugs on the ceiling. 


10/15/2012 1:22:11 AM

I felt it tickling that spot on my hip, crawling up my spine, it’s hot breath on the curve where my ear and neck and hair meet.  Maybe I know myself now and am less of what I used to be. Used to be me wrote profanities in the sand and threw shoes at the window. I was a bit of a confused beast.  Not so now. I am measured and wanting, not breaking walls and windows . Each minute is a thread I am spinning into. I acknowledge and accept my interior oddities. I will never be completely comfortable living on a fluffy cloud with half a dozen bodies overlapping my own. But that’s the point for me, the discomfort is a needle stuck in the bottom of my foot. It’s sharp and clear and breaks the day open, creating a bloody mess I want to roll around in.

I wondered for years why I would worship at the feet of a man who’d tell me to do the dishes while he penetrated some lovely creature I could never hope to be. No one forced me into that situation. I could spin a tale and try to convince myself that I was a victim of circumstance. Yet I’d get completely bored with someone who doted on me and only wanted to focus all of their time and attention on me, who’d always be true and virtuous and blah blah blah. That felt more fake and forced than anything. So back into the other situation I’d crawl, debasing myself in the process. This was not a bad thing, but tiring.  I needed to sit down and shut up,  to be told this is the way it is going to be. And it’s actually the way I want it to be.

I felt jealous, do feel jealous. I am not surprised or shocked or taken aback. My first impulse is not to cry into a tissue. It is to crawl into a corner and play with myself contemplating the slightly jarring nature of my own acceptance, desire to please and yes that part of me that exists in the exterior world, the how dare you let yourself be humiliated in this way voice nagging at me. And yes I dare it . It unsettles me and excites me. I am that type of girl. 


10/12/2012 6:43:19 PM

I opened my eyes this morning feeling a vague sense of unease.  When I came to full consciousness the contents of my stomach shifted forward in an inevitable direction that no focusing on happy thoughts or putting a hand over my mouth could quite stop. I couldn’t make it farther than the kitchen sink. And there I christened it with my gin and eggplant curry vomit. It had a slight orange tinge to it and smelled like gin. I heaved violently for about fifteen minutes in a few intense intervals. It was not a gentle interlude. As I leaned over the sink expelling the contents of my stomach this thought came to me, “Vomiting through the nose is a unique sensation. It could be worse.” This thought  amused me even in my vomit and sweat soaked state. I laughed, and vomited, and laughed and vomited.

Then it stopped and I turned the faucet on, splashed water on my face, washed away last night’s mistake. What flummoxed me was that I only had three standard drinks last night. I imbibed much more alcohol on other occasions and never vomited. I shook my fist at the sky. If I knew vomit was on this morning's agenda I would have indulged much more,I felt cheated of fun. This is what happens when one tries to be responsible.

Vomit started my strange and sad day. The daylight hours passed in a fuzzy blank, everything felt a bit out of whack, desperate and bleak. Even after brushing my teeth I could still taste the vomit in the back of my throat.

In the early evening one of my new temps contacted me, extremely upset and stressed out. She’s a sweet hard working girl I recently hired. Even though she had followed all of the proper procedures and submitted her time sheet by the deadline she had not yet received the paycheck that was supposed to arrive today. It was only in the next fifteen minutes or so that I realized how close she is to homelessness and destitution. She’s living in a seedy extended stay motel, estranged from both parents and has few friends. She doesn't have a car. She doesn't have her own telephone. She doesn't have a bank account. Her whole life exists in a bag. Her rent is due tomorrow by noon or she will be kicked out of her living space and onto the street, alone.

This is why I detach myself from so many people, because if I don’t then I start to feel what they are feeling. I connect somehow to their insides and it is revealing and ecstatic and disturbing and painful and kind of strange.  It’s easier to not do it. But the people who work under me have wormed themselves inside that space in my heart, many of them are decent working class folks facing hardship. I’m their advocate, I am here to be strong for them even if I feel like running into a corner and crying.

Even though our work group is close knit we are part of a massive uncaring corporation. And there are these stupid layers of bureaucracy one must go through. As soon as I learned of my temp’s situation I contacted my HR friend who handles temporary assignments and explained the situation to her, asking if we could void out the check that had been sent out and send my temp something overnight by FedEx. She said that was not possible, but gee willikers she was very sorry one of my people would be sleeping on a park bench come Saturday night.  And I had explicitly explained to her that is exactly what would happen. She then offered to put the third party temp worker “supplier” (yes in our company temp workers are not people, they are “assets” to be “supplied”, “assignments” to manage, not flesh and blood people) in touch with the temp.

The representative from this third party treated my temp with contempt and told her there was nothing that could be done, this was not their fault but the fault of the US mail system. And furthermore they couldn't do anything to correct the situation for ten business days according to regulation 438433. My temp was close to tears at this point and very scared. I contacted the HR lady again and she said there was nothing she could do and she was so sorry but maybe on Monday she could ask them to send out a new check.

I myself live close to the edge but not as close as the temp. I can pay my bills with a bit extra left over, but not much. I so wanted to pay her rent for her and offered to do so on Monday if she could put off the building manager for two more days but he wouldn't allow it. I didn't quite have the amount she needed at that moment. I hated myself then and wished I was a computer scientist or doctor or a member of some practical and well paying profession.

Finally I emailed my boss hoping he knew of a way that we could get her the money she was owed and needed. At this point I had pulled up a list of homeless shelters in her area, trying to find some hotline numbers she could call, anything to keep her from sleeping on the street.  I was shocked to hear back from my boss almost immediately. We talked on the phone for several minutes and he offered to pay her rent for her, no strings attached, just like that.

She’s not the only employee I've struggled to help above and beyond my job description. I’m so scared I won’t be able to fix the next thing that comes along. But it’s in my nature to fix and mend and give my time and bits of energy to others. Maybe when I do this I’m reassuring myself that if I ever end up in those places I’ll make it out too. Or I attract birdies with broken wings and I like rescuing them. Or it’s just too damn painful for me to sit back and do nothing. 


10/11/2012 8:25:06 PM

I watched the debate this evening while eating curry and drinking gin and tonic. I like the way the combination burned my mouth. If the debate was a fuck it would have been one of the best of my life, it made me feel all tingly and hot. 


10/11/2012 5:23:49 PM

Political shit excites me almost as much as being beaten and fucked. The VP debate is tonight.


10/6/2012 10:27:46 PM

This is a song by the Black Keys. The name of the song is "Tighten Up". I played this song frequently while driving through the Mojave Desert in 2010. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L95iKBiZUEs


10/6/2012 8:00:51 PM

hunger is
a frayed linen
on my closet shelf.
polyester blends irritate
my esophagus

stuffing a stick of butter in my mouth
staring at the peeling  pantry wall paper
nothing
felt so wrong
angled at exactly
the right moment.

the chain link monster
stuffed his fingers in my mouth
over the fence
staining my eyeballs and legs

i cut myself with cereal and popsicles
each morning
my guidebook to normalcy

i lost the
chalk and my father laughed
while i wandered down the stairs
at 11 o'clock

while she slept i wandered out to the fence
and i knew not to do that
but i wanted to
draw blood
if only i could remember through the steam
what a tongue penetrating a forbidden vacuum
feels like to a three year old mind. 


10/6/2012 7:18:15 PM

I wish he was here right now walking through my door.  I wish I could run my hands over his face and that he would take his fingers and put them in my mouth. He said he wanted to deprive me of sleep. I don't know if he was serious but it activates that cranny of my brain that likes to struggle. Pain, the kind that leaves bruises and and welts and sore red spots on my skin is a trial, a coming into understanding the hunger that pricks my toe constantly. It's one form of penetration, it's a kind of getting inside.

But I have always been wanting someone to pinch my mind, the engine. It’s a gloppy mess and something I’d like fucked with. Usually it can’t happen because the people trying to do it are rather clumsy. I can see a sketch of it all sitting in front of me, the lines are heavy and black and I like to trace my fingers along them. Poke me in the elbow and make me feel self conscious and play with my insides like they are your jump rope. I’ll type your resume in neat rows and scurry to my phone, as a jolt goes through my body, seeing your name spelled out neatly in digital script.

It makes very little sense. I have my own space in the world, a bit frayed maybe, but mine. But I don’t want anything to be mine anymore and I can’t figure out if this is a calamity. He’s demanding of me things and I wonder if I will meet those demands, not because I don’t want to or am not trying to, but the exercise itself is puzzling. Why prove myself or my devotion? Why do these things? And maybe it’s because I can’t not do these things. And I want to do them, demand them on some level in my own way without really saying a word, and whoever does not force me to want them in painful ways is of no interest to me.

I can’t entangle my flesh with anyone who is not going to hurt me, leave me standing on one leg staring out the window, wanting wanting wanting. I can be fine on my own but I want into someone who can’t help but think in wholes because that is how I think. And so I like that someone would want to take my will and all the things that are me and twist them around. I wonder if I’m wanting to twist everything around too. Lately I’m only thinking in terms of violence, my want is violent.

I am meeting him somewhere, there is that awkwardness, that moment of flesh becoming reality and blemishes becoming real and hands becoming hands and faces becoming faces. And will those things happen that he says will happen? Yes, I’m sure of it. But the side of me that likes to scratch tree trunks wants to bite his lip too. You can’t hide from me because I reflect you, and I can’t hide from you because you reflect me.  


9/28/2012 5:15:53 PM

When I’m not distracting myself sufficiently I’m feeling everything, it’s wire wrapped around my thighs. My heart is feeling the absence of those things I wanted so badly when I kicked up the leaves walking home from school. These days I am constructing my inner geography around a particular person and I am feeling very certain about where I want to go with him. The last of those notions I had when I ran in the woods barefoot no longer fit in with who I am or where I want to be or what I desire. My heart is feeling the absence of those things and I don’t miss them. I want what I have right now.


9/25/2012 8:13:15 PM

Lately I’ve been getting really entertaining first messages.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“I mean no disrespect, but what exactly does being a mango milkshake entail? Do you dress up and roleplay as a beverage or does it mean something else? I've researched and asked friends who are active in the kink community and nobody else seems to know what it means.”

 

“I would be interested in you, if you werent so unattractive and out of shape...how do you presume to sarisfy any decent dom/master? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

 

 “Very interesting you fucking piece of dirt! You better get back to me if you know what's best. 

(How's that for a little role-play!?) ;)”

 

“Hey there . . . I want you to bath me, massage me and then I want your lips all over my body . . . I know what you need . . .”

 

“Ok I need to b completly honest I just got out of a bad relationship "abusive". And id do anything to date you”

 

“would you be willing to Move if your new ower payed your way ?”

 

“hello , this cell will your home forever , i keep you naked and barefoot 24/7/365 , i dont care if you fell hot or cold , and you do hardwork in my farm , you have only 5 hours in day to sleep and rest

can we talk on yahoo ?”


9/22/2012 12:49:31 AM

Yes. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-RtrpwIME0


9/20/2012 8:50:41 PM

Something bothers my edges and I feel like saying “Fuck  you, no more words for you. You can’t get that from me so freely.” But I say no such thing. It’s the way I enjoy being used. And really I’m not naive, I said use me and I’ll feed off the non attention and half attention and dream of you each night not knowing your motivations and imagining you in the beds of random women built more handsomely than me. It’s kind of like my heroin.

She called me up tonight, that girl who is sort of a friend. I put on my dangly earrings and some lipstick and we went to that run down bar and I ordered cheap whiskey shots.. There’s a power in that, I can absorb the bitter liquid and now they're in my world and they can see how I move and I will use them for my purposes as they collapse over their beer. Except I don’t. I want a man who holds his liquor better than I do.  And I stared at the battered table top and I heard the ridiculous cover band playing on, and I counted the cracks in the ceiling.

“Here it is, the words unbusinesslike revealing things in a non oblique way but saying everything.” What I wanted to do was bite him just so he would react because somehow he seeped inside me far enough for me to give a damn and feel things, like loss when I hung up the phone.  Why do I want the ones biting my shoulder. I shouldn’t complain. I am polite enough for a polite protestant man but I’m more interested in the ones who transgress my space and sense of propriety.

There is me and there is him, and I’m throwing every cell his way and making myself open to the feel of everything, like a seeping wound. To the point where my typing is fuzzy.

And what do I want to say? Really nothing at all, I just want to smell him and have him standing in front of me, and we can take it from there.


9/19/2012 10:02:04 PM

I am a thing of feelings. Experience filtered by logic, cold hard gray, drab, sharp- it doesn’t work too well for me. I wouldn’t want to live in a world that lacked what other people consider inconsequential fluff.

In Kindergarten we went to art class for an hour each week. I found it boring, the art teacher was very much a by the book kind of fellow. We went over primary colors and shapes and drew lines as directed.  He occasionally had to chide a few of the little boys in the class but was so dictatorial most of the children were afraid of him.I didn’t speak more than a few sentences a day in school if I could help it, I thought I escaped notice.

Halfway through the school year he became aware that I stared out the windows while he “lectured”. Behind the school was a huge field and beyond that woods. I imagined it was another world. I created lore, poetry, art and an ongoing plotline in my mind for this fantasy world. Somehow the art teacher discovered my secret and abruptly ripped me out of the scene one day.

“Miss Lazarus, stop daydreaming.”  When he said it my face felt hot, I felt exposed.  All the students turned to stare at me, puzzled as always by my silence. I let out a whispered “okay”. But it was not okay, because every week going forward he said the same thing to me, even though I completed all assignments ahead of time and sat quietly.  Each week with each correction,  he got a little angrier. I felt resentful and then I felt sad. I couldn’t stop doing it, I couldn’t stop creating in my mind. I defied him, and he knew it. I began to take pleasure in his displeasure. He knew that too, but outwardly I appeared to be a model student so there wasn’t much he could do except give  me an “S” for Satisfactory on my report card and comment to my mother that I needed to focus more in school. What went on in my head was the real art, not the lines I drew, not the dry husk like lectures the teacher gave. The creation process, the world I built for myself to figure out who I was, the world that helped me understand the “real world” and the people in it, that was my first art lesson.

When people say art serves no purpose, I have to believe that they’ve just not found the right kind of art. That would be the kind that makes your body shake. It makes you scream, it makes you want to roll in the earth and smear blood on your face, or kiss your lover, or sit under a tree while the grass tickles your feet. Art has existed as long as humanity. Religion, law, social order or defiance thereof, all of these things are linked to art. I believe humans are compelled to create, whether one is a random scribbler or a master painter. It’s not an escape from the world, it’s a way to reflect, understand, meditate upon and translate the world. It says what cannot be said, it offends in ways that most people dare not offend each other, it twists the world in strange ways and creates symmetry and understanding where none exists in our fractured “real world”.

The closest thing to a religion I have is art.


9/17/2012 7:17:08 PM

you are the dna, the angled
parts of me

half out of my mind you are the thing
the glue of my cliffs

your inelegant echoing
the piss splashing against the side ways porcelain

i was meant to be a part of your
impenetrable landscape.

i’m here blinking in front of a plastic bottle
of sriracha sauce talking to my outline
i am the wanting thing.


9/17/2012 6:07:07 PM

The things that concern me are the things of the human heart, the stupid fucked up things. Like when he hung up I felt a loss. Silly really. But it was that wanting, that devouring of everything, wanting his voice and thoughts. And the wondering, when is this real?  When may I lick the inside of his thigh and when may we taste each other’s blood? I count the hours, minutes, between his calls. I want to bite his voice and the things he says. I want his fingers inside every part of  me. I want him to know that at his leisure each part of me is his to possess. I want to go to to the ocean now, the most logical place in my cosmology, because it makes sense.

I want to beg him, please don’t leave. It’s a bunch of flowery non concise shit. But it’s how I feel. What does his skin taste like and why do I want to be his object? Why do I want his fingers in every part of me? It makes zero sense. Why do I want expose myself to him?

I am bloody imperfect, flawed, waiting for him to mock me. I want him to mock me. I want to hang onto his every word as if it were the only sacred word. 


9/16/2012 9:24:59 PM

My indifference and detachment is the wool and gunk and glue entwined around my vital organs.It keeps away all the gore, the messiness, the things I don’t want to deal with in myself and in others. I examine people as if they were trapped in a slide under a microscope, adjusting my view and poking around and studying from a distance. I bound outside myself a bit and then retreat. Convenient and clean.

Except that it’s not working anymore.

I’’m filled with stupid nervous energy, I can hear the drip drip drip, no more convenient gunk clogging up my inner thruways. Pacing sometimes and staring at various forms of technology, I go back to my book and throw myself into the details of my job. That never stops, the work never stops.

But it’s always there, a twinge inside me, a twinge of his absence and a larger compulsion, of my wanting and coveting and desiring. I like it.


9/15/2012 9:35:31 PM

Great performance....

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8sdsW93ThQ


9/15/2012 5:18:21 PM

It's a gin and tonic kind of night. 


9/14/2012 9:34:48 PM

You are precise. I worry that my preciseness is not precise enough for you. There are books stacked haphazardly on my shelf but I dust them every morning at nine. You fixed your bed today and I wanted to be the one who had broken it with you in the first place but my voice only conjures such thoughts after the thought. While I did my laundry today I thought about your heel in my mouth. My hair is sweaty and I’m staring up at you and you’re acting totally disinterested and I’m having trouble breathing but I like knowing you know that your heel will stay in my mouth as long as you want it to.

I would like to clean your closet out. And learn how to shine your shoes.

You’ve been somewhere and I’m making dinner. And then something goes terribly wrong or right, and you’re examining the meal I’m making, wrinkling your nose at it, and I’m crying because what bruises my inside is not the look of the object but the purpose and the action. I am crying and you tell me to shut up and you slap me across the face.

I am working at my computer and I feel you grab me by the hair. You twist me around and my leg is bruised .You don’t care and drag me into the other room. You bite my neck and my fingers are in your hair and I’m smelling you and I’m bleeding and you lick it up. 


9/14/2012 6:50:04 PM

pinch my fleshy hip
streaky and blue
i will lick the underside of your judgement

tangled in my hair
a phone cord fondly
strangles me to a soundtrack of
symphonic grunts

if you understand the proportion of
my marred world

you understand my indifference to the
burnt out curb shuddering down the street

that bug bite scar
‘round my belly button
the crooked baby toe
my fingers sliced in two
reassembled as i screamed
in a tidy clapboard house

flabby silver lines
fearsome and shrinking, staring
smirking, drinking, dreaming
politely wrapped in a wool sweater

now i am flesh pottery
but the inside bump
will never fade 


9/7/2012 7:28:34 PM

Yesterday when I hauled my garbage to the bins behind the building I noticed a cheap old broken down desk set sitting in front of the stoop outside. I didn’t understand what it meant until later that evening. The welcome mat and piles of dirty shoes were no longer in front of the door of the apartment across the hall. Somehow I missed the final exit of my neighbors. The rest of the night was a blur extending my body in all directions working, talking, drinking and watching the political spectacle.

When I woke up in the morning I felt space all around me. It was the first time in awhile I wished I hadn’t woken up with so much space. I wanted less space.


9/7/2012 11:43:19 AM

"Good Girl" By Kim Addonizio 

 

Look at you, sitting there being good.
After two years you're still dying for a cigarette.
And not drinking on weekdays, who thought that one up?
Don't you want to run to the corner right now
for a fifth of vodka and have it with cranberry juice
and a nice lemon slice, wouldn't the backyard
that you're so sick of staring out into
look better then, the tidy yard your landlord tends
day and night — the fence with its fresh coat of paint,
the ash-free barbeque, the patio swept clean of small twigs —
don't you want to mess it all up, to roll around
like a dog in his flowerbeds? Aren't you a dog anyway,
always groveling for love and begging to be petted?
You ought to get into the garbage and lick the insides
of the can, the greasy wrappers, the picked-over bones,
you ought to drive your snout into the coffee grounds.
Ah, coffee! Why not gulp some down with four cigarettes
and then blast naked into the streets, and leap on the first
beautiful man you find? The words Ruin me, haven't they
been jailed in your throat for forty years, isn't it time
you set them loose in slutty dresses and torn fishnets
to totter around in five-inch heels and slutty mascara?
Sure it's time. You've rolled over long enough.
Forty, forty-one. At the end of all this
there's one lousy biscuit, and it tastes like dirt.
So get going. Listen: they're howling for you now:
up and down the block your neighbors' dogs
burst into frenzied barking and won't shut up. 


9/7/2012 12:07:04 AM


when i think of you
i think inside your veins
but what can i tell of your thoughts or how they
are constructed when i'm kicking up
the dirt and pulling the weeds

 

i want to never
remove my lips from the curve of your toe

swimming in cheap plastic bottles i can't help but
think of the taste 

 

But they're not near and i'm left boiling
my own finger sandwich.


8/25/2012 9:24:17 PM

Impossibly I like this version better. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQgYn23Xvck&feature=related


8/25/2012 9:06:13 PM

Oh yes! 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pau8Zf7srlU#


8/25/2012 8:57:30 PM

This is a good night for Led Zeppelin. 


8/24/2012 9:55:32 PM

my mouth hesitates
mumbling strands
tied prettily around my waist
i’m punctured by lecture time  
taking notes on the underside
of your dialogue

here is the box covered in dusted neglect
here is the shoe i worship
here is yesterday’s receipt
here is the piece of wall hiding in
the bottom drawer of my wicker cabinet.
my mouth hesitates
i listen to your cat meow 


8/24/2012 12:12:51 AM

i contemplate your kitchen counter
laundry basket and door frame
real space not the tin wall
separating your growl and my breath

what is your world
how does it smell
i imagine burning wood
in my grandmother’s fireplace
to be your olfactory timber

i inhale your ash
sitting on the brick waiting
the parts of me wanting to be
the parts of you 


8/24/2012 12:10:51 AM

my blank
desires black
puncture wounds


8/23/2012 11:22:17 PM

Something close.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_glGLQGpi0


8/22/2012 7:27:59 PM

I'm addicted to Pinterest. It sets my art loving geek soul on fire. 


8/18/2012 6:40:55 PM

I hate whiny elitists who bully service people and employees under them. I hate them with a consuming hot passion. 


8/16/2012 4:15:59 PM

The official Season 7 trailer for Dexter was released 6 hours ago. Um mmmm yes. Bloody orgasmic bliss, making me want to roll around in fluids screaming. I'll settle for re-watching Dexter seasons 1-6.

 

 


8/16/2012 3:52:09 PM

I had an “Oh shit” type moment in which I shifted from intrigued and intellectualizing, a box of calculated me, to feeling like I’ve digested a chaos sandwich . It becomes more of a need to want to connect to him, a silly gnawing feeling.  I’m not sure what happened or why it happened. I was talking to him and sometime during that conversation I jumped to this point. I don’t know if it was the rhythm of the conversation or something in his voice in a certain moment. I am random, things like leaning back in my chair and staring at wood paneling can arouse me in various ways, so I suppose nothingness and longing can do it too. But it has nothing to do with my pink bits, it has something to do with my hand being on the bottle and his is there and he tells me more even though I feel like curling up on the floor, but I don’t. I say yes. And we keep going.

All I could think this morning was “bag of erasers”. I kept repeating this phrase over and over again. It was a way to distract myself, an inane object to focus on. I felt his absence, but more than that, I was extremely displeased at his absence. Up to this point I smiled pleasantly and anticipated future encounters. But this is the other thing, the wanting thing. It’s slightly disturbing only because I know the possibility exists to make mud pies of my emotions, smear them haphazardly on the walls, all for the sake of amusement.


8/15/2012 4:48:38 PM

http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/08/15/is-that-new-england-accent-in-retreat/

 

 

It's true, we New Englanders  sound like the rest of the country, many of us have lost or never even had That Accent. This makes me sad. I've wandered through many parts of this country but I always find myself missing the crusty common sense ambiance of New England folk. I'm often amused watching films set in New England. Filmmakers seem to think everyone sounds like a Kennedy. In reality there are subtle yet distinctive regional accent variations. Those of us originally hailing from Western Mass have our own special little accent going on. Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and Rhode Island also have nifty accents. Connecticut...well is Connecticut.

 

And we have awesome words that confuse the hell out of others. When I lived in Vegas I remember going to the store with the guy, calling the grocery cart the "carriage" and him looking at me funny. I'm constantly repressing the urge to use the term "wicked" instead of "very". I like my adverbs too much already. 



8/10/2012 9:30:54 PM

Mitty's projected VP is Paul Ryan. Why am I jumping up and down in glee? 


8/10/2012 8:23:11 PM

It’s not much of a mystery that I adore the character of Peggy on Mad Men. I like that she is not a glamor puss, that she is a representation of a working woman who actually enjoys her work. Her character is not an excuse to bemoan singledom, she’s not some whiny single chick yearning for “the man” She thrives in her career. I like her loyalty and I like her style and I like her resolve. I understand the sacrifices that she makes for her work, for her loyalty to Don and the firm.

She’s a bit fucked up and confused like everyone else. But she seems like one of the only fleshed out female characters on television today. She exercises her own agency, her own desires. She’s not a foil to a male character (well okay, perhaps a bit to Don, but she’s independent unto herself). She represents to me the kind of brainy, ambitious, nose to the grindstone type woman that I admire. She has this quiet air about her but she’ll confront when necessary.  People always seem to be speculating whether she’s in love with Don.I think they are soulmates of a sort but I hope they never get together in the show. I like the tension and mystery. Don and Peggy have a strange chemistry as is and I’d hate to see it ruined. 


8/8/2012 8:01:02 PM

  I have difficulty with impulse control. I want something shiny and exciting.  I’ve trained myself to wait but the training isn’t strong enough to overcome the impulse at times.  I want it now and I'm taunted by it.  I reach for it. When I follow my  impulse I end up doing risky outrageous things, experience a thrill and feel very much in myself and in the moment. Sometimes I reap great rewards for following my impulses. Other times it's ill advised and strange and I feel guilty when I cock it all up, especially if it involves upsetting or disappointing someone I care about.

Feeling disapproval from someone I care about is disconcerting. I spend much time in my head in my bubble conducting my un-reality. Disapproval is recognition that I’ve failed to adhere to the guidelines, bitten a hole through the cardboard box, stuck my gum on the bannister, spilled wine on the carpet. I’m being pulled out of my unreality into someone else’s reality, and it’s not constructed in a way that allows me to curl up in the corner with my book. Many people have looked to me to lead and have the answers, to always be the rock. It’s jarring to be subject to someone else’s structure, but also it feels just right to me. I’m not sure what it all means. 


 


8/7/2012 7:33:02 PM

Congratulations Texas for executing a man with an IQ of 61 with no forensic evidence or eyewitness testimony against him, merely the statement of the "accomplice's" wife that he confessed to her that he pulled the trigger. 


8/7/2012 3:27:43 PM

I think I sounded like a megalomaniac in my last entry. I'm not, really. I'm all about kittens and rainbows. 


8/6/2012 8:14:10 PM

I don’t recognize myself lately.  I’m an alien creature, giving people orders and making things happen. I don’t understand it. It makes me uncomfortable, but it also makes me feel strong. If I think about it too much it freaks me out. There is this creature inside me that ravages the landscape, cajoles, charms, moves things forward. It’ terrifying and unexpected. I don’t think about it too often else I’ll start to question everything. I don’t know how I ended up here. I have to turn off my brain at certain points. It’s the only way I can do it.

I’ve always been quiet and flexible and acquiescent. Anyone who knows me well understands there is a headstrong stubborn person inside the skin, but usually it is suppressed in favor of the greater good. It comes out in violent moments. I have violent moments. Not literal violence, but a feeling so strong I can’t do much but react and feel my skin and blood reacting.

So there is this thing in me, my voice, telling others what to do and how to do it and how I feel about this and that. I can’t turn it off. I won’t turn it off. I just need to figure out how it fits in with the rest of me.


8/2/2012 10:22:15 PM

From the mailbag,

 

"So what is the conclusion of all of your testing ? ? ? you are a very liberal slave, with conservative tendencies?...well everyone can improve…you need to be at least 80% liberal."

 

This is the first time I've been accused of not being liberal enough. It's usually the other way around. 

 

 


8/2/2012 1:02:27 AM

Finally a high quality version of this. I've been waiting so long.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15n_BwDg-Es

 

Thank you.


8/1/2012 10:07:50 PM

I contemplate things. Like screwing up. I should admit failure right away and figure out how to do something in a new and different way. But I completely beat myself up over it. I can’t help it. Like, fuck it. It’s just my mode of existing.

This makes no sense in a boring muddled kind of way. But I was troubled today, in a sort of sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach kind of way. My problems are miniscule in the face of the problems of the world. But the thought of disappointing someone in particular makes my stomach turn. It’s completely silly, unreasonable, stupid, fucked up. Yet it is. It exists.


8/1/2012 1:41:29 PM

Today is not a good day.


7/31/2012 3:31:40 PM

I've been experiencing the finest in corporate buffoonery over the past two weeks. My team is swamped with work and it just keeps piling on. I was authorized to hire new employees a few months ago. I spent a month hiring and two to three weeks training these new folks. I ended up having to do double the work because my boss insisted on “fast tracking” them, yet HR is slow as mud and it was impossible to do this. The group was split up because some people were processed quickly and some not due to factors beyond anyone’s control. Thus I had to run two training sessions. Then I had to put the rest of the hiring process for MY team on the backburner.

 

My company is launching a new subsidiary and my boss and the manager of the new subsidiary decided that they needed a special team of employees that can perform almost the same skills as my team, yet slightly varied. So I was tasked with hiring two employees for it and I was in the process of getting that rolling when…

 

One of the money guys and some other higher ups in this subsidiary sent a rude email to all involved demanding to know why we’re hiring new employees when they already designated another set of employees to do these tasks. My boss and these other people went back and forth for two days; clearly neither group had talked to the other. This other manager I mentioned in the above paragraph then insisted that we’d need to hire a staff to cover 24/7, when we had originally designated two employees for this work.

 

When the dust settled everyone ended up being fucked. I’m fucked because this manager demanded we hire six instead of two people, and there’s no way we can get all those people hired within the time frame they want. Secondly they are being exploitive. In order to hire more folks they’ve decided to make these positions “contractor” positions. So now the new folks will be paid for peanuts, no benefits and no guarantee of a job x number of months from now. I had lined up two very enthusiastic prospects and now who knows if they’ll even want it?

 

I’m very good at facilitating and fixing and smoothing and organizing things. But I felt like screaming today and banging my head against a wall. It seems like constantly everyone needs something from me. It’s my own doing, I love to be of use and to help and to rescue those in need (bad habit I know). But I feel like saying when the fuck do I get to need something in this joint? When do I get to go on vacation, not get piled down with work, ask someone for advice or guidance?  Yes, I’m whining. 


7/28/2012 8:11:14 PM

Yourmorals.org is a fascinating website. I found it after reading this engaging article,

 

http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2012/jun/05/why-working-class-people-vote-conservative

 

Yourmorals measures your personality traits, morality etc. I decided to take a few of the quizzes. You are compared against “liberals” and “conservatives” using numbers.

 

I decided to take the “Schwartz Values Scale” quiz.

 

Here are values described by Schwartz:

 

POWER: Social status and prestige, control or dominance over people and resources
ACHIEVEMENT: Personal success through demonstrating competence according to social standards
HEDONISM: Pleasure or sensuous gratification for oneself
STIMULATION: Excitement, novelty, and challenge in life
SELF-DIRECTION: Independent thought and action - choosing, creating, exploring
UNIVERSALISM: Understanding, appreciation, tolerance, and protection for the welfare of all people and for nature
BENEVOLENCE: Preservation and enhancement of the welfare of people with whom one is in frequent personal contact
TRADITION: Respect, commitment, and acceptance of the customs and ideas that traditional culture or religion provide
CONFORMITY: Restraint of actions, inclinations, and impulses likely to upset or harm others and violate social expectations or norms
SECURITY: Safety, harmony, and stability of society, of relationships, and of self

 

Here is my result:

 

POWER:

 

Me: .4

Liberal: 1.4

Conservative: 2.2

 

ACHIEVEMENT:

 

Me: 5.8

Liberal: 3.8

Conservative: 4.1

 

HEDONISM:

 

Me: 4.0

Liberal: 3.8

Conservative: 3.2

 

STIMULATION

 

Me: 6.0

Liberal: 3.4

Conservative: 2.9

 

SELF-DIRECTION

 

Me: 5.4

Liberal: 5.1

Conservative: 4.7

 

UNIVERSALISM

 

Me: 5.4

Liberal: 4.8

Conservative: 3.4

 

BENEVOLENCE

 

Me: 5.2

Liberal: 4.5

Conservative: 4.7

 

TRADITION

 

Me: .8

Liberal: 1.9

Conservative: 3.2

 

CONFORMITY

 

Me: 5.0

Liberal: 2.9

Conservative: 4.1

 

SECURITY

 

Me: 4.2

Liberal: 3.2

Conservative 4.2

 


7/27/2012 12:47:41 AM

I wrote a blog about Amy last year and perhaps I included these selections, but I’m all about ritual and history and the 23rd marked a year since her death. These are a few of my favorite performances and recordings (Part II or Part 1 Repeated)

“You Know I’m No Good”

This was the first song of Amy’s I ever heard, it came off her second album “Back to Black”. I randomly purchased it around the end of 2006. The song essentially is about the stupid things we do to sabotage ourselves and our relationships -emotional masochism on some level. Having gotten out of an intense years long relationship with my “first love/ love of my life” (at the time) and having been single for some time I was at a low point, questioning myself. I also was realizing my own emotional masochism- why am I like this and can I ever live a life of contentment in the way I am constructed? I’m still asking myself this question.

I love Amy’s vocal performance in this clip (she’s at Shepherd’s Bush Empire in London, the concert was released on DVD as “I Told You I Was Trouble”).. It’s much grittier than the recording. She has control over her voice but it has an uncontrollable element to it, and a kind of urgency I can’t find in other versions. Yes, she’s drinking heavily but just to the edge and not over it. I kind of like her disheveled look, her hair a bit of a tangle. I like that she seems like a real person and not a flawless glamor puss. When she stares out into the audience she’s staring at her then husband Blake.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myLvvHyvn1E



“Stronger Than Me”

This is a cut off Amy’s first album “Frank” released in 2003. This album was much jazzier pop fare than her second effort. In this song Amy is exasperated that her boyfriend isn’t “being the man”. She comes across as somewhat demanding, so I wonder if it’s just a matter of incompatibility. This is a fun, upbeat song (yes about relationship dysfunction but I love the horns).

I don’t find any personal profundity in this song, I just like how well constructed it is. This performance in particular Amy is very clear and crisp and jazzy in her delivery. She is alive and present in this clip. This song was performed on Live with Jools Holland, one of the best music programs out there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gmZTAt1lls





“He Can Only Hold Her/That Thing”

This is a cut from “Back to Black” interspersed with Lauryn Hill’s “That Thing” (off the amazing “Miseducation of Lauryn Hill”). In this song a woman has a physical relationship with a man. She needs more from him. He drains her of her energy, she can’t leave him. Or she can only give him so much of herself. That’s why “he can only hold her”. I definitely identify with the wanting/needing more and not being able to express that. Or wanting someone that necessarily doesn’t want you in the same way, getting tangled up in the mess of that.

Amy performed this at Joe’s Pub in NYC. She seems exuberant, even happy in this performance. The sound quality isn’t that great, but I love this performance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqNPN3ydqyI&feature=plcp



“Take the Box” and “In My Bed”.

Both these cuts come from Amy’s first album. “Take the Box” is literally about the crumbling of a relationship, taking the box means literally taking a bra box. It’s a song of fucked up emotions. I fucking hate you, but I love you at the same time, but this is a disaster. “In My Bed”  is about sleeping with an ex, and it’s really just about the physical, she doesn’t want more. I don’t relate much to this, although I love this tune. I can’t really sleep with someone without it generating some emotions.

But I love this mini set.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WI5YW1u3y18&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Backwater Blues”

This is not a high quality video. It was probably never meant to be caught on camera. Supposedly Amy liked to give these impromptu performances at bars she frequented. So even though the sound is grotty she’s just oozing the blues to me. I love this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SjPzLK56dA&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“A Song For You”

This is a cover of Leon Russell’s song, recorded in 2009. Amy is spare here, kind of fallen apart and ragged, and her performance is beautiful. I don’t really give a fuck about perfect technique. She seems to be breathing this song. It can be found on her posthumous album “Lioness”.

“ (There Is) No Greater Love”

This is a Jazz standard and Amy executes it perfectly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qZB4adZAf8&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“I Heard It Through the Grapevine”

I believe this was during Amy’s heavy drug period. Some people absolutely hate this vocal.I don’t care too much about perfect technique, I love the soul and grittiness in this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVT-BokwmWY&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Love Is a Losing Game”

This particular version kills, she’s literally breathing and living every word of this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4L9-AvjsB6g&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Tears Dry On My Own”

This is probably one of my favorite songs of Amy’s. Yes it is sad, but also hopeful. Yes this relationship was fucked, and I accept it, but it’s over and I’m a strong individual still. “I fuck myself in the head with stupid men” is probably one of the truest lines, one I can relate to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pym7yAuvDc&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Some Unholy War”

Again this another one of my favorite Amy songs. I think it’s saying that no matter what happens, she’ll be standing by her “man”, no matter the consequences. Even if he’s wrong, she will be there, she possess that level of loyalty, even if it destroys her.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KItBiwX7xmY&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“You Sent Me Flying”

This is from Amy’s jazz album. Obviously it’s about a man that she likes, who doesn't’ like her back in the same way. I love this spare performance with only the guitar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u40o_yHYkQk&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Cherry”

This song is so sweet, it’s about her guitar. There’s not much more to say, it’s just a beautiful little ditty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=souj74-CEm8&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“I Love You More Than You’ll Ever More”

This was Amy’s cover of Donny Hathaway’s tune. There doesn’t  seem to be any official recording so far, this video is poor quality, and a mashing together of two different performances, but still quite searing in my opinion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kruZOfhXsjw&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Teach Me Tonight”

This is a standard made famous by Dinah Washington. Amy’s voice was beautiful and pure here. It was a masterful performance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5B2Vk2_XTY&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“‘ ‘Round Midnight”

I don’t think this got out of the demo stage. I’m not crazy about the background music but I love her vocal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IuALymbySw&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow”

This was featured in one of the Bridget Jone’s film. It’s one of the most perfect covers of this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ludxpkyrab0&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Like Smoke”

This is one of those “posthumous” collabs. Amy was a huge fan of Nas, “Me and Mr. Jones” is about him. I love her hook. This song was NOT completed, which is one reason they turned this into a collab. I actually like Nas’s rap, I don’t feel like it’s too out of place, he’s creating a narrative. I am quite fond of it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdvWyn7Q-N0&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59


“Body and Soul”

This was one of her last decent performances. It’s a standard she performs with Amy Winehouse. Her voice sounds weathered but beautiful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OFMkCeP6ok&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Someone To Watch Over Me”

This is one of my favorite standards. This was a demo, again a beautiful piece of music and a beautiful voice.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMChsW8c90E&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59



“Back to Black”

I debated including this one. She’s destroyed, high on drugs, hopeless in this performance. She’s not at her best physically. I can’t even watch it without cringing slightly. But she’s so emotionally raw and passionate, I can feel the pain. I couldn’t not include it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WBj_XQ43NM&feature=BFa&list=PLDE4EBB7AFB47CF59


7/26/2012 9:48:28 PM

i want my fingers on you
while i pretend to be profound
i talked to you for five hours
and  all i wanted to do
was to taste your skin and wonder what
it’s like to be sitting six inches away from your face.

Oh yes, me.
who wants you to bruise my throat
invaded by the
messy geometry of wanting


7/25/2012 7:57:25 PM

 I'm not very adventurous when it comes to sampling alcoholic beverages. If I find something I like I stick with it, usually sweet and inelegant. I decided to buy a bottle of whiskey  thinking I'd hate it and that would be that. It's actually quite good, this is shocking.


7/24/2012 9:41:10 PM

Sometimes my throat is sticky with the things I shouldn’t have said, or didn’t say and should have said. Sometimes I can’t focus, my attention is cut down into parts , but when all those parts are composed they’re focused only on him.

I fear writing because it leaves me open to judgement. I like it and loathe it concurrently.  And in this case I deal with  his possible disappointment in me, which is difficult to contemplate. It makes no sense.  I’ll get to where I need to be.

The differences, those I wonder about too. And maybe it’s the difference, and the sure definitions he believes in, that attract me. Or scare me. I haven’t figured that out yet. All of it adds up to me feeling this panicky delight. I’m the opposite of distressed. 


7/24/2012 9:07:48 PM

how are your hands shaped
where do you crease

my toe advised against
declarations and inquiries
it is my barrister

the question of space
last night stalked the
landscape

the footpath was stone full
of i love you

if beyond 28 exists i’ll mend
your slippers without a needle
until my fingers are bone tools

your continent does not fit mine
instead it is jagged
fabric scissors cutting
my patterns

nonchalant retort
scribbled stump
i ask to
enter the tilt in your eyes 


7/24/2012 9:07:23 PM

sour mash is
a cheap and priceless mode
of communication
less worrisome than a ten cent
penny 


7/24/2012 9:07:04 PM

he licks my lost caverns
hot on Sunday

in the jutting bathtub
shifting away from possession
we panic against the faucet


7/24/2012 9:06:19 PM

a dark god
of forgetfulness
bends corners

his foot leans
into cups

invading this world
ordinary under my
dirty fingernails 


7/22/2012 10:01:42 PM

I wanted to write something in this space but I'm going to be working all night, reading near incomprehensible text. At least I can do it half dressed in my own home. 


7/20/2012 11:24:29 PM

I’m trying to write something and failing, throwing it into the metaphorical garbage can over and over again. I’ve contemplated a bender and an LSD trip, both are recommended by various sources. But how do you do this in a non pornified serious way? I’ll figure it out in the next ten days. Until then I’ll go through this tortuous process of battering my brain. This isn’t like an experiment or a math equation. It’s not empirical. There’s not a beginning and there’s not an end. My brain doesn’t function that way. I either “have it” and I write, or I don’t and I struggle writing meaningless and empty paragraphs.

When I was much younger I won a statewide essay contest. The topic of the essay was boring as can be, “What would this dead academic reformer think about the state of education today?”. It took me forever to frame it. In my essay the dead spirit of this reformer presented himself to me through my family dog. The dog came up to my desk and began talking, and me and the dog, possessed by the spirit of this man, wrote an essay together. But I don’t know how daring to be when I’m not being myself.

This goes back to unknowability. We all wear covers and pieces of clothing and accessories, flashy things. But what are they really? I might be pining away for truth, wanting to write non fiction when I should be writing a fantasy or an alternate reality. I feel almost like I’m violating something by doing that because the reality that I know is my own, and when something is “personal” I think of my blood and how it connects to the world.

I started writing something, and it was my experience. And it felt odd, like I was violating myself, giving away this very personal experience that has nothing to do with whom I’m writing it for. I’m not sure if I want to give that away.

Or I could say, please let me  ponder the mysteries of the world. I’ll get back to you when my sundress is faded and the front of it is sticky and stained with too many extraneous efforts. Maybe then I’ll write the kind of essay you want me to write. Because right now you’re a fucking lovely mystery. I love that about you. But it comes when it comes. And the mystery needs to be unpacked somewhat.

If I can take a part of me and make it you, it will all be okay. 


7/18/2012 2:34:41 PM

Members of the “Occupy” movement are just lazy hippies waiting for a hand out. The unemployed aren’t trying hard enough.  I hear these sentiments expressed with regularity. As a society we’re fractured in our compassion. Many of us profess to be followers of Jesus, yet where in the Bible does Jesus tell the poor and sick, “No bread or fish for you lazy parasites. Why don’t you get a job?”

 

Poverty is not a moral failing; it’s not a matter of “will”. One can have all the will in the world but if you’re living in a faltering economy there are forces greater than yourself impacting employment prospects. If you’ve been born to parents struggling economically, if you’ve grown up and lived in an area with few opportunities-educational or employment related, if you are “queer” in any sense of the word (race, orientation, disability, gender), all of these factors will impact your ability to advance yourself. Sure, it’s not impossible. But there is an element of right timing and luck.

 

Becoming Andrew Carnegie or Steve Jobs or Bill Gates is not feasible for most members of our society. Becoming the guy next door living in a ranch with a white picket fence in a suburb isn’t even feasible for many people at this point.

 

My family struggled somewhat but I always had a roof over my head and food to eat. My family had enough disposable income available to provide me with some educational opportunities. This allowed me to figure out how to get into a good college and fund it.

 

At one point in my college career I needed a part time job outside of my work study so I turned to my school’s job board. I applied for 50 part time jobs in one weekend, including one that was semi anonymous and sounded like a scam. Two weeks and several interviews later I received a call from the people behind that ad.

 

 I couldn’t even believe the kind of job it was, but I went through the interview process (10 minutes) and “training” (two hours).  I was offered the position and thought, “Sure this might last a year or so”.  Six years later I’m still with this company working in a management position. I completely lucked into this job, if I had done something different, not applied or not answered the ad or turned down the offer, who knows where I would be now or what kind of work I would be doing?  

 

I am privileged and this privilege allows me to make certain choices. I’m a white able bodied middle class woman. I don’t face the same type of systemic racism or discrimination that others face. Without the financial resources available to my family I wouldn’t have received the kind of support or education that I did. Without that I wouldn’t have ended up at that specific college. I wouldn’t have access to that particular job board and I would be doing something else entirely.

 

Yes I’ve worked very hard to reach the management level. But even that is somewhat of a crap shoot. I’ve had plenty of folks with less experience promoted over me before I was promoted. Advancement, employment, economic opportunity—one can work very hard and use their inborn talents but there will always be elements outside of your control determining whether you’re the new VP or putting your desk into a box.

 

Work should provide a living wage. Someone shouldn’t need to work 80 hours a week and still fall short of supporting their family. Many of our largest, wealthiest financial institutions were” bailed out” economically yet financial crimes continue and compassion/understanding from these institutions towards those who are struggling remain low to non-existent. It’s not hard to wonder why people are protesting in the streets, especially young college graduates and the unemployed.

 

No these people are not “worthless”, they’re not bad or lazy. Tomorrow I could be one of them; you could be one of them. Instead of degrading these people it would be more productive to try and fix what’s wrong, but that isn’t as fun as tearing down others and feeling self righteous. 


7/16/2012 7:28:37 PM

Sound of the universe. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJk69zvgBhU


7/16/2012 3:49:19 PM

I’m returning to the 12 hour workday. It’s not really my ideal state of being but overall I’m quite fond of my line of work so I can deal with it for the next four or five months. I’m grateful to our political system; it has kept me gainfully employed along with all that other great stuff that goes along with it-democracy, voting etc. I had to compile this schedule today and nearly collapsed into a wet puddle of my own politically charged orgasmic bliss.

 

Monday, August 27-Republican National Convention

 

Tuesday, August 28-Republican National Convention 

 

Wednesday, August 29-Republican National Convention 

 

Thursday, August 30-Republican National Convention

 

Monday, September 3-Democratic National Convention

 

Tuesday, September 4-Democratic National Convention

 

Wednesday, September 5-Democratic National Convention 

 

Thursday, September 6-Democratic National Convention 

 

Wednesday, October 3-First Presidential Debate

 

Thursday, October 11-Vice Presidential Debate

 

Tuesday, October 16-Second Presidential Debate 

 

Monday, October 22-Third Presidential Debate 

 

Tuesday, November 6-Election Day 


7/14/2012 9:28:48 PM

I decided tonight to make spiked lemonade and sit on the front step drinking it and looking at the sky.  A mosquito bit the inside of my wrist and now there is a red bump and it’s itchy. I did something completely out of character yesterday. I’m tired of not splattering myself all around, of being so controlled. Fuck that. So I didn’t, and now what? No poetry, no obscurity, just me being glaringly hole in the wall stains on the mattress banging coming from the floor above honest. I don’t mind it really. It exists now, at least in my own mind. If it is disastrous, saying these extreme thoughts and feelings,  I’m okay with that, I need to be myself in all my clumsy fingers sticky with alcohol and way too much into metaphor person/thing/girl/woman. Because I realized fuck yes I feel this way, and I’m not going to hide anymore.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my degree lately too. I tell myself my job is so great, it’s okay. But I’m really thinking, “Fucking goddamn, what a loser I am. I need to finish this shit.” I have this negative voice in my head. I don’t share it because I don’t want people patting me on the back trying to boost my self esteem. Fuck my self esteem. It’s not about that. But I happened onto my school’s website and it’s completely possible to finish what I started if I can figure out the funding situation. And since then I’ve had the itch and it hasn’t gone away. Each day instead I think I’m sitting in this town surrounded by beautiful mountains going to the grocery store and typing things on my keyboard while I stare at my posters. What the fuck? It’s ten fucking credits. I worked my ass off for my 3.6. I need to finish it.

And why aren’t I writing more? If I ever want to be serious about it, get an agent, get published, I need to get my shit together on this. I was born with very little in the way of social skills or a body conforming to the norms of society. Somehow I received fingers that can fly across a keyboard and scribble ditties in ink That’s what I have and I need to use it more. I need to work at for hours each day.

And I miss New York. I miss the smell of diesel fuel and the street at 4 am and the hum of traffic. Fuck I miss it,and being in this place is like marking time, and I don’t want it to feel like that.

And I want is to wake up next to you with my degree hanging from the wall, making coffee  and admiring my bruises, vacuuming the rug and writing a poem about it.

As I heard recently, “Time is a rubber band”. 


7/14/2012 4:31:45 PM

This is one of the best shows on television enough people aren't watching. I constantly hear complaining about the avalanche of cheap, mind numbering programming out there. This is a high quality series. It's not even necessary to have cable to watch it, new episodes are posted on Amazon and iTunes within a day of their broadcast and the first three seasons are streaming on Netflix. 

 

 This series tracks the moral disintegration of a 50 year old terminally high school chemistry teacher who decides to cook and sell meth in order to..."support his family".  The writing, acting and plotting are superlative.  The last season (split into 8 episodes over the course of this summer and next) begins tomorrow. I'm excited. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4Ok68Y4cSQ


7/11/2012 1:03:51 PM

Dear Admissions Committee,

I’ve wanted to be a healthcare professional ever since Nurse Bonnie fellated Dr. Doug in an empty examination room circa 1993. I had this experience while viewing “Naughty Nurses Nine” and it profoundly impacted my development. Watching Nurse Bonnie suck the good doctor’s balls while he called her a dirty bitch and proceeded to throat fuck her made me understand what it means to be a team player.

Dr. Doug’s bedside manner and the way he delicately probed the ailments of his stiletto heeled bed bound patients helped me develop compassion for my fellow humans and honed my cunnilingus skills. I want to bring my own unique white sticky compassion and caring to the healthcare field.

I prepare myself for this path in life in various ways. I perform vigorous self examinations of my body on a daily basis. I enjoy volunteering as a candy stripper at the local community hospital. I often perform my duties to such songs as “Get Naked”, “ Fuck the Pain Away” and “My Neck, My Back”. Elderly patients especially appreciate these calming musical selections. The most valuable lesson I’ve learned as a candy stripper is that the uniforms are kind of tight around the hips.

Academically I’ve made the honor roll ten times at Bullard’s University College Seminary located at PO Box 58399080 Minooga Falls, North Dakota. I’ve earned straight 4.0’s in the most important subjects (like “Piss is Sterile and Safe to Drink Just Don’t Let it Dribble Onto the Carpet Whore” and “Managing Fluid Leakage After Rough Anal Sex”). I obtained the rest of my 4.0’s by performing graphic sexual acts on my professors.

My poise, professionalism and dignity will be an open yet tight asset to your program.  

(I’m attempting to help someone draft the dreaded personal narrative portion of their application. I thought perhaps I’d be inspired after viewing some nice vintage porn. This is the proto draft, all words except “I” , “the” and “is” shall be excised in the second draft. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if Jamie Gillis, John Holmes, Peter North and Georgina Spelvin were on the admissions committee? The applicant would not only be admitted, he’d probably be showered with scholarships.

I tried writing a draft last night and it turned into an orgy of poetry. I tried pretending to be the applicant and so far it’s not working too well. I may try to pretend to be me and then go back and tweak things, make myself sound more muscular and masculine. I may need to perform a mind meld with said applicant.)


7/11/2012 2:08:54 AM

call me so
and more call me
in the early morning hours
of four but not too soon

when may i crack the shell
of non entity, the present
machete between my toes

thirty minutes is nothing but a
dodge of less determination
the busy intersection
crackles in my ear.


7/11/2012 2:08:25 AM

perverted me kneeled
on a stained mattress underneath
your fleas, your sad sold stains

my center
rusted by your
sewer morality

drip drip
skid on
bloody slush mixed with
demented semen

computer screens
stripped your charm of all
non reality
dust from  corners
one hot morning
whispered to me


7/11/2012 2:07:51 AM

you said i was yours
but isn’t yours
an urgent call
for closeness
wandering fingers
along the seams of
trousers?

there is space in the hole
no such quiz exists
if you’re harsh i’ll ignore you
like i never did

you promised to cut me
open with your knife
your tongue is a
sulphur spoon
slurped by the
apocalypse of 2040


7/11/2012 2:07:10 AM

you mirrored my
death doily

Baby Booties you
screamed and peed
on the floor
brunette bun
contradicted by
a twisted hip

admiration
overwhelms my neutral
sticking point

Forty five sided dice
granular she-witch
here is the zirconia medal
snail of the year

disrespected dna
for a bored moment
forgot your blood
now it’s mine
my vinegar fizz


7/11/2012 2:06:39 AM

spider pipes are
not contained
by dignity

polite society inverted
me to the blob and the bob

flesh hanging
off the bone
soup mashed
against a butcher’s glass

breast too small and stretched
a trampoline of soggy books

back a cave
last week’s latest cure
five sizes too large
and small


7/11/2012 2:06:14 AM

cafe flatware
clinks in ketosis

history lessons
lick walls

tongue is neat
frosted for service

ration saran wrapped
dreams are reasoned
shoes and hands

just obey an address
whirling in a mixer
coal eyes
outside a sky

under length
elbow to index
tasting of salt
and mystery


7/10/2012 10:23:28 PM

I practice my speech in front of mirrors and in the shower and while driving to the market. I've won oratory contests and aced oral reports using this method. Excellence through terror. I’m utterly terrified of public humiliation; being exposed for the non-perfectionist I am.

I don’t do small talk. Tell me about that shadow around the corner or give me your 1,000 page summary on the state of the economy. Conversation to me is trying to screw in a loose table leg after drinking a few cocktails. Screwdrivers aren’t part of my symmetry.

If I stop thinking so much and turn to my feral side I say the thing I feel or how some random word or breath makes me feel.

I  float while listening to a voice. I coax long complex answers out of people because I love voices. I love to hear the subtle inflections, the rise and fall, the mood in words. It allows me to control the conversation, to create space between the subject and my desire.

I construct words into emotions and shapes. How does a voice sound when I’m on the floor and it’s shoe is pressing down on my face? What does a voice say while I’m scrubbing the toilet bowl? How does a voice taste in my mouth?

I’m focused on the more, l am a wanting person. I want more of that voice in my ear, because for me right now it is the real thing I have.


7/8/2012 3:31:31 PM

NB: I fucked up the edit on this earlier, half of it is lost forever. Sob. 

 

 He is magnetic and persuasive and his intellect is compelling. He has that quality about him that makes me want to “throw fire into paradise and water into hell”.

 

Recently I've experienced intense and illogical moments precipitated by the most banal events. And I like it. I like living in moments of intensity and longing. I want to lose my mind and sob, a confused and violent mass of emotions. Tangibles keep me grounded; strings connecting me to the other parts of self. But they’re fraying a bit, and that doesn't bother me. Should it bother me? 


7/7/2012 8:52:31 AM

I burned my life, that I may find
A passion wholly of the mind,
Thought divorced from eye and bone
Ecstasy come to breath alone.
I broke my life, to seek relief
From the flawed light of love and grief.

 

With mounting beat the utter fire
Charred existence and desire.
It died low, ceased its sudden thresh.
I had found unmysterious flesh--
Not the mind's avid substance--still
Passionate beyond the will.


"The Alchemist", Louise Bogan


7/5/2012 8:38:38 PM
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning— Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality. Maimed—was I—yet not by Venture— Stone of stolid Boy— Nor a Sportsman's Peradventure— Who mine Enemy? Robbed—was I—intact to Bandit— All my Mansion torn— Sun—withdrawn to Recognition— Furthest shining—done— Yet was not the foe—of any— Not the smallest Bird In the nearest Orchard dwelling Be of Me—afraid. Most—I love the Cause that slew Me. Often as I die Its beloved Recognition Holds a Sun on Me— Best—at Setting—as is Nature's— Neither witnessed Rise Till the infinite Aurora In the other's eyes.

-Emily Dickinson

 


7/5/2012 6:44:56 PM

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/05/bill-young-minimum-wage-get-a-job_n_1651809.html



It’s sad that someone (not even a random someone but a constituent of this congressman) asks a polite question about an issue and in response said representative tells him to “Get a job” and repeats it again when the constituent explains that he indeed is employed. To this representative a livable minimum wage is a “benefit” and in all tarnation why would anyone want to make above a slave wage and be able to provide a roof over their head or food on their table?

Representative Young (R-FL) has been in congress over 40 years and makes a nice salary with cushy benefits. Based on his response I somehow doubt he cares very much about those in the lower socioeconomic brackets who have supported his “lifestyle” for the last four decades. It’s disappointing he didn’t even provide an intelligent disagreeable response.

This young man merely wanted to know if his congressman supported HR 5901 (“Catching Up to 1968 Act of 2012”) introduced by Representative Jesse Jackson Jr. Mainly HR 5901 does the following:

“It raises the minimum wage to $10.00 per hour;The minimum wage is raised  immediately - not gradually as in the past - beginning 60 days after the date of enactment

Beginning one year after the $10.00 per hour minimum wage takes effect, and each year thereafter, the minimum wage will be indexed in proportion to the increase in the Consumer Price Index (CPI).

For workers earning their living on the basis of tips, the cash wage paid to such an employee is to be 70% of the minimum wage when the law takes effect, but in no case less than $5.50 an hour, adjusted annually as necessary thereafter. “ (http://jackson.house.gov/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=548:the-catching-up-to-1968-act-of-2012-&catid=39:2007-2012&Itemid=86

)

The chances of this legislation passing (it was “referred to committee” ) are small, of course. I’m fully aware that minimum wage varies by state and city and that in some states and cities it is already tied to the CPI. This bill addresses federal minimum wage. Tying the minimum wage to inflation seems like a common sense measure. Of course what I want to see is minimum wage equaling a living wage, i.e. you can support yourself on a subsistence level, because right now you cannot at this wage level in many locations.

What irritates me beyond belief is the scorn heaped upon minimum wage workers. These workers are not lazy or stupid by default. For all I know tomorrow I could lose my current job and end up working in retail or fast food.

I’ve had former lawyers, FBI agents, accountants and business owners apply for the $10 an hour entry level positions at my own company. We’ve received thousands of applications for a handful of positions.

 

My point is, you have no idea why someone is working a minimum wage job. Perhaps they were laid off. Perhaps they have not had the same economic or educational opportunities as others. I don’t see the point in disparaging people who make the minimum wage or work in unskilled labor positions. For whatever reason someone may be limited to these types of positions. The attitude seems to be currently that these people should be worked to the bone and that they deserve to be treated poorly because poverty is a moral failing, and not a result of complex social and economic conditions.

 

Don’t even get me started on the folks who want to eliminate the minimum wage…


7/4/2012 9:23:18 AM

I was thinking this morning about ten albums I couldn't live without, stuff I'd want to bring with me if I was thrown into solitary confinement with a record player or living on a space ship floating through the universe. I definitely love more than ten, but these are the ones I need. 

 

Sketches of Spain-Miles Davis 

 

Bitches Brew-Miles Davis

 

A Love Supreme-John Coltrane

 

Lady in Satin-Billie Holiday

 

Axis: Bold as Love-Jimi Hendrix

 

Box of Pearls-Janis Joplin 

 

Some version of complete recordings-Led Zeppelin (There are a few collections floating around, I have an mp3 package of all their recordings)

 

Back to Black-Amy Winehouse

 

Lungs-Florence + the Machine

 

Ceremonials-Florence + the Machine

 


7/2/2012 2:28:18 PM

Ah, how I treasure the "Ur 2 fat" emails I receive. I've been missing that in my life lately.

 

"You need some diet and exercise. You are too young to be that obese..."

 

I've never interacted with this individual, I've never viewed his profile or even come across him in passing. And that was the entirety of his message.

 

I receive these sorts of emails periodically and they always fascinate me.
What's the draw? I understand that each individual has their own preference but why
expend the energy to write a note to someone who clearly falls outside of your parameters?

 

I suppose asking this question is like spitting into the ocean. The internet houses various sociopathic and misanthropic souls.

 

He fits the totally unscientific profile I've compiled.

 

He's over 45 years old ( I have nothing against older men, but I only seem to receive these kinds of emails from the 45 plus set)

 

He packages himself as a "not negative person"-his words (Oftentimes the profile of such a correspondent gushes on about how ecologically aware, kind, pretty, amazing and courageous
he is)

 

He blocked me after he sent his email, obviously unable to handle an actual response.

 

Amazingly enough I own a mirror and I'm intimately familiar with every roll of fat, stretch mark, bump, lump, freckle and scar on my body. Anyone who even read my writing in the most random of ways would understand the level of self awareness I possess in regard to my own body. Maybe it's because I don't loathe myself, and that is too disturbing for someone who believes all women need to conform to random male sex object fantasies. 

 

I accept my body and my flaws and my gashes and raw oozing insecurities. And there are parts of my body, that like my other parts, I am working on transforming and modifying and making stronger. 

 

 

Sometimes I can't resist poking things with a stick though.

 

 


7/1/2012 12:41:49 PM

I love my best friend. She is the savior of my world. She came and helped me put my air conditioner in the window. 


6/30/2012 6:30:31 PM

So how many of these babies will the anti abortion advocates be adopting? 

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/30/mississippi-abortion-clinic-law_n_1640185.html


6/29/2012 8:13:10 PM

Oh Tom just look back on happy memories during this trying time. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFBZ_uAbxS0

 

I should really try masturbating to this. 


6/28/2012 9:00:19 PM

your mass of freckles
creates a perfect triangle
against my flabby arm

i don’t understand your electrified
cookie sheet

you know me better like a hammer
and i know you better
i slid through your birth canal

we’re afraid of breaking
we fear it
like poison oak

but i can’t erase your lines
from the corners of my eye lids
the future is desperate without you
it’s quiet without you

you wrapped my finger in gauze
i whispered you are more than bones


6/28/2012 8:31:49 PM

i panic because you are
not here
and i need to shatter
it is only 11 o clock

you hunch over
1200 loose leaf pages
i am in my dingy room
rolling in my blanket

bodies are nothing compared
to what i know
brain and vein a grotty mixture

trace the pink lines
on my stomach

kiss them

i want to know
the color of your eyes
and what “mine” means

i taste your narrative
spit it out
we are not strangers


6/28/2012 6:43:28 PM

SCOTUS opinions become more readable when accompanied by cocktails. 


6/27/2012 8:23:30 PM

"Once More, With Feeling" is the best of everything, Buffy + Musical. 

 

This 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lczuTwvytEg

 

 

And this

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MF4chM0n8Bk&feature=related

 

 

Finally this

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7oau5FUtrE&feature=related

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


6/26/2012 9:28:02 PM

We are fragile meat shells.

The heart beating, we take it for granted.

And, “He isn’t suffering”. Such a lie.

I try not to focus on it too much, or I’ll start googling things like, “What is the last thought a dying person has?” or “What are the physical signs of impending death?”

In my dreams only rarely are his legs pale and shriveled.. There isn’t drool trickling out of the side of his mouth and I’m not wiping it away. His eyes aren’t dull, his hand isn’t shaking. He’s only a few years older than I am now , sort of quiet and sitting in his chair, a thick book in his lap.

Such a tiny thing, a blood clot. And not a tiny thing in a matter of moments. It’s hard to know how to talk to him.  He cries. But he can’t speak. And I cry, and I speak about inane things. We communicate better when I hold his good hand.  Flesh pressed against flesh often communicates more meaningfully than words. A squeeze, the interlinking of fingers, this is how I tell him I love him.  

I hate those dreams because I invest my emotions in that reality and I’m stunned when I open my eyes. The smell is there even in my own bedroom, antiseptic something and a sourness, the contents of his bowels in a bag underneath his bed.

Life is precious to me or not precious to me depending on the day and time. It’s not precious when I remember how helpless we will become, laying in our own shit. And each moment is a part of a smaller moment and a larger moment, lived at a point long ago and at a point too far into the future.

Someone died, and whenever someone dies that I have a marginal connection to, I start thinking of those who are not yet dead, including myself. And I like not being dead.

But I also think of those not quite dead, those I can’t bury in my mind, like him. He’s inconveniently alive, it’s horrible to say, as he’s my DNA.  I’m supposed to be heroically hopeful. All I want to know is what he wants, and I will never know.

Once in January his nurse called me in the middle of the day. When she is tending to him I believe he is not half dead, that some part of him won’t die, that where I get my fire is from him, that it exists in him, hidden. He tells her things, I’m not sure how, but she tells me his stories, the ones he’s told for decades.

She called me and told me that he was worried about me, that he had a bad dream about me. She wanted me to speak to him on the phone for a moment. He spoke to me for the first time in two years, barely above a whisper. He told me he loved me.

These were also the last words we spoke to each other, before the clot traveled to his brain.

I wonder about the ankles of strangers and eat forbidden foods like black raspberry ice cream in the middle of the night (but not too often anymore). I lurch in the direction of my emotions, and they translate into nonsense at times. It happens because he is where he is, and I have no words of wisdom to impart. I’m not stronger or wiser or more grateful. But there is that part, stubborn, coal like, hard and unyielding and it comes from him, and I didn’t know about that before. If I’m going to die in a pile of my own shit I’m going to do so ranting and raving and unreasonable, I’m going to light myself on fire. 


6/21/2012 1:18:55 PM

First comes pain, then despair. This is followed by hopelessness, until finally there is acceptance. I have melted into a puddle beneath my windowsill. 


6/20/2012 11:01:40 AM

No air conditioner in 92 degree weather sucks :( 


6/19/2012 3:19:50 PM

I'm not dressed up. I have no where to go. I have no alcohol. I must remedy this situation. 


6/12/2012 8:12:37 AM

Food poisoning sucks.


6/8/2012 9:20:46 AM

I need to remind myself sometimes. 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQMJCOT2wlQ


6/4/2012 8:36:46 PM

I wrote these the other day on two unrelated topics, separated by the line. 

 


I want to fold myself into you
So I am not myself
Only how you compose me


-----------------------------------------------


I remember when you were
Skin and bones and elbow
We tumbled along

Now you are less elbow
More hair and long leg
You are me and I am you

 

 


5/31/2012 4:08:41 PM

I am an emotion junkie, somewhat like an adrenaline junkie but kind of different. I don’t need to feel like my life is threatened or that I’m in danger to feel something (although I am stimulated when I feel that way). I just need to feel. I’m addicted to feeling things deeply and weirdly in zig zag patterns splashed all over my walls and ceilings. If I’m feeling too calm and peaceful I’ll stimulate myself in some way to break the monotony.

Feeling things stimulates me to write and be productive and breathe. One reason I admire and envy Buddhists and other zen like people is because they are able to let go of extreme emotional states.I can’t seem to do it. I try to channel it instead and it works sometimes.

If I’m feeling too placid I’ll put on certain music to evoke certain moods or read certain pieces of literature or poetry. Oftentimes the right kind of art can take take my mind to a certain place.  I’m notorious for crying over some poem or book or song when I’m in a mood.

Certain kinds of relationships are another manifestation of my need for stimulation. These are the kinds of relationships where I’m a possession, owned, used, hurt. Being hurt stimulates me, but more importantly, the person doing the hurting stimulates me. When he hurts me, he gets inside me, but I get inside him too. Being choked or hit or kicked or brutalized in some way  makes me feel out of control, a part of me is ragged and fearful and another part of me is reveling in the violence. More than that though, obedience, aligning myself with his will and wants and desires stimulates me. Actually it makes me want to take out parts of myself for the other person, hammer them out in ways that are pleasing and exposing all the griminess inside. Is that strange? Does it make any sense?

My life and emotional states are not complete chaos, I need quiet moments. But I need to be poked and prodded and feel scared and confused sometimes.

I need to feel everything deeply. I need more of everything, all the time. I need the world to pop and sparkle for me, doesn’t matter if it’s in a positive or negative way.

I’m not immune to the dull, throbbing ache of everyday life. Many of my days are the same humdrum as everyone else’s. It’s all part of the continuum.


5/28/2012 4:41:51 PM

The only parts of me that felt sweaty and uncomfortable today were the hollows under my eyes. I remember what 108 degrees feels like and in that context today is a gift.

When I wandered to Las Vegas I did not understand the concept of heat. Having lived in the northeastern United States I could not fathom temperatures reaching above 100 degrees for months on end. I did not know that the sky would be a perfect cloudless blue every bloody day. Precipitation was a 15 minute rain storm. Neighbors stood in front of their stucco homes watching the streams of water in the street. It stopped abruptly and everything dried out. The heat was perfectly oppressive and the sky was perfectly blue again.

Constant blue skies disturb me. Here is the sky, unchanging and supposedly so beautiful, and to me it is evil and mocking, unrelenting.

Where I stayed only one room had air conditioning, the central air was busted. I cooked and cleaned in the heat, and I slept in the heat. I liked to soak my shirts in cold water, usually that helped for half an hour or so. The heat taught me things though. I learned to hydrate, and I learned to economize my movements.

It was so hot only the foolish and the broke would choose to sit in the heat. Sometimes I would drive around with the windows down (my car was not air conditioned) and the place didn’t feel real. No fleshly beings existed, just ugly boxy buildings, exhaust fumes and cars. The air was a very hot wall. In that heat my mind could disconnect, I could withdraw into my inner world. The heat was unending, but if I could find words to describe my feelings, I could beat it back. And I did sometimes. The desert was a swell place for me to find creative inspiration.

When I left Las Vegas I wandered through the Mojave on my way to San Francisco. I liked that place. I liked the isolation, being in a world of sand and mountains and grubby plants and run down towns. I wish that I had spent more time there. Sometimes I fantasize about packing up my possessions, selling what I can and finding some tin shack to move into in one of those towns in the middle of the desert. 


5/27/2012 5:16:03 PM

Sleep deprivation + cocktails+dark and cloudy sky+Florence and the Machine=happy girl. I know it shouldn't be so.


5/25/2012 9:25:29 PM

Quiet. Most people will observe this quality about me first if they’re sitting across from me or standing next to me.I’m quiet.I’m not so much afraid of people, as I am awkward in making casual conversation, inappropriate in what I’m thinking,the interrogator or observer and not the centerpiece. When asked to expound upon some theory or political point I’ll turn it around in such a way that the asker is giving me their whole philosophy on life. I enjoy that. But if I’m in an adventurous mood and haven’t exhausted my store of social energy  I pretend I’m talking to my mirror ( Yes I really do practice social interactions in front of my mirror and by talking to myself frequently) and barrel ahead with my set of talking points. I don’t fear social interaction, I have a certain reserve of energy available for those I consider of the species “stranger and acquaintance”.  Once that reserve is exhausted I must recede back into myself or into the comfort of those who are known entities.

I was told to “smile” or that I was unemotional or a snob or a stick in the mud frequently during the first 18 years of my life. This happened in settings where everyone is supposed to be perky and happy in uncomplicated ways, loud, a leader type, wearing enthusiasm and a gee willikers attitude like the latest Spring fashion . Luckily since I’m a fully independent creature these days I don’t often run into these types -girl scout leaders, busybodies, grade school teachers, church women, office gossips and elderly great aunts. I have had a few vehement defenders who state, “No, no, it’s not true. She’s just shy and quiet, she’s a very warm hearted girl.”

But that’s not really the truth. There is a part of me that is very cold and manipulative and calculating.I am able to easily objectify individuals in my mind, prod them, examining what makes them tick. I take great pleasure in the benevolent manipulation and poking of people. I see people as blocks in my path, related to me insofar as I need them or they need me. What can we do for each other? How can we use each other in mutually satisfying ways? I tried to be ashamed of this, to feel remorse for seeing a swathe of humanity in this manner,  but I can’t manage it. I don’t feel remorse or the need to try to feel remorseful anymore. This side of myself enables my own survival. It’s a bit ugly and inhuman, but it helps preserve me and I’m selfish like that.

I abhor causing suffering and pain towards other human beings though, and in this way I limit the dominance of my cold, slimy self. And around the corner from the slightly scary and cold version of me is the romantic and motherly me-unreasonably emotional, and intensely loyal. This side of me connects to the rest of humanity through love and service.

Love to me isn’t bounded by relationships. It’s just a state that exists to varying degrees between certain humans and myself. Love means different things to me in different contexts but it’s usually always expressed in me doing for others.

Love exists as an obligation. And in that way I love most of my family, they brought me into this world and provided for me, so I owe them a certain level of love and loyalty, and I try and honor that. I even enjoy the company of my family on occasion.

Then there is an intense love for what I consider my “real family” that goes above and beyond that. I consider three people solidly in this group, my two biological siblings and my best friend, someone I’ve known since age 7 who for all intents and purposes I love as much as I love the ones I’m related to. There’s no question that no matter how we get along, wherever we are, if they need anything I’ll do what I can to provide it for them. If one of them calls me up to tell me they have murdered someone, the first thing I will ask them is “Where should we bury the body?”.

I take great pleasure in being a motherly figure. I fulfill this mostly these days through my work. I am a manager of a close knit small team. I am not an authoritarian. I see what I do as keeping my team productive while also guiding and nurturing them. I talk to my employees individually, I want to know about their lives. I ask about their families and yes I feel for them when they have troubles. I have no problem going to the CEO and arguing for a raise for a certain employee or trying to hire someone that has great potential but has life experiences and circumstances that most normal employers shy away from. I know this impulse can go awry to the point where I’m exerting too much energy and feeling exhausted. But it’s what I do, I can’t help myself.

Love exists in my desire to obey, be hurt and devoured whole by another human being. It’s how I relate,open myself up, spill all my ugly bloody guts on the floor.  

That’s me, sort of. There’s more. 


5/23/2012 4:46:49 PM

I've lived in this tiny little dark studio for a year now. I use the term "studio" loosely, as it's really a room, with a 50 year old gas stove, sink, refrigerator and bathroom with toilet and shower. But you know what? It's my tiny dark studio and I Love it. What I don't love is how stuffy and hot it gets in here in the summer months, it's always five to seven degrees warmer in here than it is outside. 

 

Last year I had some folks help me put the air conditioner in the window. I don't know if that will happen this year. I had this rickety old crap fan that did nothing . I finally broke down today and bought two window fans. Oh my, fucking relief. Yes, thank you God of Fans. 


5/22/2012 6:41:35 PM

I feel like swimming. And kissing. 


5/17/2012 10:25:17 PM

your laundry
fabric folded
my tongue
tracing
your absence
it tastes like
sour detergent

 

dripping down the sides
of the washing machine
pressed into you
penetrated by neatly folded rolls of
shirts

 

how does it hang
your fancy suit
your brain
is it folded neatly into the corner dresser
or on a hanger
in the middle of the closet?


5/16/2012 1:16:17 AM

chipped hope
on my side table
vibrates
not you
until it is

i drink
burgundy inflections
whispered to me

"say it in words"

mine are abstract breaths
an instruction manual
covered in crayon
missing an index

i want to know your rainy places
before the dial tone
fingers smudged
floating in
in a sea of microbiology



5/8/2012 8:45:59 PM

This is why Buffy is one of the best shows ever.

 

...................................................

 

Joyce:Buffy...what's going on? 

 

Buffy:Mom...I'm a vampire slayer. 

 

.......................................................

 

Joyce:Honey, are you sure you're a slayer? 

 

Joyce:I mean, have you tried not being a slayer? 

 

Buffy:Mom...

 

Joyce:It's cause you didn't have a strong father figure,isn't it?Isn't it?

 

Buffy:It's just fate,Mom.I'm the slayer.Accept it.

 

........................................................

 

Buffy:I'm gonna need Kendra's sword.

 

Joyce:Sword?Buffy What's happening?

 

Buffy:Just have another drink,okay? 

 

Joyce:Don't you talk to me like that!

 

Joyce:You can't just drop something like this on me and pretend it's nothing!

 

Buffy:I'm sorry, I don't have time--

 

Joyce:No!I'm tired of "I don't have time" and "You wouldn't understand". I am your mother and you are going to make time to explain yourself.

 

Buffy: I told you. I'm a vampire slayer.

 

Joyce: Well, I don't accept that!

 

Buffy: Open your eyes Mom! What do you think has been going on for the past two years? The fights, the weird occurrences-how many times have you washed blood out of my clothes, you still haven't figured it out? 

 

Joyce: Well, it stops now.

 

Buffy: It doesn't stop! Do you think I chose to be like this? Do you know how lonely it is? How dangerous? I would love to be upstairs watching TV or gossiping about boys or god, even studying. But I have to save the world. Again.

 

 

 

 

 

 


5/8/2012 6:38:02 PM

I'm so disappointed in the North Carolina gay marriage outcome! I suppose that I should have expected it. Interestingly enough a new Gallup Poll came out today and 50% of the country still supports gay marriage. I know we'll all get there eventually, but it's discouraging that many are still denied the right to have their union recognized by the state.

 

Why wouldn't a conservative support gay marriage? Marriage supposedly promotes social stability, with long term benefits for the people involved and society as a whole. 

 

Bah. 

 


5/5/2012 6:24:23 PM

“Good girl.”

 

When those words are uttered by a random stranger in a cheesy condescending way I roll my eyes. When they’re uttered after I’ve pleased him I feel like he is inside my head and inside me at that moment. It’s confusing, and maybe dangerous, to feel like I need someone or need something from them. Like conversation or consideration or attention or brutality or time or anything he might deign to give me at that moment. But I live off of that uncertainty, danger and fear, knowing that I could be hurt, wanting to be hurt.

 

It’s just a chemical reaction, unthinking and unreasonable hormones. I can always gather my skirts up and step back inside and leave the dirty wet road, right? I don’t want to though, I want to end up fucked up and confused and finding the only thing that makes me feel right is begging at his foot for his attention and time. I want to be taken for granted and used and exploited, uncomfortable and not right in the head unless I’m doing it (whatever it may be) to please him. 


5/5/2012 2:56:16 PM

Come Be Evil With Me-Updated 

 

I've been further inspired, see new tunes at the bottom. This list is meant to evoke a certain mood. I also wanted to get away from the old tired usual tunes you find on play lists with themes centered around lust, violence, possession, love etc. 

 

------------------------------------------

 

Psychotic Girl-The Black Keys

 

The First Taste-Fiona Apple

 

Sarah-Bat for Lashes

 

A Perfect Day Elise-PJ Harvey

 

Hey Pretty (Drive-By 2001 Mix)-Poe

 

Cruel (Live LP Version)-Tori Amos

 

You Got Me-Crash Kings

 

Drive-Melissa Ferrick

 

Vessel-Zola Jesus

 

Wolf like Me-Anna Calvi

 

Maneater-the bird and the bee

 

Off To the Races-Lana Del Rey

 

Evil Night Together-Jill Tracy

 

Gun-Emiliana Torrini

 

#1 Crush-Garbage

 

Are You That Somebody-Gossip

 

Wrong-Depeche Mode

 

Secret-The Pierces

 

Piggy-NIN

 

Kiss, Kiss-Yeah Yeah Yeahs

 

Hysteria-Muse

 

Hunter’s Kiss-Rasputina

 

The Garden-Mirah

 

Strangers on a Train-“Lovage”

 

Like O, Like H-Tegan and Sara

 

She Loves Everybody-Chester French

 

True love stalker-Miss Li

 

I Will Possess Your Heart-Death Cab for Cutie

 

Strict Machine-Goldfrapp

 

Hospital-The Modern Lovers

 

My Body is a Cage-Arcade Fire

 

Hey-Pixies

 

I’ve Been Thinking-Handsome Boy Modeling School

 

Climbing Up the Walls-Radiohead

 

Rev 22-20-Puscifer

 

In Your Nature-Zola Jesus

 

I Follow Rivers-Lykke Li

 

Master’s Hands-Charlotte Gainsbourg

 

U.R.A. Fever-The Kills

 

Suede-Tori Amos 

 

Tangent-Beth Orton

 

You Know I'm No Good-Amy Winehouse

 

Beautiful Tango-Hindi Zahra 

 

Tell Me-Billie Myers

 

Primitive-Roisin Murphy

 

Your Heart Is As Black As Night-Melody Gardot 

 

Sunday Afternoons-Vanessa Daou 

 

Happy Meal II-The Cardigans

 

Amado Mio-Pink Martini

 

Scarlet-2:54

 

The Horror of Our Love-Ludo

 

Before I'm Dead-Kidneythieves

 

All Mine (Live)-Portishead

 

Ava Adore-Smashing Pumpkins

 

Possum Kingdom-The Toadies

 

Pretty When You Cry-Vast

 

He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)-The Crystals

 

The Amazing Sounds of Orgy-Radiohead

 

Plaything-Wild Beasts

 

Lightning Field-Sneaker Pimps

 

You Don't Own Me-Rasputina

 

Bad Boyfriend-Garbage


5/3/2012 8:57:00 PM

Led Zeppelin was so perfect. Why was I born so late in the game? 


4/29/2012 8:30:11 AM

All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.


4/28/2012 4:48:45 PM

Florence has a new song out. Oh Florence, how I love you.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSXlkc9UFE4


4/28/2012 6:36:04 AM

This was written by the Rush Limbaugh of 1852. It was part of an article in The New York Herald, written to describe early women's rights advocates ( Sara Evans, Born for Liberty, 102)

 

"Some of them are old maids, whose personal charms were never very attractive, and who have been sadly slighted by the masculine gender in general; some of them women who have been badly mated...and they are therefore down upon the whole of the opposite sex; some, having so much of the virago in their disposition, that nature appears to have made a mistake in their gender-mannish women, like hens that crow...there is [also] a class of wild enthusiasts and visionaries-very sincere, but very mad...

 

Of the male sex who attend these conventions for the purpose of taking part in them, the majority are hen-pecked husbands, and all of them ought to wear petticoats."

 

It's amusing that the same exact arguments are being deployed in the 21st century. 

 

 


4/27/2012 4:38:44 PM

Last Saturday an acquaintance invited me out to a bar. I don’t know the girl that well, but well enough to say yes. I put on my dangly earrings and a smudge of lipstick and my favorite pair of shoes. She invited two other girls I don’t know and we sat at a table in the middle of the bar. It was smoky and loud, and I stared at the floor, at the stickiness.

 

I wondered, is this as evil and immoral as I’ll ever be? I strive so hard for virtue and discipline, but I always get somewhat bored of it and push it into a ditch and go off happy and disjointed. 

 

I spent hours at that bar, with those girls, and talking to other random people about things I can’t remember. Kamikaze’s have that effect on me. Eventually I made my way home and sitting on the floor staring at the ceiling in the middle of my apartment seemed like a nice idea.

 

My ceiling fan had the answer for me. I’m lacking violence in my life. I need more violence.

 


4/15/2012 4:22:14 PM

Come Be Evil With Me

 

 

This thought popped into my head the other day and instead of writing anything I decided to create a playlist.

 

 

Psychotic Girl-The Black Keys

The First Taste-Fiona Apple

Sarah-Bat for Lashes

A Perfect Day Elise-PJ Harvey

Hey Pretty (Drive-By 2001 Mix)-Poe

Cruel (Live LP Version)-Tori Amos

You Got Me-Crash Kings

Drive-Melissa Ferrick

Vessel-Zola Jesus

Wolf like Me-Anna Calvi

Maneater-the bird and the bee

Off To the Races-Lana Del Rey

Evil Night Together-Jill Tracy

Gun-Emiliana Torrini

#1 Crush-Garbage

Are You That Somebody-Gossip

Wrong-Depeche Mode

Secret-The Pierces

Piggy-NIN

Kiss, Kiss-Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Hysteria-Muse

Hunter’s Kiss-Rasputina

The Garden-Mirah

Strangers on a Train-“Lovage”

Like O, Like H-Tegan and Sara

She Loves Everybody-Chester French

True love stalker-Miss Li

I Will Possess Your Heart-Death Cab for Cutie

Strict Machine-Goldfrapp

Hospital-The Modern Lovers

My Body is a Cage-Arcade Fire

Hey-Pixies

I’ve Been Thinking-Handsome Boy Modeling School

Climbing Up the Walls-Radiohead

Rev 22-20-Puscifer

In Your Nature-Zola Jesus

I Follow Rivers-Lykke Li

Master’s Hands-Charlotte Gainsbourg

U.R.A. Fever-The Kills

Suede-Tori Amos 


4/12/2012 2:03:36 PM

All That I Know

 

I’m almost afraid to believe in hope or words or people. I’m having a hallucination of a deep seated need and it’s presenting itself as a voice in my ear.  I’m afraid that making plans or giving into a cumulus cloud floating by my window will lead to dire emotional disaster. I’m afraid of putting myself into a vulnerable position, being laughed at, a melting ice cream cone floating in a puddle.

 

 

I do not express myself enough in words. Those would be the words coming out of my mouth. I’m much better on paper. I feel like I strangle myself with my own analysis and rationalizations. It’s easier to remain silent, it feels fuzzy and nice and I can twist myself around, there is a bit of exciting mystery about it, but also frustration.

 

 

I’m not usually attracted to simple things, to simple people or situations.  I need the challenge. I’m somewhat risk averse but there is a twisted part of me that needs to feel like I’m falling, when my stomach seems to drop out of my body and I’m weightless, scared shitless yet almost orgasmic. Who knows where the bottom is.

 

 

I went grocery shopping the other day and I thought of a man while I was standing in the meat aisle. This is a specific man. I thought about making him dinner. I told this man about my thoughts and I told him I wanted him. 


4/7/2012 9:57:08 PM

I can feel the vodka burning in my belly. It’s another not weekend night. And one of my bulbs in my ceiling fan is out. I have this strange pain in my right side I’m hoping to forget about for now. Aging or oblivion perhaps? Why do I think of things I want but do not own, far away from me. 

 


4/3/2012 3:01:59 PM

I received this lovely and inspiring missive the other day. I hope he wants to be my bad boyfriend. 

 

"Damn lady you are very interesting !!! Your profile excited me ? Would like to talk with u more.and you could be my.lil whore !!! Damn the way your mouth open like that in your pic I van tell you nasty girl and that's what I like ! Well u have a new master for a while and the first thing u better do is give me your email or phone number so we van text and exchange more info and u better fukin do it now or I'm gonna tie u down a slap my cock all over those sexy lips of your now send it now"


3/25/2012 5:08:38 PM

It is happening again. 


3/10/2012 5:26:11 PM

I felt like I was in conflict with my perfectionism all day. I couldn’t keep up with my work load. It just was too busy, but instead of accepting it I became frustrated that I couldn’t do it faster, that somehow this pile of work was the result of some flaw in me rather than another busy day. I needed to conquer it and I could not do it.

 

 

Something else has been bothering me too. I’m afraid that I put up false idols and turn them into something I want them to be in my mind, rather than see what is actually before my eyes. I’m afraid of uncertainty; it feels like pebbles in my stomach.  I’m confused about some things right now and wondering if I’m going around in circles. I can’t figure out if this all exists in my head and I’m creating a thing that isn’t real. Because my feral self revels in sticky messes but I don’t know how it will impact my currently balanced/unbalanced life, if at all. It’s nothing probably, I’m certain, Kind of. Not really. 

 


3/9/2012 8:28:09 PM

I was going to write something profound but I lost it because I just took a shower and there is this breeze and I feel like I’m floating on my back in the middle of the ocean.

 

 

I was thinking about kissing, it’s one of my favorite things to do. I’ve done some kissing, some awkward kissing and some passionate kissing. I don’t remember what every fuck has felt like, but I do remember all of the kisses.

 

 

Whenever I meet someone in the flesh I know within a few minutes, maybe a minute or less even, whether I would ever want to taste their lips.  I don’t share this information immediately because I enjoy the drawn out meandering. I don’t believe in dating rules or complex mating rituals but I enjoy running through the puddles and the leaves.

 

 

I’ll study a face and try to imagine how it looks an inch away from my own. Does he have freckles or moles? Where does his skin crease? What would it feel like if I ran my finger across his jaw line?

 

 

I have trouble maintaining eye contact sometimes but when I’m that close to his face I want to read his eyes.

 

 

Kissing is always a mutually consuming act; I need to take as much as he does. I need his lips and I need to be inside his mouth, I want to invade him as much as he might want to invade me. It’s my way of saying “Here we are.” 


3/6/2012 8:40:04 PM

Cog

 

Today ended rather grimly. One of the things I’ve feared has come to pass. I feared that I would not be able to protect and care for certain people under my supervision. I suppose this is near impossible in any corporate environment unless one is the CEO. Those above me are near to making a decision that will be very bad news for a few people. I have lodged my objection to some of these “actions” but I know that at least one person will probably not fare well. What is frustrating is that I have zero input even though I am closest to those it may impact.

 

 

I can understand logically in a cold hard manner that yes, this person is not performing at even the base line of minimum expectations.

 

 

But I “raised them up” as it were, taught them, mentored them and have worried over their performance over many months. I’ve talked with them and tried to urge them to take steps to improve. But those above me have made a decision. And it feels horrible to be a cog in a machine that sees human beings as disposable entities.

 

 

I’m sure that this person is resilient and will get through this, but I feel like a toad right now after encouraging them and supporting them over years. Yes I think I care too much, and should be more distant, less emotional. It’s not my job to be anyone’s therapist. But when I care, I care passionately, and I care passionately about these people. All night I’ve been sad over this and wondering if I can do this because I can’t imagine giving this news without crying and feeling like a betrayer.

 

 

I know I will do what I have to, and stew in my own guilt and wonder how much further I can push myself. 

 

 


2/29/2012 7:45:19 PM

Contraception 

 

 

The controversy concerning contraception coverage for insurance plans makes little sense to me. Supporting such coverage is supporting a functional and healthy society. Everyone who is opposed to such coverage has only had sex with one person their whole lives, correct? Everyone who opposes it was a virgin until their wedding night, and has never used any form of contraception whatsoever in the marriage bed, correct? 

 

 

Many complain about social welfare programs and legal abortion. Making contraception easily and cheaply available helps reduce the need for these other services. And it’s less expensive over the long term.

 

 

Why should anyone have to pay for “that slut’s fun”?  Well then, why should we pay for any man to get his dick up? Why should we pay for your blood pressure meds? Why should we maintain public roadways or provide a free education to children?

 

 

It doesn’t make much sense as a political strategy either to alienate half of the population over this issue.

 

 

And finally, all birth control is not created equal. There are various different forms and many women use it as a treatment for reproductive problems. It’s not just about having sex.  

 

 

This whole “controversy” seems to be another dishonest characterization designed to ignite emotional reactions in certain segments of society and draw attention away from other pressing issues. 

 

 


2/29/2012 12:56:00 AM

Food And Control 

 

Disclaimer: I believe food behaviors/being overweight is a complex subject and the below describes my personal experience only.

 

 

I’m someone who thrives with a great deal of control and structure from my partner. It makes me feel more focused and productive in life, along of course with getting my rocks off and satisfying me emotionally. One thing I’ve never been able to incorporate well into this type of relationship dynamic is control of food and exercise.

 

 

One must want to change. No matter what external motivators are offered, I do not believe any change will be permanent unless an individual wants it. No matter how severe/controlling someone may be in monitoring what I eat or what movement I do, I don’t believe their efforts ultimately will be successful unless I’m actively involved in the process as well, rather than just relying on their control and my obedience.

 

 

I’ve divorced myself from any influence but my own over the past year. This is one area of my life that I’ve thought about in that time. I often run into people who treat me as a fixer upper. If I had said yes to everyone who approached me in this manner I’d probably have had half a dozen “life coach” D types by now. I don’t believe most who offered that service were looking for much other than an excuse for a booty call, which is fine, but not my thing.

 

 

In my two prior relationships both of them attempted to control me in this way. The first time I did lose a substantial amount of weight, but this was attached to my obedience to him. I did not do the self work I needed to do, which is to understand why I do what I do. My weight is connected to my own behaviors/past history/psychology. Some positive things did come out of this experience. He would often scold me if I made mistakes. This actually was a good thing for me, not destructive. He humiliated me openly about my weight (in private of course). This was invaluable in a few ways most people wouldn’t understand. It helped me shed the last vestiges of self hatred and negative feelings I had over my own body (yes it also at times was very erotic as I am a masochist who enjoys that kind of thing).

 

 

But in the end I didn’t address the underlying issues on my own and once that relationship ended I returned to my previous behavior patterns and ended up in a bit of a rut which continued on for awhile.

 

 

In my second relationship this type of control was attempted, but not much was said or done beyond, “Lose weight bitch”. While this sounded nice while being slapped around and fucked it ultimately didn’t have much of an impact even though I believed I was “trying”.

 

 

After my last relationship I spent a long time reflecting (I still am). I’ve not been someone who has ever blamed my weight on glands or my thyroid or whatever else. I see it as attached to certain behavior and patterns and quirks of my own personality.

I eat when I’m emotional. Basically, if I feel that I can’t deal with an emotion, or an emotion is overwhelming, or I’m stressed, my first response is to eat something. It feels comforting; it feels like I’m in control of the situation although the exact opposite is true. I have always had trouble reaching out to others for help and expressing my emotions. I have a great fear of being rejected and ridiculed (irrational and self centered fears perhaps). I don’t have to worry about food judging me and I don’t have to worry about being self conscious or sounding like a fucked up loon.

 

 

I am compulsive. I will start behaving in certain rigid patterns. I’ll engage in the same food behaviors over and over again over a period of time because predictability and structure is what makes me feel better.

 

 

I genuinely love good food. I’m a hedonist. I love going out to restaurants, I love a wide variety of cuisines. I love cooking; it’s almost a spiritual experience for me. I don’t eat a ton of junk but I can eat a lot of food at one time and if I’m having what I call “a moment” I’ll do things like eat large portions of three particularly tasty curries, gorge on maki rolls, eat a pound of pasta with Puttanesca sauce etc.

 

 

It’s taken me a year to really figure this part out. I figured (and continue to figure) stuff out in a variety of ways that are too tedious to go into here. But it has involved reaching out to someone who can listen and has experience in helping people in this area of their lives. Relying on a non judgmental outside perspective is helping me tremendously. It took me many months to actually want to engage again in any kind of behavior change though, so I spent most of last year recognizing what I was doing but not doing anything about it.

 

 

At the start of this year I decided I had laid enough groundwork to actually do something about my behavior, rather than just talk about it. I consulted with a specialist in nutrition (thank you health insurance) and set up a food and exercise plan that I’ve actually been following. It has worked for me because I’ve started to let go of my need to control everything and my need to be a perfectionist. When I feel like I’m going to have “a moment” I stop myself and think about why I feel that way. I’d consider myself an agnostic/atheist but I’m finding that meditation and some of the Buddhist writings and teachings I’ve been reading are helping me to stop, focus on something else, and get me through those moments. I’m also not denying myself every pleasure. I’m not killing myself for not following my plan sometimes. I still love maki rolls and thin crust Italian pizza and lamb vindaloo. I just have found better tools to make myself pause and think about what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.

 

 

All of this is coming from me, and my own desire and drive to live a more balanced life. It has nothing to do with anyone else, their expectations or desires of me. Just me.

 


2/25/2012 4:15:23 PM

Strawberries & Puddles

 

The last few months I have experienced emotional ups and downs. My support system is not available, well my support system is really one person, and she’s going through some tremendously hard stuff right now, so I’m just trying to be there for her rather than pouring all of my problems into her lap. I’ve been rewiring some of my behavior and confronting some of my own fuck ups, and that brings many things to the fore. I’ve also been thrown some challenges from work and other people in my life.

 

 

My volume only has two settings really, zero and one hundred. I’m living at one hundred most of the time.  Sometimes I get smacked across the face because of it and it hurts.

 

 

I’m a quiet, shy and laidback person.  People mistake that for weakness and believe they can take and take from me, say and do what they want, no matter how rude or cruel, and I’ll not react. 90% of the time I am controlled enough to brush it off. I’m not perfect though. I have bad moods; I do and say things I regret.

 

 

 At a certain point if someone I care about is being attacked I’ll go into feral mode and I will attack in return. I hate when people I perceive as weaker are treated poorly.

 

 

So I went into feral mode a few months ago. I couldn’t stand to not say something when someone I cared about was being forcefully attacked. I later apologized for my response, as it was rough and cruel, a barb for a barb. But I’m not sorry for standing up for myself or anyone else.

 

 

I do not apologize for working hard. I found myself in a puddle of shit a few years ago, and yes it was my fault. I cried and rolled around in it for awhile, but then I just continued on and I turned it into something positive through my own efforts. I worked my ass off and a few good things have happened as a result of that. In the process I have tried to help people when I’ve been able to, and I have accomplished that. I’ve tried to be as humane and understanding as possible. I didn’t cheat or steal or backstab to get it, I just was me and I threw my heart into it honestly. So no, I’m not sorry. And I don’t feel bad that you’re angry/resentful/jealous/pissed off/whatever at me for it.

 

 

I love them always but I have not and will not allow myself to be dragged into an emotional black hole.

 

 

I haven’t reverted to idiotic and destructive behaviors to deal with it, and I’m proud of myself for that. It’s harder to deal with emotions in their raw form, I feel them rather intensely, but I’m doing what I need to do to keep myself together and focused.  Instead of being a depressed wreck, I’m having an up and down winter. Some days I feel centered and positive, others are harder but I’m able to do what I need to.

 

 

I’m really hoping to get to the beach soon. And buy a couch. And eat strawberries. 

 


2/10/2012 9:19:57 PM

It’s interesting how things can impact you, things that really shouldn’t matter. Just little common detritus that one may scrape off the bottom of a shoe. It’s kind of a warning I think, like don’t step into that mud puddle, there’s a flesh eating organism living at the bottom of it.

 

Yet the foolish ones can’t help but step in it because the murkiness is appealing and strange.

 

What does that make me ? Yes the obvious.

 


1/25/2012 11:28:55 PM

Death Becomes

 

 

It’s strange, knowing someone has died. Someone who was a presence in your life in past years. You mourn for the loss and never wish that kind of suffering upon a human being. If you do, how can you remain human?  My best friend’s stepfather passed away yesterday. She is in shock, perhaps dealing with so many conflicting emotions. I am too, although I can never claim to have her feelings or thoughts.

 

She is like a sister to me, pure love exists between us and I would rip out the heart of anyone who tried to hurt her.

 

 

 

It’s hard to imagine this person as a cold corpse, sitting there in a coffin, lid closed, waiting to be lowered into the ground. Only two months ago he found out he was terminal. And I held her in my arms as best I could. I know what it feels like to have the heart torn into two pieces. I deal with it with my dad everyday. But there is only so much one can know, and the mystery still remains.

 

 

 

I didn’t know what to say, except to be there for her. There were many silences. But she thanked me. So maybe just knowing I was there helped her. I don’t know. 

 

 


1/24/2012 6:04:01 PM

State of the Union now! I'll have more profound thoughts after the speech and rebuttal. 


1/20/2012 10:19:59 PM

Sufrir

 

 

In a month old email correspondence someone asked me about my masochism—how it is constructed, what it means to me. I didn’t want to lose that writing forever.

 

 

Some say that the “kink”, the S&M, is the icing on the cake of their power exchange relationship. The dynamic is most important. For me this is not true. Primarily I must make an emotional and intellectual connection with someone; otherwise any relationship is going to be a hollow shell. Beyond that masochism isn’t just about me being beaten or flogged, its part of my world view, and it directs me emotionally. I’m a masochist when I wake up in the morning, when I go to work, whether I’m in a relationship with someone or single. I’m not living a miserable existence plagued non stop by overwhelmingly masochistic urges. But I can’t see myself in a relationship with anyone but a sadist. I can’t submit to or serve him if he doesn’t possess the urge to twist me around and turn me inside out. His need feeds my need to serve and obey.

 

 

I don’t particularly like physical pain. When it is applied to me I don’t become aroused and I don’t want to experience any sort of “subspace”. I want to feel every moment of it, to be uncomfortable, to suffer.

 

 

I like to be hurt emotionally. “Like” isn’t the same in this context as saying “I like strawberries”. It helps me to project outward what I am feeling. I have a tendency to guard if not outright conceal my emotional states and feelings. It’s not a characteristic I’m proud of, but being hurt in this way is one way for me to let go. I don't want to feel "safe" or "loved" or "wanted" at these times, although ideally in the grand scheme of the universe, those emotions would exist/manifest somehow in the relationship. But no I don't want a blanket and a piece of chocolate and a long detailed document describing some elaborate scene. I need to feel terrified, frightened, insecure at times and I like it when it just happens organically with little planning involved.

 

 

When I’m suffering for someone else I feel sharper and focused, like I always was meant to be in that position with that person. There exists a connection with the person inflicting their sadism on me. I enjoy their reaction. I could drown in the look on a sadist’s face as he slaps me across the face, - the darkening of his eyes, his expression stripped of social niceties and hungry to see me struggling and crying, my face red and snot and spit and who knows else what else fluids coating my face . He could kill me in that moment and I wouldn’t fight him. It’s his pleasure manifested in it’s physical, emotional and mental expression that gives me mine.

 

 

There is a part of me that likes suffering for sufferings sake. I call it my feral side, the part of me that isn’t searching for a higher good or purpose but finds pleasure in violence, fear and humiliation. I don’t hate that side of me and in every day life I try to be a good friend, sister and daughter. I know I don’t always succeed, when I fail I do feel badly about hurting the people I care about and try to correct my mistakes. But the feral side of me is challenging, teasing, always wanting to come out and “play”. I’ve never hurt myself physically. I’m not a cutter or anything like that. I see nothing exciting or fulfilling or comforting about hurting myself. Emotionally of course I have hurt myself. It’s something I do less of these days.

 


1/19/2012 12:05:16 PM

Not Me

 

 

Some enormous changes are occurring in my life and there are very few people I can talk to about it right now. I’m excited and I’m scared. I believe that I need to keep moving forward, progress is necessary for me to feel focused and content. I’m also aware of the importance of remembering what has come before and I’m trying not to stumble on the cobblestones.

 

 

None of this change has to do with my personal life. Over the last several years I’ve been in a few relationships, worrying about measuring up to someone else’s tastes and expectations. Since last winter I have remained as independent as possible and focused on other pursuits. Pouring my energy into those pursuits yielded positive results. I am still in my hidey hole completely focused on this other part of my life and finding that I’m content with where I am at.

 

 

I would like to find balance eventually, my outside world and my inner world seamlessly melded together.

 

 

I play a role with myself, forcing myself to be who I am not in pursuit of these outside goals. It gets exhausting and sometimes it worries me. Am I strong enough to handle it? Can I be this “not me” person, can I make myself believe in the “not me”?

“Not me” is necessary to my own survival. Without “not me” I wouldn’t be able to afford the roof over my head and I couldn’t do some of the things that I want to do in life. Being uncomfortable, being scared, being thrust into unknown situations is something I do every day now. I force all my unreasonable fears into the back of my head and move forward. I suppose as an emotional masochist I should be relishing this, but it is more complicated than that because what I do and how I do it can have a real impact on other individuals.

 

 

Most frightening of all is that "not me" is now responsible for the well being of other people. I know that it's possible for me to take care of them, to make sure that I'm doing the right thing, but it's difficult right now, like learning how to ride a bicycle times one million. And I can only protect and control so much, there are huge variables that can impact them and which are out of my control. I try to remain detached most of the time because I will protect fiercely and beyond reason those I care for.

 

 

So this part that is “not me” maybe is me, just a very difficult and challenging aspect of “me”. I know even with these changes I can adapt and live with "not me". It scares the hell out of me, but that has happened several times to me in life, and usually I end up stronger for it. We'll see.

 


1/16/2012 8:41:54 PM

Creepy Neighbor 

 

I have a creepy neighbor. He shaves his head and is a bit wild eyed. No, this doesn’t make him creepy but he sure looks a bit touched. What makes him creepy is that he likes to yell at his wife loudly for hours on end. A few months ago the police came and it was reported as a “domestic disturbance”, although he was not hauled away in cuffs. I feel for his family, he has four young children.

 

We all live in a multi unit 150 year old Victorian home. He and his family live on the entire first floor. I live in a small room/studio on the second floor and next to me is a smallish two bedroom apartment.  There is a hallway consisting of a staircase and an old small washing/dryer unit. I usually do 3 or 4 loads of laundry and I just bring mine to the Laundromat to get it done quicker.

 

Last night after work I went to check my mail and suddenly he whipped open his door. He told me that he had a $320 electric bill the previous month. Now, utilities are included in my space so I don’t think about it much. The man went on and on rambling talking about how he had called the electric company and they told him one item was on 90% of the time. He believes he is paying for the electricity for the hallway, not just his apartment. He told me I should do a better job of turning the light off in the hallway. I told him that I only turn it on when I come home at night and need to unlock my door. I then turn it immediately off. I said it nicely but he looked angry, then he went on and on again about turning it off. I just smiled and said; “ok” then went to my room.

 

I think he’s full of crap and if this really were the case the landlord would have said something. He comes here once a week and he’s a friendly approachable guy. I always turn the light off. I can’t speak for my other neighbors. If he is in fact paying for the hallway electricity he must factor in the washer/dryer. Both of my neighbors use it frequently, I never use it. But basically I don’t like being accosted by emotional unstable people at night while checking my mail. 

 


1/10/2012 5:23:22 PM

Well this primary has been anti-climactic. I'm not a Republican I just love a good horse race. I get an adrenaline rush watching election returns.I like Gingrich's attack ads. Please Mr. Gingrich , stay in this race a long time and keep talking about how anti-working people Romney is. On a more serious note, it's nice to see democracy in action, even though I'm not a fan of this group in particular. 


11/30/2011 10:23:29 PM

Learning and Slavery and All That *&&%!

Why do people care about how others conduct their relationships? Why does it matter that someone labels themselves a slave but doesn't do the exact same thing as someone else? I don’t get it. I don’t start foaming at the mouth because someone doesn't do something in their relationship that is essential in mine. I don’t feel the urge to belittle or rip apart others who happen to do this differently than I do. I don’t think to myself, “Oh no she’s not a real slave!” or "I'm so much more hardcore/awesome a slave than person X".

 

Yes you should get to know someone well before you become deeply involved with them. But people aren’t perfect. People are fucked up sweaty nervous uncertain slabs of flesh at times. Not everyone is going to know everything about who they are; what scares the shit out of them or who their partner is or how they will react to some unknown event or challenge in the future. It’s fantastic if you are one of those people who do, but not everyone does, not everyone can remove themselves from the cobble stones and cruise along at 100 MPH with no incident.

 

I wasn’t born with the knowledge of how to negotiate an owner/property relationship. I’m still learning. I didn’t know by the age of five or eighteen or twenty five exactly what works or doesn’t work for me. I’m still one of those fucked up slabs of flesh.

 


10/2/2011 9:53:49 PM

Well it was a perfect night for tv entertainment. Season 6 of Dexter began and I quite enjoyed it. Episode 12 of Breaking Bad commenced and I was on the edge of my seat. I'm still waiting to catch "Homeland". I think I'll get it at the 2 am viewing. All in all, a good night for television. 


9/21/2011 11:14:51 PM

I'm so sick of the death penalty in this country. 


9/21/2011 6:48:21 PM

State sanctioned murder is wrong. I hope the Supreme Court stays the execution of Troy Davis. I am opposed to the death penalty even in the case of guilt but this case is especially galling. There is so much contradictory evidence, yet the state is alright with executing a man who could be completely innocent. It is shameful. Even right wingers like Bob Barr are supporting this man. Wake up. 

 

Every time you take a human life, you're taking everything that person could ever be, you're taking something from everyone that knows and loves them. I have a hard time reconciling those who claim to follow a specific religious teaching yet revel in and/or support the execution of another human being. Yes bad people who do evil things should be locked up forever.  But killing them? No. 


9/17/2011 8:29:11 PM

One of the best scenes ever....

 

 


8/23/2011 6:43:18 PM

Florence + The Machine Love Blog 2

 

Oh my, Florence released her video for her new single today. What can I say? It hits every one of my musical sweet spots and leaves me squeeing for more. I liked driving in the dark with the window down and the stereo blaring this song tonight. I can't wait for her new album.

 


8/18/2011 9:19:38 PM

My New Friends...

 

I've made friends with the Republican field of presidential candidates this evening. I signed myself up for each major candidate's mailing list. I began to read Perry and Bachmann's scanty platforms, I'll read the others once I have a free moment (in short supply lately). It it helpful for me to understand the opposition, what they stand for, what they want, what they say, how they act, their record. I would not vote for a single one of them but I'm planning on attending any local and free campaign stops in my area in the hope that I may ask them questions directly and interact with their supporters. I've already made three "friends" on Herman Cain's website. I don't do this to be a troublemaker or a nuisance. I do it so that I can make a better argument for my side. In politics it is easy to caricature the opponent. It is harder when the opposition is neighbor Jane who lets you borrow cups of sugar. I'd like to find out more about Jane.

 

 


8/10/2011 8:33:11 PM

I finally got a recliner for my place. It is a used one that my neighbor didn't want but it is good enough for me. I'm now lounging in it, sipping water and enjoying the late night breeze. Today I have a recliner, tomorrow I will conquer the world ;)


7/29/2011 9:42:21 PM
Amy was special to me. I did not know her, of course. I discovered her music in 2007, with the U.S. release of her album “Back To Black”. The soul and passion in her voice moved me, in the same way that Janis Joplin and Billie Holiday do. I purchased everything I could get my hands on--singles, live performances, her first album, b-sides. I remember walking to french class each day listening to her. It snowed quite a bit that November and December and I felt cold, my feet stumbling into slush puddles. But Amy was in my ear, singing me songs. “You Know I’m No Good” was my favorite song that December. Listening to it I felt more than good, not no good, and I had a good cry to it. Sometimes you listen to the wrong voices, but hers was the right voice and it led me to a better place. I had no clue of myself but I had that voice. I liked it and I leaned on it. She knew what it was like to feel a great deal, insensible and fucked up as it is, and I took comfort in some soul out there in the world who was capable of it and shared it with others. Thank you for that. These are some of my favorites. You Know I'm No Good ( Live BBC Sessions) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gqe5fxYn5JQ I Heard Love Is Blind (Sessions @ AOL) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHslSSGELxQ Stronger Than Me (Glastonbury 2004) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ3qHriYRwY Take the Box (Acoustic 2003) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1DjNgh1vNo 'Round Midnight http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqmhxvrQxxA We're Still Friends http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77o-DcXnp3g Back to Black (Live 2007) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ah33Up5NTB4 Someone to Watch Over Me http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLqsIIrk5wQ In My Bed http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4XiVMdwItw Long Day http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7D9D39XUN2Y Valerie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvytDlWXPQw What It Is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6p_pYin6QcU Mr. Magic http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTKypbCDheU Love is a Losing Game http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqtCmMS7oKY Procrastination http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpXj5tgt9uk Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDXgKIpJyIk You Sent Me Flying http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjNLCbIMzZs You Know I'm No Good (Official Music Video) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ll7UFxqI2pM Tears Dry On Their Own Live http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ykeiUokVaQ Tears Dry On Their Own (Official Music Video) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojdbDYahiCQ&ob=av3e Some Unholy War Live http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN_sWf7g9OE Stronger Than Me (Live with Jools Holland) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gmZTAt1lls I Heard It Through the Grapevine (with Paul Weller on Live with Jools Holland) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVT-BokwmWY Fuck Me Pumps http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVT-BokwmWY

7/21/2011 7:31:26 AM
I ran a few different virus scans, one using a program that has in the past removed even the worst/most difficult malware and my computer came up clean. I can only conclude that someone just hacked my account via the website and not from installing a trojan on my machine. My password wasn't particularly easy to guess but whatever. I checked around a bit and it doesn't seem like this is widespread problem. I suppose I'm just a random victim, or not. It is always possible that it was not random but I have zero proof of that, although a few ideas. Hopefully now that I've taken additional measures it won't happen again. It is not the end of the world, it is not like this profile contains secret pertaining to national security, but it was annoying/disturbing and I certainly don't want my account shuttered. We'll see how it goes.

7/20/2011 7:56:58 AM
Please be careful out there. My CM account was hacked over night, my profile erased, my information changed and a link to a porn site added to it. A few days ago I got a weird pop up ad here. I use FF and use NoScript and Ad Block Plus. I'm not sure what happened but my AV went a little crazy and deleted some "threats". I changed my password and my profile information back. Supposedly there were also some pictures added to my profile but I'm not seeing them anymore. I am definitely not an 18 year lesbian Dominant :) I am now scanning my computer locally to see if this came from a virus I downloaded. If I don't find anything I'm going to email Support here and let them know what happened. This is somewhat distressing and annoying.

7/18/2011 9:24:23 PM

I felt stressed today because I performed the job duties of two people who were absent along with my own.  I ran around in circles for hours making sure everything that needed to be done was "just so". After all of that I had a slight head ache and my dinner didn't turn out as planned.

 

I came across this story tonight and all of that became unimportant.  I don't know that I could do what this man has done, I can only hope. If we had more people like this man--of every race, religion and nationality, maybe there would be a little less hate in the world ? You say I'm a dreamer...

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/18/rais-bhuiyan-pleads-to-spare-mark-stroman_n_902137.html

 

 


7/17/2011 5:49:44 PM

Just That Last Touch...

 

My parents helped me move into my place, and I am ever so grateful for that. I have accumulated a certain amount of "stuff" which was stored in their home. When I moved into my new place they rented a van and helped me bring stuff to my new place. Unfortunately my apartment is so small I could only fit about a 1/3 of the things I own into it. My parents generously are storing what I couldn't bring. What got lost in the jumble were my wall posters. Most of them I've lost through the course of moving all over the place, but I have some beloved larger posters that are just me, and not having them in my dwelling feels a little bit like not being "home".

 

The extraneous stuff I was able to fit into the small closet here is stacked taller than me in plastic boxes. I spent a good hour going through these boxes as I wasn't sure exactly of their contents. I made some nice discoveries: plates in funky patterns I had forgotten about, two serviceable bowls from my college days, a yoga mat with blocks (yay), two hand weights (more yay) and in the last box at the very bottom of the heap--my beloved posters--crumpled up, but nevertheless present.

 

The walls of my place are dark wood paneled, a bit cheap looking, nothing really snazzy. Things have felt a bit "off" with these bare walls all these months. This evening I smoothed out and hung my posters, which consist of the following:

 

-Bette Davis staring at me all sexy and defiant

 

-"La Memoire" by Magritte, looking wistful and doing that whole duality of light and dark thing

 

-"Girl Before a Mirror" by Picasso (my current profile pic)

 

-Janis Joplin singing soulfully into her microphone

 

-Lady Agnew of Lochnaw lazily giving me attitude (painted by John Singer Sargent)

 

-Picasso's Blue Nude with her back to me

 

-Miles Davis playing his trumpet

 

Hanging these posters lifted my spirits quite a bit and made me feel like I was tying the bow on the top of my whole "new place, new attitude" .

 


7/13/2011 7:56:42 PM

Southern Comfort 100 Proof mixed with Diet Pepsi actually tastes pretty damn good. Add a dash of  a "Day Off" and a violent, yet entertaining television show which has been cancelled for several years (Alias) and you have yourself a rather entertaining evening :) Add in some debate over abortion, and it is perfect.


7/11/2011 9:17:27 PM

If you haven't heard, a body called the "Executive Council" in New Hampshire, which "oversees state contracting" voted to decline to continue funding Planned Parenthood of Northern New England in NH this week over the objection of the Legislature. I am quite angry over this. I live in NH and I have utilized the local Planned Parenthood Clinic.

I don't know what disgusts me more, that this 5 Man Council has the power to make this decision or the attitudes of these "Councilors"---the implication that a woman using these services is a "whore" , a "slut", a "party girl" or someone who "just wants to have fun."

 

Here are quotes from the "Councilors" who voted against this:

 

David K. Wheeler, MY "Councilor" for my town as quoted in the Keene Sentinel, our local paper,

 

"Wheeler opposed the contract renewal because the state money is used indirectly to refer patients for surgical abortions, he said, and to provide “morning-after pills,” which he called “pharmaceutical abortions.”

“It is wrong to require taxpayers who believe that abortion is murder to have to pay for (abortions),” Wheeler said.

http://www.sentinelsource.com/news/local/services-a…

 

Councilor Raymond Wieczorek:

 

"Another executive councilor who opposed the contract, Raymond Wieczorek of Manchester, said he had asked if the contract could exclude the issuance of condoms. Wieczorek said he supports paying to test for sexually transmitted diseases but does not believe the state should subsidize contraception.

"If they want to have a good time, why not let them pay for it?" he said."

 

http://www.concordmonitor.com/article/266962/center…

|CSGroupId%3Aapproved%3ABA4A9537C4BF4594E11F4B09D8217743&CSUserId=94&CSGroupId=1

 

Planned Parenthood is NOT allowed to use Federal funds, i.e. taxpayer money, to fund abortion. The "Hyde Amendment" does not allow it. Funnily enough it was a Republican, Richard Nixon, who signed the "Family Planning Services and Population Research Act" in 1970 to create funding for an organization such as Planned Parenthood in the first place.

 

Planned Parenthood is NOT an "abortion mill". A woman who goes to Planned Parenthood for an abortion does not use tax payer funds to pay for the procedure.

Planned Parenthood provides vital services for low income and/or uninsured women including screenings for STI's, low cost antibiotics, birth control,gynecological exams, pap smears, cancer screenings etc.

 

Abortion is legal. Whatever you may think personally about it, a woman has a right to an abortion if she so chooses. It makes zero sense to cut the funding of an organization that helps prevent the need for an abortion in the first place by providing contraceptives to women at a reasonable cost.

 

Unwanted/unplanned pregnancies cost more than an abortion does in the long term. People are going to fuck, whatever your religion says or whatever you feel, this is human nature. It is more cost effective to provide ways to have safer sex. The responsible use of contraceptives such as birth control and condoms equals less illness and fewer unwanted children in the world--unwanted children who may be abused, traumatized and living off the funds of the state for the next 18 years.

 

The Conservative/Republican position on women's health issues heralds back to the 18th or 19th century. Make it difficult/impossible to get any kind of contraceptive. Outlaw abortion so a woman must be "punished" for the sin of sexual activity, even in cases of incest or rape. Once the child is born though, it is all on Mom to raise the kid up even if she can't support the child financially and/or emotionally. No food stamps or welfare for you, you're obviously just a leech on the system. But maybe when your dear child turns 17 he/she can get a chance to die for their country in a senseless war. If they survive we'll let them go to college.

 

I will not be shamed. I utilized my local Planned Parenthood Clinic, one of the ones impacted by these funding cuts. I did not have health insurance and was in a financial hardship, even though I worked multiple jobs at the time. I was entering into a relationship in which I planned to be sexually active. I had not seen a doctor in years. I also have some reproductive issues and wanted to see a professional and get blood work done if necessary . These issues have nothing to do with "being a slut" or a "party girl". Birth control pills became necessary for both of these reasons. The staff at the Keene Planned Parenthood were caring and professional. It was a nerve wracking experience but the women running this clinic put me at ease.

 

The Nurse Practitioner who saw me was compassionate and understanding. She listened to my concerns, took my vitals, checked me out, did the blood work I needed and prescribed birth control pills for me. Because of my income at the time I qualified for a reduced rate. Instead of paying $600 out of pocket for these services I paid $200 and $15 for my prescription.

 

I am not some depraved whore or some evil amoral person. I am just an average every day woman who was and still is trying to survive financially. I thought I was doing the responsible thing to prevent unwanted pregnancy. I was also treating a condition.

I will be taking all the steps recommended by PPNE to voice my displeasure over this decision.

 

http://www.plannedparenthood.org/ppnne/nh-defunds-p…




I will do anything else I can think of to let my voice be heard and change this outcome.


7/2/2011 10:46:52 PM

Florence + the Machine Love Blog

All I can say is that this woman has brought me hours of listening enjoyment since January 2010. I downloaded her album from Itunes on January 1, 2010.
I remember the exact date because many strange and intriguing things were happening in my life at that time. I had heard "Kiss With a Fist" on my local indie radio
station so I decided to buy her record based on that song. The record blew me away, stunned me, I spent about 3 weeks listening to nothing else. Over the course of a few years I've found several performances of hers that have just enchanted me.

 

When she performs I feel like she is bringing everything to the stage, she really finds the emotion in a song and is ableto connect with an audience. She's gorgeous and kind of other worldly. I like that she's not "perfect" in how she sings, I feel like it brings so much moreto her overall performance. Many of her songs are darkly romantic, which I kind of appreciate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWOyfLBYtuU

This is probably my favorite song out of all of hers. This is the studio/video version. I love the pseudo Geisha/smurf theme going on here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gMq3hRLDD0

This is a stripped down version of "Cosmic Love" performed on KEXP . I love the simplicity of this performance. Harp rules.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SLoOzTMjC8

This is a live performance on the Letterman Show, "Howl". This is the violent werewolf/supernatural-violent-love song. I think she's so dark and slinky here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOfjYc8jIJg

"Heavy in Your Arms" performed on the Letterman Show. This is another supernatural/dark/romantic type song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCRUcAgVLYM

"Blinding" peformed live in Amsterdam. Wow, she seems to throw in a bit of Fever Ray before the start of the song? She's so bewitching and passionate. This is one of
my favorite songs.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuPPUZzolvo

"Girl with One Eye" a cover (originally done by Ludes) performed on MTV Uk. Wow she's so sexy and kind of threatening here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1hKpO2_IEc

"Strangeness and Charm" performed live. I don't believe this has been released on any current album? Maybe an upcoming one? I still love this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DDh-0vcRlg

"Hardest of Hearts" performed in Barcelona. This is another one of my favorites, not on the her album, one of the "B-sides".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iplcdCw3XuA

"Hospital Beds" performed live. This is a cover of a Cold War Kids song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNOLZtJGoNk

"Kiss With a Fist" performed live on BBC Introducing...violent love? I love her energy and dancing in this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IJYYrixqaI

"The Chain", a cover of the Fleetwood Mac classic, live at the Glastonbury Festival, 2010. This is one of my favorite sets, this song is a stand out. I love the guitar in this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFXOUmNW_aY

"Hurricane Drunk" live at Abbey Road...this is another one of my favorite songs, kind of intense and dark.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvMfbfZKVbY

"My Boy Builds Coffins" live in a park! I love as much for the interview as for the song. She says usually sings about "guilty stuff", and decides that she might use
the stick during her song. "I like to go in the woods and like to be feral, covered in bruises and scratches from climbing trees and stuff." <3


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waq6EfRhoqg

"You've Got the Love" at Glastonbury Festival 2010. This is a cover, another one of my favorite performances.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0BVLPm2zrQ

"Dog Days are Over" at Glastonbury Festival 2010. Wow, there is so much emotion and joy in this, it is just one of my favorite performances of all time.


6/24/2011 8:20:19 PM

6

 

Only 44 left. Congratulations to New York State. I am so happy this evening that at least in one more state same sex couples can legally recognize their commitment to each other.

 

Marriage Equality for the win :)


6/21/2011 11:57:50 PM

NB: This is my story, way back on some other page of my journal here, continued. I had another version of this story but it was lost forever when I lost my other computer. I'm not sure I liked that version much anyway


Elise smelled tomatoes and spice, sharp and sweet. She closed her eyes and stretched an arm out over the burner. She felt the heat of the flame warming her arm; her fingers traced the cracks in the wall. The wall was cool, she was warm. Her neck was sweaty, the day was sweaty.

 

She didn’t hear him come up behind her; she only felt a pair of hands grab her around her waist.

 

“Hey, I’ll burn myself.”

 

“Step away from it.”

 

She stepped back and leaned into him. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly, resting against his chest. His grip loosened, his hands wandered up and down her back, tracing invisible patterns on the surface of her skin.

 

“When will it be ready?”

 

“It is ready now, impatient one.”

 

He pinched the soft white flesh of her inner arm, it stung.

 

“That hurts.”

 

“Oh, poor you.”

 

He released her and walked away. She could hear the scrape of the chair as he pulled it out, the creak as he sat down, a soft sigh, the clearing of his throat. She turned off the burner and dumped her pot of pasta through the strainer. He stared at her, his eyes never leaving her form. She hated that, the relentless staring. She placed a plate in front of him and smiled.

 

“I hope it doesn’t taste too terrible.”

 

He said nothing and his expression remained neutral. She walked back toward the stove.

 

“Wait, you’re not going to need a plate for yourself. “

 

“Oh.”

 

“Just sit down.”

 

She watched him eat; he never looked away from her face. She stared at the floor and out the window.

 

“Don’t look at anything else, look at me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I want you to.”

 

She concentrated on a small freckle on his cheek and the scar on his forehead. But somehow she couldn’t escape his eyes- playful, intense and fixed on her.

 

“Come closer and open your mouth.”

 

She parted her lips and he wrapped a bit of pasta and sauce around his fork, lifted it and gently placed it in her mouth. His free hand brushed against her cheek, played a bit with her hair and cupped her chin.

 

“Now swallow.”

 

She swallowed it, looking at him. He returned to his food. Five minutes later he again told her to open her mouth. She did, parting her lips, anticipating the food, chewing it deliberately, letting it slide down her throat. She could feel a bit of sauce on the corner of mouth, her tongue began to lick it.

 

“No.”

 

His finger wiped the sauce off the corner of her mouth.

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

She sucked on his finger. It tasted a bit salty, pungent. He removed it and on impulse her hand reached out to his.

 

“Please.”

 

She placed her hand over his, running her fingers between his, remembering other times. She brushed her fingers over the tops of his hand, barely there, then bearing down and scratching him lightly. She put her lips to his hand, staring at him.

 

“Thank you. “

 

He fed her this way for several more minutes. Each time he fed her a bit more, she felt a twinge, uncomfortable and exhilarated, as if she were an extension of him. This feeling disturbed her. He finished his food, shoved the plate to the side and took her hand. She started to shy away from him.

 

He grabbed her roughly, forced her to stand and dragged her over to a corner of the kitchen. He shoved her against the wall hard. She felt him lean into her , whispering in her ear, biting it.

 

“What do you think happens now?”

 

She laughed. He did too.

 


6/15/2011 9:35:01 PM

The Weekend

 

 

It is my weekend and I’m listening to my music, which consists of lots of hard classic rock and weird off beat tunes that I gather from all four corners of the world.

I’ve gone through most of my 20’s feeling like I’m playing at it, like I’m really 15 and in my basement bedroom, blowing off my homework and staying up all night. I don’t know if this is a good thing. I don’t feel “old” but I feel more in control of everything.

 

I was reading people’s personal ads on this other website-- total control and blah blah blah and I thought, “Gee it is nice that I can eat pizza and get drunk and listen to good tunes all night without some douchenozzle ordering me to bed.” This thought makes me think I’m not in one of those life phases that preclude total obedience. I’m more like, fuck total obedience, I just want to have good cheap fun and pay my rent on my tiny crappy little apartment that is all my own.

 

I’m not going to say I don’t miss being slapped across the face viciously, or all those other horrible sadistic type activities, but I’m really feeling this living on my own thing. I need to work that relationship stuff I want into who I am, and I haven’t been doing that very well. I’m a stubborn bitch, and I’m not into all that flowery crap but I’m not some cold distant person either.

 

I like to celebrate life, and I hate the entire goody goody Master will guide you and teach you crap. Please, no thanks. I just want to be me. I want to stay up all night and travel, write graffiti on the wall of public restrooms, read trashy romance novels and get lost on dirt roads.I want to go back to school and panick over papers, writing the same introduction over and over again ten times.

 

I want to fall asleep on the floor and kiss a strange man and throw it all out the window. I’m not someone who has never played “under the influence of alcohol”. In fact one of the best ass fuckings ever happened that way. I'm not "SSC". I don't keep a journal tracking my weight loss or my on going struggle to enhance my boobs for my Master.

 

I don’t need Master to be my life coach, just my fucking counterpart. And I hate the word “Master”.

 

I’m kind of in a strange mood tonight.

 


6/13/2011 8:52:16 PM

My Neighbor, The Stranger

 

This afternoon I was going about my business when I heard a soft knock on my door. I never get surprise visitors. I decided to answer it, a bit curious. Perhaps it might be someone from the downstairs apartment. Maybe my shower was leaking again and seeping through the floor. Or maybe my landlord stopped by and wanted to ask me a question, he pops in every now and then.

 

I opened the door and an older man with a medium build and gray hair greeted me. The first words out of his mouth were, “Mr X lives here? “ Nope, as far as I know I’m not a mister and there are no misters residing with me. I told him, “No I’m sorry I don’t know who you are talking about.”

 

He seemed to shuffle his feet and glance at the floor for a few seconds. And that is when I noticed the thick file folder in one of his hands. He took a paper from that hand and showed it to me. “Do you recognize this man, Mr. X?” What the man showed me was a photocopy of a driver’s license, and yes I recognized the person he was speaking of from the photo. He was the neighbor that lived in the apartment next to me. We greeted each other when he lived in the building and that was the extent of our “relationship”. I didn't even know his name, "Hello" and "Good afternoon" were the extent of our conversations. I told the gray haired man, “Yes he lived next door to me but he moved out several weeks ago.” The gray haired man looked disturbed, and stood there in silence, as if I knew anything more about him.

 

He asked me if the landlord lived downstairs. I informed him that he did not, although he lived in town. The gray haired man seemed to expect something else from me. I told him that I could give him the landlord’s phone number and he said, “Yes please.” I did so. The man then left. I couldn’t see the plates clearly as he pulled out of the lot but he was driving a white mini van.

 

Who would carry around photocopies of someone’s driver’s license? My initial thought was that he was a detective or some sort of law enforcement officer, but wouldn’t he identify himself to me if that were the case? And do cops drive white mini vans?

 

I thought about it during the course of the day. My neighbor did move out rather abruptly. I know he did not give the requested 30 day notice because he left in a rush over the course of two days and the apartment stood empty for over a month. Just this weekend a new person moved into it. My landlord is umm very “thrifty”. He lets his apartments at a reasonable rate and is very fastidious about keeping them rented. The former tenant who lived in my place was out and two days later I was in because the former tenant gave the requisite 30 days notice and I found the place because of its rate about five minutes after the landlord posted his classified ad. 

 

Yet this apartment stood empty for quite a bit of time. So, my mysterious neighbor, frequently out of town because he supposedly was a “roofer”, moved out in a rush, after purchasing an RV about a month before he left for good, and a mysterious man comes to my door with photocopies of the former neighbors drivers license asking me where he is.

 

My mind created all kinds of incredible scenarios to explain what it all means. I’m kind of sorry I didn’t ask the man who came to my door to provide me with some identification. I was just so taken aback and unprepared for the material he showed me, that all practical thoughts flew out of my head for a few moments. Something was obscured, and I didn't give him the small details that I've written down here, as impersonal as they are,because of the oddness of the whole situation.

 

I tried running a few internet searches using the last name the man gave me but nothing turned up. I searched the Sex Offender registry for our state and I did not find my neighbor's likeness there.

 

Mysterious indeed.

 


6/8/2011 9:21:59 PM

La Femme Nikita, Love and Friendship

 

Every guy I have been in love with hates this show with a passion. Both of them hated it on sight. I believe the second one may have been overemphasizing his hate as he claimed he would watch more episodes in order to make more fun of it.

 

Many may not know of this program. “La Femme Nikita” was a French film directed by Luc Besson in 1990 I believe. The film was developed into a show on the USA network in the mid 90s. Watching it today, yes it is low budget; yes it looks very “90s”. Most people would laugh at it, but has a cult following. I am a member of this cult. It is probably my favorite television show. It doesn’t really feel like a “show”, more like a film that lasts a really long time.

 

The world of “La Femme Nikita” is harsh. The world of La Femme Nikita is unforgiving-- a top secret government organization, Section 1, takes on the vilest terrorists and is the main setting of the show. As the voice over at the beginning of the program used to say, “To Section 1, the ends justify the means.”  Every recruit in Section 1 is a hardened criminal, sentenced to life in prison or death for committing horrific crimes and now considered dead. These “operatives” have their deaths faked and are recruited into this brutal organization, Section 1, to defeat brutal enemies.

 

 Life is cheap. One mistake can end in your “cancellation”.  Often Section 1 tortures, terrorizes and ruthlessly eliminates it opponents. On the surface the show is depressing, dark, with no hope. In reality the show is kind of romantic and hopeful, more than any other show I enjoy. Of course I usually enjoy violent, dark and depressing art and television programming. You really must watch through the whole first season to understand the undercurrent of the show. Because it was so low budget, the special effects are somewhat cheesy and the script and great acting were relied upon rather than fancy special effects to “make” the show. The setting was extraordinary, but I can’t remember a show that could make me weep like this one could.

 

A blink, a stare, a glance side ways, a sigh. These are all trademarks of the show. It is sort of funny, since the creators of this show are the creators of 24. I’ve watched 3 seasons of 24, it is hard to believe Nikita came from the same creators. 24 is completely unsubtle and unbelievable although enjoyable. I guess “LFN” was kind of unbelievable, yet extremely romantic. I kind of believe in romance. I believe in brutality, in hurt, in pain, in humiliation, but I believe in romance too.  

 

Of course real world love consists of caring for one through the every day mundane, the skid marks in the underwear, the grumpiness, lost jobs, exhaustion, laundry that needs to be done, dirty dishes sitting in the sink. I think through all of that though, one can have that sprinkling of romance, the “I will die for you” sentiment. At least, I feel that. “LFN” creates that world, above everything else. It is not exactly true, but it is hope, it is a bit of sparkle, a bit of zap.

 

I would highly recommend it. La Femme Nikita, no the new series starring Maggie Q. I have watched three episodes of that and it seems more like flash than substance so far.

 

In any case, the only person in real life that I know enjoys the show as much as I do is my best friend. She’s been my best friend for 20 years. She is much more practical than I’ll ever be. She has always accepted me for who I am. She even knows my kinky self, although not in much detail. She tells it to me straight. She listens to my problems. I listen to hers. . She is willing to tell me when I’m being an idiot, and I don’t get mad. I trust her completely.  I think we even liked the show independent of each other. She is the very severe down to earth type, but there even exists in her the wild abandoned romantic streak. We both share that, and I think it binds us together in some way.


5/13/2011 10:10:21 PM

Computer Breakage, Emotion Volt

 

I broke my computer on Wednesday night. We had a tempestuous relationship.

 

Last summer while I stayed in Las Vegas my trusty old silver laptop broke down on me. It served me well for five years but several things suddenly went wrong and it seemed like it would be better to replace it than try and get it repaired. I rely on a personal computer for my livelihood so I ordered a replacement as soon as I could. Unfortunately when I got my black beauty it had a problem. It would freeze up when anything tried to auto update, including Windows update. I tried figuring out the problem myself and asked a few people I know who are computer techs/knowledgeable in this area . When I contemplated returning it a bunch of unpleasant things happened and I had to leave Vegas in a hurry. In the following months I ended up wandering across the country and back. This made it difficult to return the computer, and well, I worked around the deficiencies.

 

I turned off all auto updates and the problem seemed to be “solved” although my computer slowed at times. I returned to New Hampshire in November and made the mistake of leaving the computer in the basement room I was sleeping in. The heat was on, so the temperatures weren’t extreme, but the computer didn’t like the cold too much at all and would not start up for me. From then on I kept the computer upstairs, but the damage had been done. Every time I booted my computer up it took 10-20 minutes for it to completely start so I could go to work and a message kept popping up that a file needed to be repaired. Any time I tried to repair the file my computer would hang or freeze up,I started to notice that plugging in certain USB devices to my computer would cause it freeze. Then I couldn’t connect my computer to a LAN without it freezing, I could only connect to the net using a wireless connection. Occasionally the computer would make a screeching noise if the volume was on. I described these problems to a few friends who tried to help me but I was at the point of bringing it to a pro to take a look at it.

 

I live in a small space and have one table on which to work, eat, write and do whatever else. On Wednesday night careless and not paying attention I stood up to bring a dish to the sink and it jostled the table. When I turned around about one fourth of a glass of juice spilled across my computer, in the keyboard and the machine. I was so pissed at myself. I rushed to wipe the liquid.

 

The computer started making this noise. I shut it down, unplugged the power source and removed the battery. I turned the computer side ways so that any liquid might drip out of it. After leaving it for several hours I attempted to start the machine. It made this loud screeching noise as I attempted to start it and then I quickly shut it down and repeated the same routine. After several more hours passed I tried again and the machine would not start at all.

 

At this point I became quite upset with myself, started swearing and felt grumpy. Since I need a computer to work I began to panic about buying a new one. I built it up in my mind as this great crisis. I beat myself up over it as I tend to do---for being careless; not getting it looked at sooner, making the mistake of not sending it back at the outset, wishing I could rewind to that point where I got up to put my dish away.

 

Finally I talked to someone and just the act of talking comforted me and I realized I was being so fucking over the top about it. I am borrowing an older but in working order laptop from this someone now. Insurance also allowed a claim to be submitted, although I don’t have a great deal of hope that they’ll accept it. It is worth trying. If it doesn’t work out I have time to find a new computer, one that isn’t a lemon this time (hopefully).

 

Today something occurred to me, unrelated to the computer. It was this unpleasant thought and I felt a hot streak of anger in me. It made no sense, my mind told me I was being ridiculous, but I let myself feel this unreasonable feeling, let it dance around inside me and stewed in it. I have this weird intuition. I don’t believe in ghosts, psychics and the supernatural, but I feel that I am attuned to people I spend time with day to day or over the long term and to their patterns and behaviors. And sometimes I figure things out about them. I don’t know if it is their tone, their body language. Even in the written medium I can sense it and this “figuring out” is not always a pleasant experience.

 

Today I had one of those “figuring things out” moments. What I didn’t do was express it to anyone immediately, in any format, as I might have years ago. Do no harm. I kept repeating that. I can only control who I am, not the actions of other people, there is no point in raging against something I have zero control over and will never have any control over. There is no point in dragging it out and around behind me, some bloodied carcass.

 

In the immediate moment I went out and found this bumpy quiet country road to rattle down in my car. I put on Scissor Sisters and cranked up the volume as I drove. I like finding old roads, back road, nooks and crannies. I’m an explorer; it focuses me and relaxes me. And yes after driving around for half an hour, feeling the sun in my face and smelling the grass and flowers I felt more settled.

 

Right now I still am a bit unsettled and riled up but I’m also kind of bemused and laughing at myself about it. I don’t think I want to ever lose some of this, it is just me. But I’m able to channel it better now, and not wrecking everything in my path.


5/10/2011 10:15:35 PM

Window

 

I have the window open in my place and I’m lounging about, listening to some random music and drinking beer. I’m not worrying about what to say, how to act. No one will tell me when to go to bed, when to wake up, what to wear, what to eat, how to do that or this just so.  No one is here to grab me roughly by the hair and shove me to the ground, spit on me, kick me and laugh.  I could have had that in some form, could still have it, but too much was not right. The decision I made several months ago is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made for myself.

 

I have this impulse towards placing myself in uncomfortable situations, of being with uncomfortable people who make me do terrible things. Does this mean I do not want it again, ever? No, I would like these things in my life, but perhaps in a more integrated way than they have been in the past.

 

In prior relationships I let the scales tip too far in one direction. I really need balance. I’m finding that “out here on my own” is a nice place to be.

 

I don’t have to worry about trying to be some new and improved version of me, the “me” that I am is enough. I can say and feel and think what I want to, without someone trying to tell me how I feel and think and on and on. I don’t worry about angering anyone or learning how to cope with feeling negative emotion X as part of some misery game.

 I want certain things which evoke strong emotions, I need to be with someone who accepts all the ugly, weird and strange in me, and in return I can accept theirs too. I don’t worry so much about meeting anyone right now; I’m puttering along, taking my long nonsensical drives and reading in my spare time.

 

I had some other thoughts but I’m going to hold onto them for now.


5/2/2011 12:05:57 AM

I'm very happy that an evil murderer has been brought to justice. I don't believe in hell but if it did exist I hope that he is there. Flying Spaghetti Monster bless the United States.


4/30/2011 8:06:43 PM

I bought Kleiber's interpretation of Beethoven's 5th and 7th symphonies today. Wow. In places it makes me shiver and in others it feels like, well I don't know, can you feel music coming out of your chest in a happy way? Because that is what this recording feels like. The orchestra is sharp, passionate, precise. I'm really liking it. I am a casual classical music fan and decided to start diving into individual conductors and complete works rather than just excerpts (although I love the Amazon 99 Essentials Sets).

 

 


4/28/2011 9:36:53 AM

The Vote Stuff

 

I’m a politics junkie. Politics touches every aspect of my personal and professional life. The first campaign I followed in depth was the 92 election, and I haven’t looked back since.  At that age I liked to read the newspaper, watch cable news and read biographies and histories of politics and leaders. From doing that and from participating in community service (yes including my church, school and girl scouts) I developed my own point of view on politics and social justice.

 

Anyone who knows me knows I’m liberal. I’m registered as a Democrat and have voted for Democratic candidates since I’ve been able to vote. I’m probably more liberal than the majority of the people in my party.  My immediate family is full of life long Democrats and independents who vote for Democrats. I’ve had some fall out rip roaring arguments with a few of them over some issues. I’d say they are blue dogs. I also have some family members who love the Tea Party, Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly and Rush Limbaugh. One of my cousins even volunteered for Rand Paul’s campaign.

 

 If a compelling Republican came along, or even a third party candidate, I’d consider voting for them. That has not happened yet.  Before the 2008 election I used to think John McCain would be one of those Republicans, who even if I didn’t vote for him, I could live with. That was before Sarah Palin of course…Colin Powell would be another good example of this and…well yeah, those are the only two I can think of at the moment.  Oh oops, I really love Meghan McCain, I think she has beautiful boobies and some interesting ideas, and I hope she runs for office someday (not just because of the boobies). I feel like she represents a new generation of younger Republicans who are not such fervent social conservatives but are more focused on issues like the economy, defense, foreign policy, etc.

 

I’m a lurker in a bunch of M/s and/or ownership, power exchange, whatever the heck you want to call it groups. I like to read about how different people structure their relationships, what turns them on, what they feel and think and how they do things. I don’t have vast experience in this area. The two times I’ve done this it has worked on some level but neither relationship lasted for the span of several years or decades, so I can’t speak from a place of expertise, which is why I don’t comment much at all even though I’m very attracted to and feel this is the “right” relationship model for who I am.

So the topic of voting comes up every now and then, and whether an owner has a right to force the s to vote, and if so, is the s ordered to vote for whom the O tells them to. These discussions tend to get rather heated.

 

In both of my former relationships neither person required me to vote. I was strongly encouraged to vote, but not ordered to do it. I shared roughly the same beliefs as my former O’s, so there was never a question of who to vote for.

 

When people ask, does an O have the right to do X or Y; the answer simply is there is no universal answer. Ask yourself whether it is right in the context of your own relationship. Talk to your O (yes that thing called communication).There is no universal rule that says an O can dictate who you vote for, there are only individual relationships, and each relationship is going to be different.

 

A prospective owner would know fairly quickly where I stand on all issues. It is extremely important for me to exercise my right to vote and come to my own conclusions in terms of who to vote for. I feel it is a privilege that many have fought and died for and that I must exercise this privilege whenever possible. Often people say that their vote doesn’t matter, that it is a drop of water in the sea. So what if a million people have that exact same mentality? Ten million? Yes it DOES matter. In a local election the margin may be even smaller, 1 or 2 people. Yes there are many corrupt politicians and government can be inefficient, but change for the better or the worse has happened through the legislative process and through the executive decision making of the president. I want to have my say in the direction—it impacts the people I love and I want to do what little I can.

 

So voting, like anything else, comes down to a compatibility issue. I probably couldn’t be with someone who felt the need to control my vote in terms of telling me who to vote for.  Now if they were of a liberal bent I might consider it as our values would be aligning but otherwise I’d have difficulty doing this, which is why discussing this very issue is so important to me before getting into a relationship with a prospective owner.

 

I do know of older women who did or still do vote like their husbands tell them to, using the theory of “canceling each other out” so this isn’t necessarily just an M/s thing. But I feel that for me voting is one of those self-actualizing activities that in part defines me and makes me who I am. Politics is one of those Very Important Issues I’d need to discuss in depth with anyone I was considering any kind of relationship with.

 

Other people do things differently and I’m fine with that. It makes the world and message boards more interesting.  


4/20/2011 10:12:06 PM

Catholics Come Home

 

I remember wondering why in the hell I had to confess my sins to a strange man and eat a wafer. Being a terrible, sinful and selfish child I went along with this because I got a huge party, a pretty puffy white dress and a bunch of gifts out of making my first communion. I remember going to my first confession and telling the priest…I…I..lied to my mom and was mean to my brother and sister. This “reconciliation” aka confession, which is considered a sacrament, is the only time in my life I’ve been to confession.

I continued to believe that I was missing something, that some magical light was just not coming on for me and if I worked for it hard enough, I would feel Catholic and be Catholic. I joined “Junior Catholic Daughters of America” and dutifully attended every meeting. I still don’t really know what the function of Junior Catholic Daughters is. I remember sitting around talking about God and Jesus, how great Jesus is, he died for my sins, blah blah blah. One time we wrote down our “sins” on a piece of paper and set the papers on fire in a waste basket in our school cafeteria. I thought it was very cool to be lighting fires in the school. Supposedly this was some method to cleanse our sins. It seemed kind of pagan to me.

 

 I was close friends with a girl whose mom was very involved with the town folk and the local catholic community. She was an interesting gal, had a bit of a dark side, and I even liked her mom. It really was a way for me to socialize, it was not driven by any deep faith that I had. So I ended up doing a bunch of church related activities.

 

At age  our Parish (I think maybe it was the state/region? I don’t know) allowed girls to be altar servers for the first time. At this point I was really getting into feminist theory and thought getting involved with this would be striking a blow for woman’s freedom. Of course my friend’s mom was in charge of recruiting more gals into the altar server program at our local church. My friend was the first female in the history of the parish to be an altar server there, since of course her mom was running the whole thing. I was the second girl, and I threw myself into it 100%.

 

I was so pious kneeling there on the altar thinking of masturbating, sexual relations, my future, getting out of this town!  And various other unrelated topics. But I knew when I was “up”. I brought the priest his incense, his gospel, holy water and cross with expert precision. It became a matter of pride for me that I performed at 100%, to the point that the priest requested my presence not only at normal masses but during special events. I think he felt comfortable with me; he was somewhat awkward with the girls when reading from the gospel. You see, the altar server is supposed to rest the gospel on their own chest while the priest reads from it…I was a pro at helping the priest position the gospel without bumping into my boobs where others failed ;)

 

 I even was an altar server at my grandfather’s funeral. I did everything—Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Easter Eve, Easter Day, every single holy day of lent, first communion, confirmation. After about four years I hung up my white robe and cross, but it was fun while it lasted. I didn’t feel devout when I did this, but I enjoyed trying to perfect every move and motion, trying to flow into the rhythm of the ceremony.

 

 

I also attended “CCD” every Sunday after mass. This stands for Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Catholic Sunday School. We used a series of textbooks entitled “Come Walk with me”. We’d talk about morality and Catholicism and how wonderful Jesus was. My best friend and I enjoyed the end of the year the most; we’d rip our books up into tiny pieces and throw them into the garbage.

 

I didn’t give up on CCD or Catholicism until age 16, why not make my confirmation? I would make mom happy, although she is in no way a holy roller or particularly devout, and I’d feel like I’d reached the conclusion of my explorations in Catholicism. Our confirmation class in tenth grade was the Important Class. Our parish priest taught it, a cool guy who was not a child molester, had a housekeeper girlfriend, smoked cigars, regularly went to secular films and discussed literature with me in his off hours.  At this point we had probably 7 kids in the class, and the pressing question of the day was whether the pope was a virgin or not.

 

I even went on a march in Boston to celebrate the millennium. We watched Jesus Christ Superstar on the bus ride to the event, and I got my picture taken with Cardinal Bernard Law, the cardinal of Boston who is now hiding in the Vatican to avoid criminal and legal proceedings against him in the states for covering up child molestation.

 

I finally made my confirmation and I haven’t attended a mass since then. I felt no pull, no desire, nothing. As a freshman in college I finally admitted to myself that I was an atheist, that I had no belief in Catholicism, in Jesus or organized religion. I believe in Jesus as a literary and philosophical figure. I believe that a great deal of the stuff attributed to Jesus is a solid set of morals, but I don’t believe in organized religion.

The past few months have reminded me of this history. I live in the “Boston Market”, meaning I get most of the news stations broadcasting out of Boston. I’ve seen all of the “Catholics Come Home” commercials that have aired since the beginning of Lent. “Catholics Come Home” also has a nifty website. I went to said website and chose the tab “I Used to Be Catholic”.

 

There is a section called “Top Ten Reasons” to return to Catholicism, and one paragraph states (I’m assuming addressing the child molestation scandal)

“We do have problems, but using the crisis in the Church as an excuse for not being a practicing Catholic or, for non-Catholic Christians, not becoming a Catholic, is no excuse. We are and will always be a Church of saints and sinners. Through the Eucharist, where we REALLY partake in Divine Nature, Our Lord molds us in maturity and, if needed, pulls the grudges we have been holding in our hearts for years from our soul. We have to work with Him in prayer though, not run away.”

 

Yet at the same time the Church states that homosexuality is a sin. So we may forgive the child molesters who have harmed thousands, if not more, children over decades, yet our LGBT community is sinners who can only really be Catholic if they remain chaste. You see I can be saved if I don’t date any more gals or ever form a meaningful relationship with one. There is even a ministry called “Courage” that ministers to the homosexual Catholic community. You can read several testimonies from Catholics who are “recovering homosexuals”. It makes me pretty sad that they believe their natural urges and orientation is so abhorrent to their religious beliefs that they must continually deny who they are.

 

Pretty much I admire the ceremony and pomp of Catholicism; I am attracted to protocol, regulations, a sense of duty and charity. I know many decent folk who are Catholic and I admire the Catholic worker’s movement. I’m interested in the more mystical aspects of it and I’d highly recommend Kathleen Norris’s “Cloister Walk” for an interesting picture of monastic life. What I can’t stand though is the stance on homosexuality, abortion, pre-marital sex, birth control and the role of women in the church, so I doubt that I will be attending one of these “Catholics Come Home” events anytime soon.  I know, I’m an evil sinner. ;)


4/6/2011 5:39:28 PM

Too Shy

 

It is kind of strange to be standing out there alone. I’m beginning to realize without the artificial company of house mates, how isolating the “alone” aspect can be. No one is forcing me into social situations, and if I want to meet people, I’m going to really need to spank my own ass and get out there.

 

 

I have social anxiety which translates into me acting in weird ways when it comes to spending time with people. I enjoy it, once I work my nerve up and force myself to get out there, but at the same time it is exhausting. I have to keep reminding myself to make conservation, ask questions, maintain body language that doesn’t make me seem completely disinterested yet terrified at being singled out. If I’m with people who are just more talkative and out there, I’m not going to compete, and I’m fine with that.

 

 

Some people say this is the ultimate narcissism, to feel as though you are important enough to be the center of attention at all times, when in fact the people around you are preoccupied with the garlic between their teeth, the “ex”, the bills they need to pay. I believe at the root of this is some level of insecurity that I know is within me and it is something I continually wrestle with and try to reduce/eliminate/ whatever.

 

 

I marvel at “social animals”. I mean this in a respectful way; several members of my family possess this gift. At any time, in any place, they can strike up a friendly conversation with anyone and become buddies in a matter of minutes. I’m more likely to excuse myself to go to the restroom and slip out the back way.

 

 

I don’t think most of the irritating aspects of everyday life are worth getting upset over; to me it is just piddling crap, and I’m not going to be confrontational over it. I will swear at someone who does something stupid on the road while I’m driving, I’ll get annoyed if I want to buy a certain type of fruit at the market and there is white fuzz all over it. I’ll get annoyed with the foibles of people at times. I’m sure I annoy the hell out of people too, but it only lasts a few seconds and then I continue on with whatever I’m doing.

 

The confrontational, in your face, I’m standing up stuff I save for the important occasions. My triggers involve people being screwed over or hurt by others in positions of power, real or perceived. I have stood up on those occasions, and while my anxiety level went through the roof, I don’t regret doing it.

 

 

 In a professional work environment I’ve always pushed myself, I have even worked in retail sales and gotten high praise from my bosses for how open, friendly and helpful I was towards customers. This was not easy and I felt like I was playing a role every day at work, but I needed the job so I did what I had to do.

 

 

I feel more comfortable with who I am in the present because I know I can stand up and I can survive and maybe possibly help someone else, if I need to. I don’t feel like I’m completely powerless over this, but at the same time I still feel the anxiety, hate huge parties and have to really make an effort to be social in the traditional sense.

 

 

I love to write and have often joked that I should carry a pad of paper and a pen around, writing everything down, rather than speaking. The internet has helped tremendously in this regard. I love to write and chat with others. It is a safe way to “screen” and I have met several amazing people this way.

 

 

These are the strategies I’ve implemented to make myself less the weird isolated gal in the corner:

 

 

-I will have conversations with myself in my mind, making myself think of questions and other things I’d say in a social situation.

 

 

-If I’m going on a job interview or am going to be in a more formal situation, I write down the questions I want to ask or the things I need to talk about or the questions that I will be asked.

 

 

-I give myself a goal, such as if I’m in a class, I’ll force myself to have at least two social interactions within the class, either answering or asking questions or participating in a discussion.

 

 

Doing this has helped me to break the ice and actually form some nice formal and informal relationships.

 

 

I beat myself up over the years for not being the life of the party, or this commanding executive type woman. I wanted to be that but I realized that isn’t really in my nature, and that I can still assert myself when I need to and I can still stand up for myself without having to be those things or possess those personality traits.

 

 

I’m not someone who can say “I am the property of a man but I am not submissive”. I am submissive in personality along with having to desire to serve.  In my work and in everyday life I don’t let everyone I encounter  command me, but I’m more likely to conduct myself in a relaxed, laid back manner. Once I’m really comfortable with someone the outer anxiety falls away and then they see the opinionated, sometimes stubborn person behind all of that.

 

 

I have been criticized for being too submissive and not strong enough but also called too strong, not submissive enough and not “a real slave” by others.  In the end I decided I needed to be myself and stop worrying about the rest of it. I’m still working on it…


3/31/2011 2:58:05 PM

Nooo.

 

I don't want anymore snow. Just.go.away. Thanks!

 

 

Sadly the weather is not obeying me. The sky is gray and cloudy. I don't want another foot of snow. We were doing so well with that warm weather thing and the melting snow thing.

I don't keep track of the weather usually but I happened to see the huge headline, "April Fools Storm" this morning.

 

 

I went out and picked up some groceries today instead of tomorrow, so I can whip up some curry as the wind wails and the snow piles up :(

 

 

I cleaned my place, bathroom and kitchen area, and vacuumed. I also brought the trash out because bringing it around back is kind of a bitch. I have to bring it to the back of the house and the yard is full of mud and melting snow, not to mention the weird family stares at me out the window when I bring it out. Sheesh people, I'm not putting dead bodies in the garbage can.

 

 

Now I'm eating Priate's Booty Sour Cream and Onion and laughing at Donald Trump's conversion to birtherism.


3/30/2011 1:23:25 AM

I am now viewing this film for the second time in a row. Damn, it is good. The film is about Ms. Portman’s performance, not the dance. I’m sick of these whiners saying that the double is a significant part of the film. She did a part of the dancing; she did not characterize the part of Nina. Nina exists outside of the dancing itself.

Mila Kunis is also ultra-hot in this film and I wouldn’t mind being her “friend”, if she is even real.

I mention Black Swan because it is an interesting contrast there, not very subtle.

There is the girl who wants to be slouched over in the ally, a bruise on her jaw, cum dripping out of her ass, her clothes dirty. There is another girl who wants to be held tenderly, making babies and living in a cute little house in the suburbs. How does one reconcile the extreme need for humiliation, degradation with the urge to nest and have one man as the “man”?

 How does one reconcile the common sense, every day gal with the dreamer, eccentric who wishes to be beaten by the man with the sly smile down the street, hearing the music, stumbling into his choke?

I’ve lived as the servant and the whore, never totally satisfied as either. Is a combination the answer or something totally different altogether? Watching this film, what I could think about was the black swan, her piercing eyes, and it reminded me of the ratty, dirty, grimy side of myself seeking out the corrupt and yucky side of life, the man with the pouch belly and bald head jamming his cock into my ass and the suburban gentleman kissing me gently, making me dinner and watching a dvd with me. 

Gosh this makes little sense I’m sure, but they were my jumbled 3:00 am thoughts.


3/2/2011 11:03:05 PM

I love the people that call Obama by the nickname "Odumba" or "Odumbo".  I'd love to see the academic and career credentials of these individuals. I am as liberal as they come, and I never called Bush by any sort of degrading name. I thought his policies were terrible for this country and he was an incompetent president, but I didn't call him silly names.

 

Yes, I realize there are many liberals who use terms like "teabagger". Personally I think it detracts from the argument. Lets just banish this type of name calling all around.

 

As for Obama, you don't graduate from Harvard Law summa cum laude by getting failing grades or even average grades. As much as it kills some people, yes a black man succeeded and has accomplished many things in his life.

 

I am not implying that everyone who doesn't support Obama is racist. I know several Republicans personally who have thoughtful reasons for not supporting him and I'm sure the vast majority just hate his positions.

 

I'm really addressing the vocal minority that thrives on hatred and division.

 

I'm sick of seeing both legal and illegal Mexican immigrants being demonized merely for the color of their skin and origin. I'd rather have someone who has the guts to risk their lives to cross into this country and work in terrible conditions dwelling in the home next to me than these armchair commanders constantly poisoning the air with their bigoted rhetoric.

 

I'm sick of all the hatred directed towards Muslims in this country. Yes there is a small fanatic contingent of people calling themselves Muslims that hurt our country. That doesn't mean that peaceful Muslims in this country have any responsibility for the actions of those criminals. 

 

I'm sick of people making wild accusations about this president's credentials and origins based on what seems to be some sort of prejudice and bigotry.

 

I also support the union workers in Wisconsin.

 

If this all makes a me a commie pinko then so be it.


2/26/2011 6:38:40 PM

Dog Days Are Over?

 

Today I drove up to my new apartment, through the snowy streets and silent trees. There is a nice copse of pines right by my place, and a nice little sidewalk. I’d like to walk through that area once I’m settled in. The landlord is a thin wiry man with two sons and a wife.

 

My apartment is an “efficiency” or studio, more commonly. It is one large space, with it’s own sink, stove, refrigerator and bathroom. My landlord told me I was the first one to call him, and that because of that, and my “high qualifications”, I got the place.

 

It’s funny. I applied for a studio in Vermont and after going through all the trouble to see the place, the owner told me they did credit checks and were very strict about it. I don’t have perfect credit. I told her up front that my credit was not great, hoping my honesty would be a plus. I never heard another word from her.

Then two days later I found this place, an ad freshly posted. I guess that everything happens for a reason.

 

It is quite snug. I love it. I love that it is my own space. I now have the keys in my possession and will be moving my things into the space over the next few weeks. I’m getting purple curtains for the windows, a very funky welcome home mat. I have some beads I’m going to use to decorate the place. I can’t wait to cook my first gourmet meal there. I’m going to get a futon so any guests who can put up with my snoring and I actually like are more than welcome ;)

 

I kept listening to Florence and Dog Days Are Over tonight. I don’t know if they’re over. But it is what it is.


2/23/2011 10:45:01 AM

On Saturday I will sign a lease for a studio apartment. This will be the first time in my life that I’ve lived alone. Alone means I will be living without family, friends, roommates or significant others. The past year or so has been tumultuous and painful in many ways and I never thought I would reach this point.

 

I’m trying to find the lesson in the pain and uncertainty I experienced. Many days work is busy so it is easier to forget about it and bury myself in the task at hand. Other times when I’m sitting here at 3:00 am listening to just the right music, I start seeing each dream and each hope as the dust on my book case, impermanent, fragile. If I blow ever so slightly they seem to float away.

 

In the course of 8 years I’ve had two significant relationships. I went back to the first one multiple times and accepted every emotionally abusive word he threw my way. I get off on emotional abuse and all kinds of creepy ( good creepy) stuff so I could live with this, but there was this voice in the back of my head telling me this is not the life I wanted for myself.

 

I shouldered all of the hate, took the blame, accepted that he “needed to be who he is” but I realized that I could never fit into the place he designated for me in his life and didn’t want to anymore.  I finally walked away. He became enraged, told me that I was emotionally insecure, selfish, unreliable and incapable of ever loving anyone.

 

My second relationship worked very well as an Owner/property relationship for a period of time. I felt fulfilled in serving him; he had many great qualities and was great company.  After several months he told me that he was not sexually attracted to me and most bdsm and sex ended, to the point that I was serving him as a platonic maid and companion only. I don’t believe the core of service is doing kinky bdsm stuff, my service involved cooking, cleaning and taking care of his needs. I enjoyed this immensely. But the withdrawal of sex and kink also felt like a withdrawal of emotions, and it seemed like he wanted me around because no one else was around, not because he thought I was someone he wanted in his life in the long term.

 

This did upset me for a long time, as I need an emotional commitment/connection, service, companionship, kink and physical intimacy in a relationship. After he started fucking some random woman he met online I realized that this was not working for me. I decided not to continue the relationship.

 

Right now I’m feeling sad about the past, but I feel like I’m building something for myself that is a bit more solid than the dust on my book case. For the first time in a year or more I’ve felt free of the emotional crap in my life. I need to take care of myself, there are a few things I’ve wanted to work on, but I’ve always been working on them for the wrong reason. Now I will do it for myself. I’m kind of looking forward to it.  


2/19/2011 7:42:18 PM

Why does Coltrane sound so prophetic after a few glasses of wine?


2/5/2011 1:45:44 PM

I am an extremely liberal feminist. I'm too liberal for many Democrats yet I have been a registered Democrat since age 18. I don't mind being identified as a lefty wingnut. As wingnutty as I may be, I don't demonize my political opponents. I don't see Republicans as the devil. I do get angry when I feel like the rights of a minority group are being suppressed, but I don't wish harm on any of my opponents. I believe one reason our government is great is because we must compromise with each other and because we are able to freely criticize each others policies and positions.

 

 

 

I am friends with a Republican dominant man. He is a nice sadistic bastard who really knows how to choke a girl. He's a swell guy and we have had many political debates. He leans libertarian on several social issues, and while I don't agree with him on many topics, spending time with him is never boring.

 

 

 

I see myself as property, and in my personal relationships the man is a superior being to me. I thrive emotionally in this sort of relationship dynamic. Being property makes me happy in a fundamental way. I can get along fine and dandy without being property, but being property...is just me. Its sort of like reading books. I love to read books. I can get along without reading books, but I begin to miss them if I haven't read in awhile, and I can't imagine my life without them.

 

 

 

I love being pissed on and made to stand there, carrying on a conversation about the Health Care Reform act, feeling the piss soak my skin, face and hair.

 

 

 

I enjoy it when a man slaps my face and tells me to shut the fuck up after I've spent awhile arguing with him. I'm very stubborn and enjoy having long drawn out arguments..political arguments of course.

 

 

 

I like intelligent sadistic men who are into weird, geeky, submissive fat chicks. I like it even better when they're dominant and like treating a girl like property.

 

 

 

No this is not a personal ad, just some random thoughts floating around in my head this afternoon. :)

 

 

 

 

 


2/2/2011 2:29:09 AM

In the past I have allowed myself to be ground down into dust based upon the perception of somebody else. I’ve allowed negative thoughts and actions to define who I am to the point where I see zero beauty or passion in myself, just every flaw. I’m getting better at throwing these perceptions in the garbage. When I say “someone else” I mean someone I have let into my life in a significant way (usually a lover/dominant/owner type person).

 

This is contradictory to the idea of living totally for your master/owner/god or whomever, right? Some of them are sadistic, some of them get off on dehumanization, humiliation, and making sure the slave/sub knows “her place”. I don’t see anything wrong with these things, all of them are important and welcome in my own relationships. I feel like for me though, a healthy Owner/property, D/s or what have you type relationship isn’t going to leave me feeling like I’m nothing without him on a 24/7 basis, or that I’m going to be replaced at any moment, that in fact he is continually looking for a “replacement” and “settling” for me, that I’m so lacking to him that I must continually prove my value and worth or risk being booted.

 

Maybe it is insecurity and maybe it is in my choices that I’ve ever had this experience, I’m sure it’s a combination of everything. I realize that the most important thing I can do is work on myself and understand the choices that I make, so that I make better ones in the future.

 

I am extremely masochistic, so being humiliated, degraded, made to feel stupid and lacking turns me on, maybe not physically all of the time, but mentally and emotionally. I have lived in service to another person. I have been degraded and objectified, treated as property. I know this can be done in a way that does not destroy me; I’ve embraced it and feel it is the complete and correct path for me. When I have been involved with someone who only points out every flaw, who withdraws or never fully engages, who demonstrates through his behavior that he cares only marginally about me but takes full advantage of my service to him, that he is quite literally using me in a way that makes me feel like he cares for not one feeling, thought or shred of humanity in me, for me, this is bad emotionally.

 

I need an invisible string to cling onto, that I can use to pull myself back up over the edge. I need to be with someone who can be completely and unmercifully sadistic and dehumanizing without losing sight of our shared humanity. I need someone that I can connect to emotionally through my service to him that will connect with me too. I don’t really seek out Disney style fairy tale love, but I do need a mutual connection/energy of some kind.

 

To me this is balance, but the balance has disappeared for me at times, until I’m crying and going around in circles, wondering why I am so defective in X or Y, why can’t I be Z or A or B instead of who I am? If I were more graceful would he love me? If I were thinner would he love me? If I were less opinionated, would he love me? This can go on and on. I believe in making myself better and fixing the things about me that needs work, but this feeling is the complete opposite of that.

 

I have slapped myself in the face and told myself to wake the fuck up and not let the bad shit destroy me, to melt it, acid like on my tongue, spit it out on the ground, not swallow it and let it burn holes in my stomach.  


1/31/2011 9:21:23 PM

Thank god for Janis.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhBFRNBxT_o


1/30/2011 8:19:24 PM

Not my poetry! ;)

 

"i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon"

-"I Will Wade Out", e.e. cummings

I'm sure that CM will muck up the formatting of this poem, apologies.

1/27/2011 8:05:20 PM

More older poetry..

 

 

1

i can't fathom
the connector bridge between selfish rotten
and love

someday the frail knots that hold us
all together will fray into the sunshine
unto him i will give myself

meaty earth and biting nails

tight like a hallucinogenic drum

2

inside a tin can i find salvation
a way to assauage the every day guilt
when my sweaty thighs crash into the lightning

awkward stomach straining the fabric
small rivulets of water weeping at the labor of stomach flesh
slapping against hip

insecurity a spider web across my fingers
he spurts white fluid and i lick it up
just a sliver of hair
two contractions and the clock reads doomed

you could know my secrets
that are not real and do not exist
 
my fingers are
the most knowing parts?

3.
could you love me enough
no you don't love me enough
you love me so so and on rainy days
you might love me a few minutes

i can worship your shadow and inhale
your hesitation but your nuts and bolts
belong in my tool kit
but i cannot build.

If I stripped my name and the softness only leaving the terror
the touch of five
the inside bump
Could you come to me when I know
The terrors inside you

That fracture exists not just inside maps, also in my eyes.


4.

i hack each one
the doubters
are spurting sticky red liquids from
gargoyle fingers i spit
you can take your wrecking ball to my
stray clay self

but i'm not clay
i'm stronger
than metallic shiny materials
you can light a fire inside my guts
i'll put it out

you can tell me i am not greater than the trash bag
but i know who i am
and inside my head i utter it every day
who i am


1/27/2011 7:08:27 PM

Elise Part II (Fiction)

 

She hated him, a gray snow sleet storm of hatred, waking and dreaming, as she cooked spaghetti in her tin pots, separated her colors and whites. She hated every inch of him, his weird wink, the vague smell of laundry detergent on his sweater, his DNA.

 

 

She couldn’t sleep, the ceiling mocked her. All ceilings reminded her of brown stains, tobacco and indifference.

 

 

She made the sensible argument to herself and others; you must accept the right each individual has to determine who and what they like. We are entitled to nothing. And who are you, awkward and uncertain, to demand anything.

 

 

She snorted at herself, emptied of humility, filled half way with begging him to take her back, her ugly imperfect form. She felt the moments her knees turned red, his toes in her mouth, dirty and sour. She inhaled them, willingly, her tongue tasting the salty tip of his nail.

 

 

What came after? Hours in a kitchen kicking dust bunnies.

 

 

Didn’t it turn itself back around on this point, always?

 

 

She knew his ways, his morality, his meandering. He was so maddeningly banal and neat, walking limp like, telling her to take it or leave it, in an even tone. It wasn’t good for her, but she could live with it, she thought, just a little longer.

 

She found a place, a small studio. It was set back in the woods and the landlord even threw in a free internet connection and satellite cable, no deposit necessary. She could fit every piece of her life in that space. No more massive dark swallows and emergencies, no more bizarre complications. All she needed to get clean was this space; wash him off, watch his grains swirl down the drain.

 

 

She dreamed of fucking on his broke down cement porch. She could smile sweetly, and between each sweet smile say, you’ll never be my friend. But she couldn’t touch herself anymore without thinking of his shuddering body, pressed against her, his narrow hips.

 

 

 Elise could love herself, but she screamed “fuck no” when she tried to form the words “love”, and her ass bleeding and sore for three days, three drops of blood stained into the tile.

 

 

He touched her. She wanted to knock him over and bite his lip. She never did but she imagined his response, laughing, telling her that he had warned her. And he had, in his way, that first day. He held the string, which she miscalculated as fragile, something she could cut with no thought or regret. Each day in her studio, she felt it digging into her skin. She couldn’t understand anymore why she was this way, and not someone content holding hands and eating ice cream cones with a neighborhood boy.

 

 

The door knob jiggled, it was unlocked. She opened it.


1/27/2011 7:05:47 PM

Love Poem

 

 

Fast food wrapper mind

Greasy carbohydrate heart a happy meal

For happy whores

 

 

So happy now

Your line curves a twist tie

The lip, the tongue

 

 

Your conscience is a

Local sewage treatment plant

 

 

Dark green  

Spattering and obscene

Underneath your fingernails

 

 

Decorate your bedroom with their screams

Slender bones

 

 

Each loved lesser and greater than your

Own reflection

A poker chip

Or the dolly in your closet

Making your phony bed


9/11/2010 11:17:56 AM

I wrote some poetry a few months ago and have been tweaking it ever since. My poetry is strange but I don't mind putting it out into the universe :)

Poem 1

i pick up the chipped porcelaine
thinking of your body
clawing at it and
screaming in your face
is this it?

Do you have inner parts
guts and beating lungs
because i want to kiss them
 
i cannot understand
the creepy crawly
obscured cheap plastic
Slithering around inside your skull

your front yard is weed choked
it is your eyes
your eyes

sweating out your gentle pat
mocking me
one by one
your strange nests i know

Your eyes are creased in corner darkness
I am half monster half hope too

Poem 2

I remember
Your cock inside of me
There is no poetry to describe the moment

Of penetration, the sweatiness of your body
Your breath and mine ancient texts opening
To each other

I turned away from you but I remember
Your shudder songs

Parting
I'm certain it is forever but how
Often do I return to this water logged promise
To have left you, who is taken piece by piece
Our muddy love
coarse pebbles

On the train you held me
And made me your pinches and dirty words
my black top and Skirt
vowed to remember your arms around me

Poem 3

I read my books and tap tap on my keyboard
Break the letter s, the letter l,
the letter d

smile smile that is me
i hate that tap tap tap
my sick of want and covet and crave is greater
than the other

rough rope brings me back to the swing set and i pause
pursing lips thinking of my grandmother
before mentally prostrating myself
fat white and shaking before you
your rejection
is a leech in my throat.

can it be so banal
this in and out
punctured by 100 degree heat

do you pang like a drum or merely leak leisurely onto
the plain slate?

Poem 4

my gasoline soaked sighs and
legs were clinging to
wet balloons
painted with vinegar and chillies

the fleeting perversion i am
wanted a daddy force of nature
two pluses minus ten
on a stick but cloaked deep
on the insides
a sticky honeycomb urge

the right one jitter bugged on my tree limb
too cracked on the edges and uncivilized
i panicked too brightly

trenchcoats danced on the edge
of the hands touching me
was it a delusion a haze
the rain smudging my insight


evil butter silent and transformed
under the goodwill blouse a moth ridden monster

the floor board rotted and the shiny surface became
unfathomable how do i wrestle
this what i am and what i am not when
i'm presentable
pumping my legs age 7 in a corner of the playground
to the rhythm of a steady gaze

how do i crucify with liquor that memory
i can't and it wasn't you but it was inside me
so i wear my shaking face and stare at you
is your lie a layer cake

Poem 5

Textbooks are more logical than wrapping my legs
Around the backs of the cynical and the world weary

Where are my scribbles, ink staining my chin
Inchoerent type written note pad dross
Keeps me part sober and I want to go to the school bookstore
Squeeze my stomach through the turn style crush like

Lower Broadway , falafel and Friday sun, 4 am SUV's
My soles are callused but the professor sends me for print outs
At Waverly Place I see a homeless man wrapped in dirty comforters

subway dreams
Balanced against the could have been and I played Jewel loudly blinding
My ears, so many mistakes but delicate and never undone
That first spasm that unreasonable pang to possess
That first sketched line
That first upcoming disappointment, that first scar.

Poem 6

I need flesh bone I need soup
I hate your spindles because
You try so hard to be calm, wet and distant

I am crackable
And negotiable, you can cry a thousand ways

But I can't live without opening my chest
I can't pretend to be that scraped need
Touch me prettily when I want to rub the dirty in your eyes

Poem 7

It is one minute past 1 am and my fingers
Keep flying because if they did not fly
I would cradle the black plastic knife on your desk
My sharp dolly

I listen to loud music and drink
stale air inhaling uncertainty 

My grandmother breathes her 81 year old breath but I can't
Get to the cold gray summer days
Love must be grey ash in some way.


6/26/2010 7:01:16 PM

"That Night I Ate a Burger Wrapped in Lettuce and Also Loved Somebody"


I’ve never eaten at In & Out and I worked 14 hours yesterday so the man suggested that I pick up takeout for the both of us. I know the restaurant by reputation and have researched the “secret menu” building my ideal order in my head (consisting of well done animal fries, a cheeseburger with onions and a chocolate milkshake.).

 

 He would not allow this, even when I pointed out that I have been dedicated to my gym work outs and diet and it would occasionally be beneficial to have a treat. He told me to order a hamburger “protein style” for myself, which is a burger between slices of lettuce, rather than bread. No fries. No milkshake. After attempting to negotiate with him he told me to order as instructed or find something else to eat. I became a bit pouty and in a sarcastic voice he asked me if I was going to throw a tantrum, then he laughed at me. 

 

An hour later I stared at the wall, munching on my lettuce wrapped burger. It did taste delicious even without the bread, the fries and the milkshake. He allowed me to mix myself an alcoholic beverage and I stared at the wall, at that same stain I can’t get out of it, a thin beige line.

 

The first man I loved couldn’t/didn’t respond to me when I told him I loved him and he left me, and then we spent years together confused and grappling for language to describe our relationship, trying to find ways to “be” and not understanding how or why we existed in this peculiar way for each other. Finally we did but that is finished but the confusion, the fear of rejection and misunderstanding and the need to be hurt and pricked over and over again are still there.

 

I was at that point again. I admitted to myself that I loved him, and that my emotional masochism is as essential to my identity as my fingerprints are. I don’t know why it started pressing down on me with such urgency, this need to proclaim all deep and sacred feelings within me to him.  Two weeks I existed in a panicked state---nervous, uncertain and knowing that what I was doing would lead to rejection, fear and pain and that I wanted to feel all of those things for him and with him. No, of course love doesn’t hurt for most people—most have no desire for that---but it is not love for me unless it does hurt.

 

Each day I intended to say those simple words, and each day I was silent.

 

My relationship to him is Owner/property. I live in his home and we are with each other most of the day. I ask permission to do most things. We share many interests and have great fun together. We touch. I am a masochist, he is sadistic. I serve him, take care of him, cook, clean, run his errands and do whatever else is required of me. He allows me to have a point of view (in fact encourages lively political debate which is immensely enjoyable to me) and he expects me to make certain decisions but he has the final word and I obey him.

 

I met him through collarme.com (yes it is quite shocking to me that I could actually find a relationship through that website.). We talked for a few days last June and seemed to hit it off, then lost contact for months. Then he emailed me in the fall to ask what happened, and I responded and we spent several months getting to know each other again. Eventually he told me I belonged to him, that I was his possession, his property, he told me that would be my position in his life. I didn’t have to accept it. I had the ability to shut him out if I chose to, and I didn’t. I knew how he felt about property; I knew something of his history, his desires.  I know there are nicer more gentle modes of existence but I wanted him and everything that came with him.

 

So last night I ate my burger and stared at the wall, then we played a game. I started falling asleep and felt frustrated that I couldn’t tell him dead sober that I loved him, and I couldn’t tell him after some nice White Russians that I loved him, that I was completely, hopeless, an emotional whack job, neurotic, strange and deserving of much pain and suffering. I told him that my life sucked, that it was full of misery and pain. He asked me if that meant I wasn’t happy here, I said no, and he sat in my lap and mocked me.

 

My eyes were closing and the words were there, whispered, but he couldn’t hear it over the air conditioner. I heard him say something about bed and I insisted I was fine. His hand grabbed my hair and he pulled me into his bedroom and it was dark and I’m not sure why I was there but I was lying on the bed and he was so close to me. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his beard, I could feel his breath. I hate pain, which is why I crave it. I usually need to see my tormentor’s face, to see his delight and his desire and viciousness in beating me. I couldn’t see it too well last night, I could just feel the punches, but I didn’t need to see it, I just felt it this time. And I felt myself, not in “subspace” but I felt so present in myself and with him, like reality had been turned up ten notches. He always asks me if I want more when he’s hurting me, and yes I do.

 

Something happened and I started to, not cry really, but I raised my voice, saying things to him. I begged him and he refused my request. I kept saying words, ones that were meaningless and stumbling and he kept punching me and I wanted to kiss his neck.

 

I told him I loved him. I told him I needed to be hurt emotionally, that I have loved him for a long time. I told him I loved him and I knew it would hurt me. He said some things that I knew he would say and I didn’t feel fear or rejection. I felt yearning and wanting, but no fear, no rejection, although his words would be a rejection to most. I told him I loved him and that I wanted to worship him, that I needed him.

 

All of my scraps and emotions were in that dark room, in front of him. And he seemed to understand the ugly and the illogical and the sticky in me. I feel that understanding centering me, calming me, that I can be weird and freaky and me and I feel… That is it. I feel, and I told him that last night.




6/21/2010 12:49:37 PM
I have an intense need to be hurt. This is a hurt that goes deeper than a slap or a kick or a punch, although those things have their place in my life. This is my need to suffer inside my heart and mind, to feel sad, frightened, vulnerable and afraid. This is my need to always be wanting and still missing that which I think I want. This is my need to covet and chase and never be quite satisfied. This is my need to be rejected in some way, and feel the humiliation, fear and dejection that accompanies it.

 


I don’t know that I necessarily made conscious choices before I realized that I was seeking these things out. I became confused and angry; sometimes I still am, by my choices. I need to love, adore and worship and be hurt by that love basically. I need to be treated like an object, used, abused and put in the corner. I need to serve, but I don’t have the mentality of some sweet little slave serving her master while I do it. Sometimes it makes me feel content to spend a long time making a meal or cleaning a floor or doing the laundry; sometimes I am in a bad mood and want to throw the pan of eggs against a wall.

 


I can be intensely emotional but I’ve learned to control it, to keep it closed away at the appropriate time so that I can go along in life without too much trouble. I think wanting what are generally considered negative experiences has made me feel somewhat separated from other people. I am aware of my own past and actually went into therapy to deal with that history. I came out of it accepting the parts of myself that are contradictory and strange. I reached the conclusion that as long as I was living a functional life and getting fulfillment from what I wanted and needed and not hurting others in the process I was doing okay.

 


Still I feel like I’m balancing on a porcelain tea cup at times. I have all of these opposite angles in me—to be secure, to be insecure, to be respected, to not be respected, to be ridiculed and teased, to have my insecurities mocked and used against me, to make nice dinners, to throw cutlery through the windows when I’m annoyed, to be beaten and bruised, to spend hours just kissing, to be happy, to be sad, to love, be loved, not be loved, rejected, wanted, used, treated as inferior, and to be, well to be myself.

 

Maybe someday I’ll understand it.


6/10/2010 6:16:14 PM
Elise, Part 1

NB: This is fiction and probably not "erotic" for anyone who isn't interested in humiliation, degredation and the like...


She didn’t know why she walked up that cracked concrete path or stood at the weed choked front door. The neighborhood seemed nice enough and the heat made her cotton shirt sticky; it clung to her stomach. She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes and looked into the obnoxiously blue sky. There was still time for a quick retreat. She could hear the sing song mocking in her own head, “You idiot, you’ve come this far and you’re running away already?”

 

She wanted to slap that voice, bruise it. Foot steps approached and her stomach muscles clenched. The thick wood door swung inwards. She stopped breathing, expecting what? She envisioned a terrible monstrous creature dwelling within this home. Instead a human fleshly being opened the door. He was tall and thin with sandy blond hair and light gray eyes. He didn’t scowl or seem angry or mysterious or dangerous, just very…well ordinary. She couldn’t imagine violence in his eyes, or even contemplate herself naked before him. Why did that thought pop into her head first? “You’re such a whore. You’re a deeper person than that need. Imagine reading the newspaper with him”. It didn’t work.

 

She started to edge away; the normalcy of this man frightened her more than any conjured monstrosity.

 

“Um you know I uhh I think I’m in the wrong place” she stammered. He reached out to touch her arm, “Elise? Is that you?” She wished that the sky wasn’t so blue.

 

“Uh yeah. I’m Elise. You must be uh like John.”  He only had her fingers on her arm in a comforting gesture but she felt them penetrating something inside her. “Yes I’m John. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I can barely believe you’re here.” She couldn’t look at him. “Yeah I can’t believe it either. But you know, maybe it is just not the right----“He grabbed her upper arm. He wrapped his fingers around it and led her inside the house. Elise stumbled a bit, “Hey maybe we could just get a cup of coffee before we umm go in there”

 

“Why do you want to do that Elise? You have nothing to worry about. I’m just a normal guy. “

 

She mumbled, “Um well you’re a strange, well not strange since I did talk to you for months but I’m tired and yeah I’m freaked out by the, um realness of this “.

 

“No Elise, you’re afraid.” She stiffened. “I’m just fine. Please take your fingers off me.” He laughed, “No I won’t take them off you. Regretting your decision yet? Realize dear that I find your nervousness endearing. It makes everything much more fun.” She didn’t understand this. He released her arm and patted her gently on the head. Elise was in a large tidy living room. The furniture was angular and brown and arranged tidily around a large entertainment center. “Nice place” she said to him. He pushed against her back with both of his hands. She didn’t know how much she liked him but his hands on her traced paths inside her. He pushed her again, she stumbled onto a couch. “Sit down Elise”. She sat down on the couch nervously, trying to block out that voice but it overpowered her reason and apprehension. “Good girl” he said, she tensed. What the hell was wrong with her? She wanted this, yearned for it and rubbed herself practically raw imagining it all those years. The jagged reality made less sense.

 

“Why are you here Elise” She stuttered. “Uh well we’ve had such good conversations, so I really wanted to meet you.” She knew how utterly pathetic she sounded; she wanted him to kick her in the mouth. “Really, so my conversational skills drove you to my front stoop? “

 

“You know why I’m here. I want to build a err relationship embodying everything that I----“Elise was interrupted by his laughter. “You sound so polite and intellectual. I connect with you on that level. But I also want to hurt you.” She stared at a wall, not looking at him.

 

He stroked her arm, brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. He kissed her lower lip next, his mouth devouring it; she could feel his tongue and his breath and the roughness of his face. He wouldn’t give; his teeth grabbed the skin of her lip and bit down hard. Elise let out a grunt and tried to pull away but he would not release her. She could feel tears at the corner of her eyes. This stung and she could feel the tissue tearing and bleeding. “Lick it up cunt.” She couldn’t be sure if she had heard him correctly. The word was crisp and clear and direct. She licked the blood from her own lips and his.

 

He released her arms and stared at her, frowning slightly.. Her clothes were wrinkled, she felt sweaty and out of place, confused about the order of the universe. His gaze made her feel inadequate, that every part of her was wrong. She hated the silence because she could read the criticism in his eyes; she wanted to hear it, to know how inadequate and displeasing she was, she needed to feel those verbal pricks jammed into her skin. She could leave now, like she wanted to do 10 minutes ago. But she liked the taste of blood on her tongue and she wanted to know what his eyes looked like when he hurt her. She wanted to be reduced by him to..to…well she didn’t know, So she didn’t move.

 

“Stand up.” Both of them stood and he cupped her face in his hands. In one jerking motion he grabbed her head and slammed it into the nearest wall. Not expecting this she let out a yell. He slammed her head again, “Hurt? Want me to stop?”

 

“No, don’t stop” she mumbled.

 

He slammed her head a third time then released his grip on her. She stumbled and fell against the wall, collapsing to the ground. She felt his shoe in her face and leaned over it, licking the tops of it, the laces, and the toe area and underneath. She gagged slightly on the dirt. She felt his hands in her hair again. Then she felt the blow, his foot kicked her in the face. Once, twice, three times. The fingers dug into her, leaving marks. “Bend over now and pull down your pants,” he whispered into her ear. She said, “I don’t know---“

 

“Shut up and do it.”

 

“More”. She bent further over. She felt his cock in her ass; it wasn’t the excruciating pain she had feared. She relaxed, realizing her worry was irrational. Then she felt a ripping, burning pain and she screamed, “Ouch”. What was this? She could feel him shoving himself into her. She couldn’t help but whimper as she felt her lower half burning and opening to him. He pushed his cock further into her and she felt dislocated towards the center of that pain. She couldn’t focus on anything, and now she was telling him she wanted to be hurt and fucked and owned by him. He was brutal, grasping the flesh of her hips, twisting it and Elise could feel him, the bumps and ridges, the sweat, his body weight pressing against her.

 

He took one hand off her hip and pulled her backward so she was almost sitting against him, very awkwardly, she felt his cock slipping out of her ass. He put her hand on her throat and began squeezing it. She couldn’t breathe, felt like she was in a box, and panicked, trying to wriggle free, trying to scream. He released her throat and slapped her hard in the head. “Don’t struggle.” She couldn’t say anything. “You haven’t thanked me for fucking you yet whore. I hope you’re grateful, I can’t imagine anyone else would really want to.” His words were so casual..so..mean….She was sitting here with him and his cock was up her ass and…”What do you mean?” she whispered. “Are you going to cry now bitch? That might actually help me get off. You want that don’t you?”

 

“Yes I do want that. “

 

He hit her in the head with his fist closed, she tried to shield herself and he grabbed her arms, twisting them around her back, it burned. He pushed her into the couch, she gasped and coughed and felt his hand shoving her head into the cushion. “Now bitch. I don’t want to look at your ugly face when I do this. Understand?” She tried to mumble. “I can’t hear you bitch, understand?” She screamed that she did. She felt his cock forcing its way back into her ass, felt as if he was shoving with as much force as possible the whole length of himself into her, not caring about her comfort. She could barely breathe and now she cried. She could feel him shaking slightly; feel his warmth and his hands.

 

“I hope you’re grateful bitch. You’re so repulsive to me that I can barely stand to fuck you while looking at you. Tell me how grateful you are.”

 

She didn’t say anything, but felt the stinging in her stomach, felt him picking apart her carefully constructed façade, feeling hot and worthless and like she needed nothing more than for him to stomp on her and break her heart so she could sauté in her own misery.

 

“I---I---I’m grateful you would umm fuck someone so worthless and ugly as me,” she stumbled slightly on the words, feeling ugly, feeling possessed by them.

 

“Don’t get used to this. Ugly fat whores like you don’t deserve to be fucked and most likely you won’t be very much.”

 

“Then why now?”

 

“Because you belong to me.”

 

“But I didn’t agree----“

 

“You agreed to it a long time ago. Now shut up.”


6/7/2010 5:37:09 PM

looking at your face in a dead heat
your eyes fractured space
i don't know words but roads


   
and blizzards almost kept me
from the place
where do the cracks in the floor go now?



hand sliding across warm concaves
if i drink tea in my sleep may i kiss
every rough edge you possess?



Green veiny chicken breast in my throat
the waste of formers and flames and self
pinching my foot
old friend again i can't believe
jumps rope with me



i strangled it mistakenly?



the thud and whistle too delicate to ignore
better than blades and ice cream



Something more with welcome mats
and table cloths before the dinner bell
glued with doubt and sealed with me



Something less reduced skim milk
clotted heavy heaves
i want the desperate smudged
and dirty plea
to see the insects crawling down the way



rummage through that tight lit space
and spill it all on me
i want its taste



the violence of this worship
I will fling
in front of you



spilling through your finger tips
your breath spitting on me
i want it all



 the lesser, greater, sideways sigh
the tea cup and the gutted innards
wrapped in pretty books and laughter



precipice in your voice
my hands guts and tears



in time.


5/19/2010 12:03:22 PM

So I am now living with the man. It is strange to be here, it is a totally different environment in terms of population, geography and climate. It is strange to be in this position, serving someone as their slave/property/piece of meat. I feel uncertain at times. This is what I wanted and felt that I needed in my life and I still feel that way, but I'm walking around with a blindfold on, feeling my way along the walls and stumbling into foot deep puddles now and then. I haven't done this whole cooking/cleaning/serving bit for someone other than myself in a long time and I think I am expecting so much out of myself, on the level of Martha Stewart. Well that hasn't happened but I'm striving for a level of perfection that is right for this relationship.

 

I relocated myself over 2,000 miles to do this. I put aside some of my cautiousness and threw myself out there and I don't regret it at all. The physical aspect of it is much easier though than throwing myself emotionally into this. I am quiet. I can sit for hours in silence. It can be difficult for me to express emotions, to even say, I feel like I am home and I feel like I don't want to leave your side and I feel like I want to kiss your feet, lick the insides of your heels and feel you pressing down on me, inside me.

 

Not everything he has had asked me to do or wanted me to do have been things I have enjoyed. Of course whether I enjoy some of these things is beyond the point, it is what he wants and obeying him is what I want and need to do.

 

In obeying him and serving him I am finding myself unable to remain somewhat detached and removed. I feel very close to him, I am thinking about him while I work and while I cook and when I go out and do errands. By my very nature I become emotionally attached and I am growing emotionally attached to him. I am somewhat afraid of this, somewhat deliriously happy about this. I am afraid because of course with emotional attachment comes the possibility of being hurt, scared, confused, annoyed and everything else. It also comes with it intimacy and closeness and happiness. Emotions can be smudgy and abstract.

 

But I don't want to be anywhere else.


1/4/2010 9:07:15 PM
My crumbly ground is

Hamburger and dreams

F5 reminds me of your voice static

 

Negate the pronouns and adverbs

There is no delicacy

A girl in glasses discussing

Poetry, politics and fruit

 

I require

A strange atlas because

I travel in rectangles

Fluttering my thought muscles

In your directions which

Fly down into the brain stem

 

My tongue remembers your words

Polite and precise, the timbre song

 

Biting into them by dirty day

The coffee grinds dish soap

Dead news and your hands

I recall them often for never seeing them

 

Perforated in sharp cheddar lucidity

Northern sensibility whispers be

The snowy path and I follow

Dry and persistent, a parcel of

Raspberry vinegar soaked in books

 



6/29/2009 10:33:04 AM
I thought I would never ever get a chance to say this again. If you have not observed the brilliance of Mr. Adam Lambert's vocal abilities Fox is replaying this years Michael Jackson themed top 13 episode this evening at 8:00 PM EST. I fell in love with the gorgeous and unbelievable voice of Adam Lambert on Michael Jackson Night. I can't really say that I remember much about the the other performers. There is only Adam. Before Adam.During Adam.After Adam. My  unreasonable obsessed screams of joy as he curls his lip, raises his eyebrow and owns that stage fill my living room.

I have purchased tickets to go to the American Idols Live concert in August. I would never in a thousand years buy tickets for this event except for the fact that I will be able to see Adam in the flesh. He is performing four songs and one duet, including a David Bowie medley, "Starlight" by Muse and of course his rendition of "Mad World".

I will be armed with my copy of Adam's Rolling Stone cover. I am determined to get it autographed. I would like to be able to frame and mount it on my wall. Getting his autograph will probably be quite challenging but I'm going to try my best. If I do not succeed I will be forever carrying that copy of RS in a folder in a bag big enough to accommodate it,you never know when he might turn up! ;) Of course I could also just keep buying American Idol Concert Tickets and/or wait until he goes on his sold out world tour in a year or two.

6/28/2009 10:56:16 PM
Billy Mays I cleaned my bedroom furniture with Orange Glo in your honor this evening.

RIP.

6/26/2009 3:02:53 PM

Thriller

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtyJbIO8

 

Beat It

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqxo1SKB0z8

 

Billie Jean

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VASYhabHkM

 

Human Nature

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pjzer9dUWmg

 

P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdV7Kb1RG8Y

 

The Lady In My Life

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PJb7NlcijU

 

Bad

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACPsfcsg4ZE

 

The Way You Make Me Feel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJrUa-zKeIc

 

Liberian Girl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70VrvkfjJjg&feature=related

 

Rock With You

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hK3Y1Ehv9c

 

Man In The Mirror

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9lq8oaK5Mw

 

Dirty Diana

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Hg-IRZk4D0

 

Smooth Criminal

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex30DYwQlHU

 

In The Closet

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cupnsUDyjuA

 

Black Or White

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZI9OYMRwN1Q

 

Who Is It

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjvoVpOrlbM&feature=related

 

Give In To Me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-CcqOe9WWU

 

Dangerous

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t7vmuDpdqI

 

Scream

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNl2Pm9-7Vk

 

They Don’t Care About Us

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvWMLAWrEjU

 

Stranger In Moscow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfZz-q8CRLE

 

Earth Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8muMo0fw_M

 

Unbreakable

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3sYg8fhNoI


RIP.


6/15/2009 7:02:11 PM
Titles, titles like tiles.

I don't even call most people by their given names when addressing them, let alone stick an extra word or two before or after.

I am not disparaging those people who incorporate the use of titles into their power exchange dynamic and or use them as a signifier in their own communities. Wonderful stuff, everyone doing this thing in a way that sends tingles up the leg.

My breath does not quicken nor do my lashes flutter demurely at the thought of calling a dominant person "Sir" or "Master" or "Lord" or "Mistress".

When I am slaving away for an evil corporation selling three 100 percent cotton jerseys for the price of one, I smile politely and address those appearing to be my elders as "Sir" or "Ma'am". That is the only time in my life I have used such a title, to enrich my employers, get in their good graces and receive my 10 cents per year raise. Ah the memories.

I am polite to everyone I encounter unless they commit some heinous act.Through my actions I show my respect towards those I do actually respect. Words can be inadequate flimsy devices when trying to show respect, reverence, admiration or any sort of positive emotion towards another human being. If I respect someone, I do things like listen carefully to what they are saying, give thoughtful replies, abide by their rules, care for their property as if it were my own, do things for them to make their lives easier, surprise them with a joke, an anecdote, a gift or a visit and try to make a tiny part of their day nicer.

The hidden (or not so) theme in the preceding paragraphs is that addressing someone by an honorific is not the way I revere or show respect for an individual, whether in the kink community or the rest of the world. Honorifics are as important to me as becoming fluent in Esperanto.

Those I have encountered in a non pixilated form seem surprisingly down to earth and willing to accept my use of their scene name sans an honorific or merely their first name. No one at a munch has ever demanded I address them as Lord Irondick, and for that I am grateful.

I addressed my former dominant partner by a special name. Where most would say "Master", I used this special name. Initially there was an attempt to incorporate the traditional "Master" and "Sir" into our relationship.Those titles ring hollow to me, and make me feel somewhat insincere and artificial. I explained my feelings towards my dominant partner. I used a name that had meaning for us both; it came about naturally over time. He also had a name for me, in place of the usual "slave", "slut", "sub". It worked quite well. I used this name, and when I addressed him this way it felt sincere, it expressed my respect for him, and it felt right for both of us.
 
From a masochistic perspective forcing me to address someone as "Sir" or "Master" is a nice way to psychologically and mentally torture me, as it makes me feel like quite the doofus and rather uncomfortable.I totally endorse this use of honorifics.












6/14/2009 12:31:25 AM

David Boies and Ted Olson, seemingly at opposite ends of the political spectrum, are working together on this issue and have filed a lawsuit in San Francisco. I have to admit this is exciting news to me. I believe that it is going to take court challenges to overturn these discriminatory laws banning gay marriage. Do I believe this should or will happen now? I don’t know. Here is my rough transcription of an interview conducted by Larry King with Olson and Boies.

 

Larry King: With us tonight are a couple of one time adversaries, Ted Olson, my old friend, former solicitor general and David Boies. They were on the opposing sides of the 2000 presidential recount case that decided the election. These two legal powerhouses are now joined forces challenging Proposition 8 in federal court. The filing is on behalf of two same sex couples who wish to marry. They’re also seeking an injunction against Proposition 8 until this case is resolved.

 

Larry King: Thank you both for coming. It’s good to see you again. Ted, nice being with you.

 

Ted Olson: Larry it’s great to be here.

 

Larry King: …former solicitor general. Alright its not so surprising David Boies is (?) regarded in the liberal area. What took you to this?

 

Ted Olson: Well we don’t think, both David and I feel the same way about this. This is not a liberal or a conservative issue. This has to do with human decency, human rights and equality under the law. For too long in this country gays and lesbians have been discriminated against and treated unfairly. Both David and I feel it’s wrong, that they should be permitted to have the same rights as other people have in this country and the right to marriage is one of the most fundamental rights our constitution protects.

 

Larry King: David, what about the argument that the public saw otherwise?

 

David Boies: You wouldn’t need a constitution if all you had to do was look at election results. The whole point of a constitution is to guarantee certain fundamental rights to all Americans. And that’s what the constitution guarantees. That’s what the courts are there to guarantee. And that’s why we’re bringing this lawsuit. Because there is, as Ted says, no more fundamental right than the right to marry the person that you love.

 

Larry King: This was the same court Ted that said it was unconstitutional, now says it’s ok because the public voted on it. Are they contradictory?

 

Ted Olson: No, well I think to give respect to the California Supreme Court they initially said that the California Constitution protected the equal rights to marry of all citizens. Then the California citizens put on the ballot an amendment to the constitution that said a marriage shall be between a man and a woman. All the California Supreme Court said is that that constitutional amendment could stand. So that as a matter of California constitutional law marriage had to be between a man and a woman. That case did not consider the federal constitutional rights, the rights of the individual under the national constitution.

 

Larry King: Why not?

 

Ted Olson: Because the parties that brought the case did not mention the federal constitutional questions. They decided for tactical reasons not to bring up those constitutional issues which we have brought in this lawsuit.

 

Larry King: So that was a mistake, in your opinion?

 

Ted Olson: Well, in our opinion, we think that these individuals lose the right to marry. And we think the federal constitution will protect that right.

 

Larry King: David, how about the courts saying all those who got married, that’s ok?

 

David Boies: Well I think that demonstrates the lack of equal protection that currently exists in California. You had 18,000 lesbian and gay couples that are married. And you have everybody else who is prohibited from getting married. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair. What you need to have, is you need to have equality under the law. It makes no sense to say we’re going to limit love to a certain class of people.

 

Larry King: In your argument in the presidential thing, one of the arguments was, why was the federal government involved in this, it’s a state matter. What about this Ted? Is this a state matter and not a federal matter?

 

Ted Olson: We demonstrated, not withstanding the arguments David Boies ably made, it was the right thing for the United States Supreme Court to consider the issues involving a federal presidential election…In this case the constitution, as David said, we don’t put your rights under the constitution to a vote. This is something that the United States Supreme Court has always been willing to do, to protect individual rights from those who would take them away. The Supreme Court already held a number of years ago that Virginia statute for example, that prohibited interracial marriage was unconstitutional.

 

Larry King: Now what about this injunction against it David how’s that going to work?

 

David Boies: Well if you have an unconstitutional statute that’s preventing people from getting married the remedy that you have is for the court to enjoin (?) in that statute. To say in effect to the state of California, “No, you can’t deprive these people of their rights”. And as Ted says for forty two years the United States Supreme Court has held that marriage is a basic human right that’s guaranteed under the constitution. And that states cannot discriminate in terms of who they allow to marry and who they don’t allow to marry.

 

Larry King: You have Ted, argued before the court probably more than any other living person, both as a defending lawyer and as solicitor general …

 

Ted Olson: Well not quite…

 

Larry King: Ok, not quite. Will this court hear it?

 

Ted Olson: We believe that it will. Because it involves the fundamental rights of so many people. The California Supreme Court didn’t get to this issue. This is now the federal courts responsibility to consider whether individuals in California who want to get married…the plaintiffs in this case have lived together, the individuals that we are representing have lived together collectively eight years in one instance, seven years in another. They have a right to the same privileges that you and I have.

 

Larry King: How David did they get to hire both of you?

 

David Boies: Well, Ted has been involved in this longer than I have. And he asked me to join him in this and I readily agreed. Because I both we both believe and we both recognize that this is a critical civil rights issue. It’s important not only to gay and lesbian couples who want to marry. It’s important to the entire community. Equal protection and due process are deeply imbedded in our culture. They’re deeply imbedded in our soul. This is what we believe as a people. And when you begin to ration that, to begin to restrict it, when you begin to discriminate against any class of people in our society, we are all diminished for it. So I think this is a critical piece of judicial litigation. I think this is something that Ted and I both believe is something very important to get resolved.

 

Ted Olson: We wanted to send a message Larry to the American people and to the courts that this isn’t a Republican or Democrat issue. It’s not a liberal or conservative issue. The right of individuals committed to one another to live in a stable committed loving relationship is something that we should all respect and be for.

 

Larry King: Will they hear it quickly David?

 

David Boies: I think they will. This is not a issue that has a lot of factual issues. You don’t have to take a lot of depositions, have a lot of document discovery. This raises some basic legal issues that I think the courts will address quite quickly.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEx_aPBZtsE

If you have made it to the end of this entry I applaud you. Here is your preview. Upcoming entries will deal with The Gossip and Beth Ditto, titles (yes an actual bdsm topic !) and my continued worship of Dark Lord Adam Lambert.


6/14/2009 12:23:44 AM

My entry about gay marriage has generated many emails, mostly nice ones. I appreciate your opinions even if they do not coincide with my own. I was going to write an entirely fresh entry, and ended up writing it as a response to an email. Or maybe that is just my lazy excuse for not writing another seven paragraphs about this topic.I have replicated the part of my response that is relevant to the topic.

More on Gay Marriage and Abortion

(In a preceding email I expressed my belief that discriminatory gay marriage laws would need to be struck down by the Supreme Court. The example of Roe v Wade was used as an example of what happens when perhaps a social change is encoded in law before its time. I have deleted anything not related to my own response.)

It is very possible with the current justices that we have we won’t win a favorable ruling. I don’t know if this means we shouldn’t try. A great deal can also change in eight years. Some may retire or no longer be able to serve. You also don’t know that one of the more moderate ones could side with the liberal justices. It seems to me that the Civil Rights movement and the signing of the Civil Rights Act in 1964 did more damage to the Democratic Party than Roe v Wade. It’s my understanding that most of the racist Democrats changed over to the Republican Party. Yes, legalized abortion threw tinder on that fire. But the vast social changes that swept the country from the 50’s through the 70’s seem to have done more to drive people into the Republican Party as a whole than just abortion. And yes some of those decisions were the results of Supreme Court rulings. We just don’t know what would have happened in ten years if these rulings were not made.

If you are a woman in need of an abortion ten years might just be too long. It took women about all of human history (and many still do not have them in parts of the world) to achieve the same legal and political rights as men. I think after a really long time people do tend to be impatient when they are systematically denied their rights. It is unfortunate that the Democratic Party suffered but someone had to take a stand on these issues. I am a Democrat but don’t have much faith in the leadership to stand for civil rights issues until they are unmercifully pushed towards it, which I think happened in the case of women gaining the vote, federal action taken against Jim Crow laws and segregation and abortion.

The Republicans don’t have some sort of special moral high ground but I think they just use the things that happened midcentury and not just abortion to justify their existence. If you blame the civil rights movement and feminism for some sort of social disintegration of the United States you will usually be called a racist idiot and most deservedly. Republicans just use cloaked language but underneath it there are many of them who are saying this very thing in order to rally fundamentalist right wingers.

I have a problem with the idea that abortion needed to be decided state by state. What if it was never legalized in West Virginia or Missouri or Mississippi? What happens to those women? The ones who are wealthy can afford to travel to another state to do it. Those who are economically disadvantaged are screwed.

As to DOMA I am annoyed at Obama over this. Yup DOMA is an abomination. He stated he wanted to repeal this law. I’m not demanding he do it this minute, I understand how much he has to deal with. There was an interesting interview in the Advocate with Professor Tribe where he states that he wants this case to evaporate into the ether because it is a weak case and there needs to be a stronger one to challenge it. He mentions a case in Massachusetts. http://www.advocate.com/news_detail_ektid90000.asp

Some interesting snippets from this article:

Even though I personally believe that DOMA is unconstitutional, I think that this particular lawsuit is very vulnerable; it’s not anywhere near as strong as the one that was brought in the federal district court in Massachusetts [a suit filed by Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders].”

“What’s strong about the Massachusetts case is that these are concrete situations of people who are legally married under the laws of states like Massachusetts or Vermont, and who are being discriminated against by the federal government with respect to federal benefits simply because they are same-sex couples. There’s no other difference between them and other couples in that state, and the court could agree with that without accepting any of the broader theories advanced in the [Smelt] lawsuit in the central district of California, which is basically a bet-the-farm lawsuit that almost dares a conservative Supreme Court to slap it down.”

“There certainly are cases where the government declines to defend the law, but those are few and far between. If congress were to pass a law that flew directly in the face of a binding Supreme Court precedent -- a law outlawing early-term abortion or a law providing for "separate but equal" schools -- the obligation of the Justice Department to the Constitution would trump its obligation to defend the laws of congress.

But DOMA is in a gray area where there are experts like me, who think it’s unconstitutional, and you can find experts who hold the opposite view, and it’s certainly not a slam-dunk.

There are ways for the president to get rid of DOMA. He can advocate for its repeal, he can eventually urge the solicitor general to join in a more surgical attack, but he certainly isn’t obliged to go along with every plaintiff who brings a lawsuit.”

I am willing to be patient and to buy into this line of reasoning. But if we are at the same place in four years I will be seriously disappointed. John Aravosis at Americablog gives a good analysis of the brief from an oppositional point of view, and some aspects of the brief he discusses disturb me because they seem to be the sort of arguments a homophobic Republican would use. http://www.americablog.com/2009/06/obama-justice-department-defends-doma.html

 Obama stated upfront he was not in favor of gay marriage. I appreciated that honesty. But he did say he wanted to repeal DOMA.I really do hope he deals with this issue in his first term. I get tired of the Democrats making promises to the LGBT community and then doing nothing when we donate our money, resources and energy to political campaigns.

I’m not someone who gets angry at the Democrats just because they don’t do things exactly as I want them to. Yeah I don’t want them to be thrown out of power. Yes it is possible that if the court overturns DOMA the Democrats could lose their majority in an election. But what is the point of having a majority if you are not going to use it to do beneficial things for the country? Is the point of gaining power just to hold onto that power for as long as possible?

I can see that there is more than one group that needs help. That is why I’m willing to be patient for now. I don’t believe voting third party or getting steamed and just whining is the solution. Unfortunately I do see some of the more liberal Democrats doing this right now over this issue, decisions regarding the release of the Abu Ghraib photos, military tribunals etc.

I do think there needs to be some more state victories before bringing a challenge before the Supreme Court. There also needs to be more protest and visibility. Part of it is PR. You need to convince the regular people ( I realize this stands out like a sore thumb. By regular I mean those who are considered more "mainstream", the white christian straight American. I know there are LGBT who fall into this category except for the straight part.)that you are no stranger, alien or different than they are, yet are being denied basic rights. You need to embarrass the politicians into doing the right thing and more legal victories. Ultimately though I think it will come down to the Supreme Court. Maybe not now and maybe not in the next years but I hope it is before I am old and gray.







 


5/28/2009 1:44:48 AM

Gay Marriage.

I started to think a few days ago that I should write a blog full of big words with footnotes and references on this issue. Whenever I am passionate about something I always want to write beefy long arguments formatted in the Chicago style. It is a kink of mine. That is not going to happen today. My guts are full into this issue and I'd rather speak from my (semi-informed) guts than sit here spinning a polite academic argument.

It is wrong that two people of the same gender cannot legally marry each other in most states in this country. It is wrong that a religion based on the text of a thousands year old society should be the basis for our laws. If one chooses to have faith in organized religion please don't try to enforce the moral codes promoted in your religion on society as a whole.

Christianity did not emerge in a vacuum. The fact that it is closely related to Judaism is the most obvious example.

Many of the myths found in the bible can be found in the earlier texts of ancient Middle Eastern societies like Sumeria, Babylonia, and Assyria, Egypt etc... Laws and systems of morality existed before Christianity existed.” We are a nation founded upon Christian principles" is one of those common talking points people use to justify their prejudices and desire to see religious dogma codified into law. We might as well say that our country is based on Hammurabi’s Code. He existed thousands of years before Christianity and had rules against stealing and killing people too. Thanks Hammurabi. I doubt he was the first one to think these ones up. Christianity is not necessarily some totally unique and pure religion, it is not some ahistorical philosophy, it is connected to the cultural and social milieu it emerged from.

Do not murder, do not steal, and do not have sex with your neighbor's wife are common moral admonishments. Using logic one can easily come to the conclusion these basic rules were thought to prevent total social anarchy. Examining the historical record of course we know these are vague ideals and human beings violate their own rules over and over again.

 

This is why I believe many of the right wing fundamentalist Christians in this world have foolish and prejudiced beliefs. These beliefs extend to “Homosexuality is a sin.”

 

If “God” exists, why would he give man the ability to love one another regardless of gender and then call that dirty and sinful? The only sin here is the people interpreting a sacred text in a hateful and ignorant manner.

 

Christian texts have been used in this country to justify hatred, prejudice and racism. It must end. One can take isolated sentences out of any text, remove its historical background, its contextual meaning and use it as a weapon of hate. Yet in telling all of us how bad we are have these Christians missed this part of their bible lesson?

 

“Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, with never a thought for the plank in your own? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye, ‘when you are blind to the plank in your own? You hypocrite! First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s.” Luke Chapter 6, Verses 41-42.

 

This is not to say that all Christians are small minded and intolerant. I know personally that this is not true. But it seems that the loudest voices in opposition to gay marriage are certain Christian denominations.

 

We have to keep speaking out and working for fair and equitable laws in our society. We must stop the hate and violence. I am praying that by the time I have grown children these prejudiced laws will no longer exist and two people can marry each other no matter what their biological gender may be.


5/24/2009 7:04:58 PM
I received this email in response to my Adam Lambert blog.

"

Ignorant political and social commentary probably won't help you find a Master

At least one who is intelligent, that is.

Who cares who won American Idol?  If Mr. Lambert is so good, he will get a record deal, and that is whole point.

Think a little bit."

You know, life does not need to be totally serious 24/7.I love cheesy pop culture stuff as much as I love books and politics and all that other jazz.It is all me, and it is a fun way for me to decompress.So, thank you for the laugh, Mr.-I'm-an-Uber-True-Dom-Let's-Never-Laugh-Or-Smile-Again-And-I-Forgot-The-Article-Before-The-Word-"Whole" guy.  

If someone hates that I have opinions which I write down, I doubt they will very much like hearing them coming from my mouth in person.  ;)


5/23/2009 2:14:38 PM
My rock star and fantasy lover/vampire/Dark Lord of the night/black leather pants clad-nail polish-makeup wearing orgasmically divine Adam Lambert did not win American Idol. I spent a few hours grieving over this, howling at the moon and tearing out my hair by the root.I am impatient for his album and world tour.Why didn't he win?

There are millions of sincere Kris Allen fans who genuinely enjoy his music.Those people voted their hearts out for him.

Many Danny Gokey fans have musical tastes that are similar to Kris's style.When Danny Gokey was eliminated those fans migrated to Kris for the most part.

Some Danny Gokey fans saw Gokey as their "Christian Idol".Kris is a Christian, these voters believed that Kris was the moral and proper role model. Many have heatedly argued that it played no part in the results. I believe those people are naive or in denial.

There was enough of a minority of these sorts of voters to push Kris over the top. If you are on Twitter, you can find out interesting little tidbits of information. Tuesday night Gokey's Pastor Rolex twittered,"Everyone who voted for @dannygokey should vote for Kris Allen! We need a believer to represent! Kris is an awesome young man from a great..." Here is a beautiful example of this mentality, and from the aforementioned Pastor of the eliminated Danny Gokey.

A small minority of homophobes voted for Kris because of Adam's perceived sexuality.I am NOT saying Kris fans are homophobes.I believe that most of them are not.My job involves reading political and pop culture commentary submitted by netizens.There is so much crap that never sees the light of day on a website (and these are usually the same ones screaming "censorship") because it is threatening,vicious and vile. I have seen both published and unpublished comments by homophobes and haters towards Mr. Lambert.
 
More people that watch American Idol and actually vote preferred Kris, for all of the reasons I mentioned above.I texted and voted with three phone lines for four hours along with millions of other glamberts, lambskanks and Adam bombs.It just wasn't enough when all of those other factors came into play.

I cannot believe that peope are bitching that Adam was overpraised and overpimped.Adam deserved every damn praise he ever received on that show.The man has a phenomenal voice.His range is crazy.I love his wails and his scream, they are sounds of ecstasy and joy in my opinion. When he does it, he does it exceptionally WELL, is ON key and hitting crazy magnificent notes.

Those who say Adam only ever screamed, where were you when he sang "Tracks of my Tears" with only a drum and an acoustic guitar? There was not a wail to be heard in that song. Where were you when Adam sang "Mad World"? Where were you when Adam turned "If I Can't Have You" into a ballad? I want to hear Adam sing in every and any way he wants to sing.

I love how Adam Lambert cares about his presentation.People seem to sneer at broadway and theatre, but one of the magical and exciting aspects of watching someone perform live music or going to a show is just the other worldliness of it, the spectacle, feeling like you've seen something bizarre and fantastic and special and moving, and this man has moved me.

Kris seems nice.He is talented and will make safe nice boring top 40 radio songs.I'm not just for the rock opera and glam over the top big voices. I love many kinds of music, including the intimate sort with only an acoustic guitar and a story to tell. This is why I love Bob Dylan and Harry Chapin. John Mayer and Jack Johnson are the best of the contemporary type to do this.But there are so many Jason Mraz, James Morrison and other kinds of clones populating the airwaves. I don't like the musical style of these musicians because they seem insincere (the actual art, not the musicians personally), like they are writing with a team of songwriters and accountants, testing which verses and arrangements will bring in the largest amount of revenue.It just feels like a product churned out to top the charts. Mostly they sound generic and boring.

Kris I wish you luck.You're a good guy.Adam I will be worshipping you and writing many future blogs about you. :P You made me watch American Idol for the first time in seven years and vote because you are just so damn compelling.

Next time I promise to write some profound political treatise or whine about my emotions.

Out.

5/8/2009 6:19:08 PM
Yesterday I met with our group and we walked 4 miles in 1.5 hours. Part  of our route included a huge hill. Since we're going to be hiking up a mountain, we should expect more of these hills. I felt much stronger this week since I've been going out every day at home and walking 1-2 miles. But our group is going to keep pushing forward, going further, climbing more hills and doing more actual hiking in the woods very very soon. So I'm going to try to do 2-3 miles at home every day if possible.

I noticed today that unlike last week my feet were not sore and my legs were not sore. Instead they feel sort of strong and sexy.

5/6/2009 6:07:42 AM
I have the "Whole Lotta Love" fever courtesy of Adam Lambert.

I love Led Zeppelin and I love Adam singing Led Zeppelin. Didn't I tell you how utterly obsessed I am with this man? Yeah . :)

On his profile page on the official AI website Adam lists "Whole Lotta Love" as the song he most wants to sing on Idol. I thought that would never happen since no one has actually sung a Zeppelin song on the show. I was fairly skeptical that they would clear the song for use. I mean, you couldn't even legally download Zeppelin till last year when their catalog finally appeared on Evil Corporatetunes.

A catastrophic dress rehearsal meant that there was no song spoiler courtesy of my various AI blogs. I had no clue about what my rock god would sing. 

When I heard the first notes I literally hit the roof. I screamed and I squealed, "Oh my God! It is Glambert! Led Zeppelin!Adam!Whole Lotta Love!"

And it wasn't censored.

This song is pure fucking lust.Adam was sex during that performance. Brilliant voice. I felt it stripping me. Those eyes. Black eyeliner and eyeshadow never looked hotter. Someone somewhere said, "I feel like he's taking my virginity all over again with those eyes". Yes. The eyes were an integral part of the performance. Those eyes told me, "I'm gonna give you every inch of my love." Yes he sang that line, shockingly! Well, shocking for Idol.

I loved when he stopped, then started, those last few lines

"Way down inside...woman...you need...love."

This man has a beautiful voice. He lingered over each word. Yes, yes, yes.

According to all sources many women welcomed the thought of Adam way down inside after that. I know that I contemplated it quite a bit.He wailed and it was the wail heard round the idol world and the GlambertNation; the ultimate mating call of glam, rock,sex,hot eyes and the yearning of a million women that Adam seemed sincerely interested in giving us some love.

I've turned into a total fantard. Yay.

I voted fifty bajillion times last night. I even successfully recruited someone to vote an hour for him.If America sends him home tonight then America has problems!




5/4/2009 7:46:21 PM

Last week our group "walk" kicked my ass. I didn't stop. I forced my jelly like legs and my throbbing heels the whole 3 miles. Even the 69 year old was far far ahead of me. The interesting aspect of it was that I learned the life story of a few of my walking buddies.

I didn't beat myself up over this ( how sad no beating was involved, any volunteers?)but decided that what I'm doing at home obviously sucks monkey balls and that I have to up the intensity of my own workouts. I'm not going to make it up the mountain if I am a wimp about this.

For two days I was extremely sore and had a blister on each of my baby toes.I forced myself back outside and have been working it out for the past three days. I am very very slow, and very out of shape. It took me much longer to even walk 1 measly mile than an average jane. Tomorrow I'm going to try to go further. One of the leaders of the group has been keeping in touch with me. She gave me some advice that has been helpful.




4/22/2009 11:52:33 AM

I am obsessed with Adam Lambert.

 

There. I’ve said it.

 

I am obsessed with Adam Lambert.

 

I don’t even remember his audition. I remember him during Hollywood Week. I called him Fallout Boy. I didn’t even know his name. He just looked so much like Pete Wentz.

 

For anyone unfamiliar with American Idol, there are the general auditions, followed by a “Hollywood Week” in which a majority of the contestants are weeded out. After Hollywood week a few dozen contestants sing on a small intimate set over the course of a few weeks. Viewers can vote for them in these rounds. The most popular contestants go onto the final round, which is where we see them each week on the big stage singing, and from there on out a contestant is eliminated each week.

 

Here is how my obsession began in real time. Let me take you back to February 2009, group two, last performer of the evening, roll his video package.

 

Adam Lambert. Oh, that is his name. He lives in LA. He’s been struggling to break out for several years now. He seems nice and polite. And then suddenly he is out there, a rock star, snarling, sexy, hips jutting, with a voice that gives me goose bumps. I am half asleep but my eyes open wide and I exclaim loudly, “What the fuck? Why is this guy on American Idol? Why didn’t I have his album yesterday?”

 

After that moment I began to obsessively google Adam Lambert and scoured YouTube finding every performance I possibly could. Instead of being sated I became more obsessed, watching “Crawl Thru Fire”, “Crazy” and “A Change is Gonna Come” over and over again.

 

I love his voice, and I love his look. I love boys who dress up and wear makeup and have confidence in themselves. I love boys with skinny legs wearing tight jeans. Do I meet many boys like this? No. But I would be lying if I said that I never thought about Adam wearing an outrageously awesome costume and doing an all out glam rock/David Bowie/Queen/Adam Lambert performance on American Idol, maybe during the finale. I’m not going to deny that I’d love to kiss those lips and smudge that pretty makeup. Whatever he wears, he drips sexiness and his voice is gorgeous. It goes so many places for me. When he sings you can see the soul of the song, you can feel it as he can feel it. When a singer can do this they are not a singer anymore, they are an artist.

 

 I’m so sadly obsessed that I searched the Collar Me personals from LA hoping I’d find a long lost profile by Adam, maybe one where he says that yes…he would play dress up with someone like me. I can dream.

:  )

 

And yes, yes I know about his deliciously hot photos and the general assumption about his sexuality. I said I could dream…..


4/20/2009 8:36:35 AM

I have signed up to participate in a several month's long program which consists of physical conditioning in preparation for a hike up a several thousand foot mountain. This program is being offered through a local fitness center.

The program also has a definite emotional and confidence building aspect to it. We are meeting every week to train, but also to have discussions, to journal and share our thoughts and feelings. As soon as I found out about this opportunity I jumped on it. I have not wanted to do something so much in a really long time.

I had an interview with one of the women running the program and I have been accepted into it.We are required to do a cardio workout at least three days a week and strength training two times a week. In addition to that we will be walking along the streets of the town every week as a group, gradually walking for longer periods of time. We also have three or four mini hikes that get increasingly more difficult, then in August we hike the big mountain.

I've had some major stresses in the past few months and really feel like pushing myself hard towards a goal. I'm like that. I need a goal, I need a challenge, I need to sweat and struggle. I need the pain ( well duh I'm a masochist) and frustration of failing over and over again until I get it right. That is just my wacky funky personality stuff.

This also really works into my own personal goal of losing weight and being more physically active. I am so sick of walking, and I love yoga, but like I said just five sentences ago I feel like I need a challenge.

I've been the quirky geeky fat girl my whole life. I can't say I've had one mindset about this. I used to loathe myself and be embarrassed to even go anywhere. I can't say this was entirely my own personal psychosis. After being treated poorly by complete strangers based upon my weight, I tended to get fearful and was hesitant to interact with the big bad world too often. I used to be very very very shy. Now I am only very shy. I began to realize that the  hateful and cruel people are the ones who should feel fearful and embarassed about their own conduct and humanity, not me. It took a really long time but I learned how to ignore the haters and to accept that I am who I am, and there is nothing wrong, bad or disgusting about it.

I still lose my confidence, I still have those days when I can't stand myself. But I feel really solid about who I am, what I believe and how I want to live my life. And its odd, but all of my attempts to eat healthier and be physically active failed when I was very down on myself. In the past year so many bad things have happened, but I feel like the center of myself has remained steady. I've been able to lose weight, I've been able to do things I couldn't before. It is taking a very long time to get to where I want to be, but I feel so good about where I am now.

I want to feel even better. I really want to dance, I want to learn how to do back flips, I want to run in the New York City marathon. I want to do all sorts of crazy stuff,and I feel like its very possible that I will.

So I'm doing this hiking thing. I'm also signing up at the gym so I can start doing the heavier workout thing so I can do the improving myself thing and the losing weight thing and the living life thing. Yeah, that living life thing. I'm really liking that.



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Stilettonoir
 
 Age: 30
 United Kingdom