Monthly Archives

December 2017

Uncategorized

A Giant Goodbye

December 30, 2017

“Babe, it’s only been a calendar month since I sat on your floor and cried on your kittens, what the hell happened?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.” He said.

Having had been through my own bizarre run of extraordinary events in the same 30 days, I wasn’t overly surprised. We often run parallel, he and I.

And so I went.

That was not the easiest thing I have ever done.

But easy things are rarely worth it.

I had my own things that needed saying.

The only rule is, there are no rules.

Except maybe one… them tables, they always turn.

I went to the Giant’s the other night. Oh Giant, my Giant.

My first taste of lightning sex. He who has hands the size of dinner plates and knows exactly where to put them.

Not the safest place to be, I will admit.

But, in our way, where we would drift apart and back together just to ‘see’ if we could be faithful and pious, leave room for Jesus when we hugged. Sometimes we actually succeeded in seceding the union. Keeping boundaries firm. Well he did anyways, when he dated Becky.  I tried so hard to be good.

(Turn tables.)

Now t’was I who had devotion to prove. And I did.

Listened to his stories about his hot neighbor and how she had seen him for what he is, genetic gold, husband material and a jackpot in general. Home owner, nice truck, great bone structure, full head of hair, gainfully employed, plays guitar and sings beautifully, fucks like a beast, intelligent (why am I not over there right now again?)…lottery win beyond words About how she had made ‘jokes’ about her biological clock like clockwork and how they had been rather deafening. I know he wants a wife and children one day, (which answers the question why am I not over there right now) but not right now honey. He was overwhelmed and then underwhelmed. Luckily his mother did as I myself have done and said ‘it doesn’t matter if she says she’s on the pill, wear a condom anyways’.

Too much too fast.

How do we first begin to covet?

I get it sista, I truly do, more than you even. It’s been 2 years and 7 days.

So, what do I do when a Giant falls and I feel the rumbling over at my house?

I go to there.

I confirmed what he already knew, he had avoided quicksand, narrowly.

We spoke of tarot cards and palmistry, she had read his cards and not liked what she had seen. I never could or would read his palms again, I would put too much me into it, but she is a rookie. And again, see above where I don’t blame her one bit. He is glorious. A king dressed in rags who has amnesia ~  Alison Nappi

But he is starting to remember, I can see it when he speaks, and that too is glorious.

We spoke of soul mates too. We are kindred he and I and of this I have no doubt.

But

There is always a “but”…

I have come to realize (in a rather short period of time) that once we hold palaver with our souls, recognize them, tend to their needs, ask good questions and accept the answers. The mates being to appear. Sometimes in droves.

They come to learn and to teach us things that we couldn’t learn on our own.

To make us feel like home. To keep us company in the dark and to show us the way out. Like ghosts staying with us until we can start living again.

My covenant with him is not finished, but it has gone through a metamorphosis into something new.

Unconditional love and happiness for each other no matter what.

 


 

Do you remember the late morning
When we went back to bed,
When we found the first position
And every muscle rested

I do remember that I already
Knew it was the last time,
The last time for first positions
The last time you’ll be mine

Do you remember the scars I showed you
The stories I told you
How I always said forever
When you asked me to stay true

Do you remember when we forgot
How to smile at each other
To believe that the other
Want only what’s good for you

Do you remember the late morning
When we went back to bed,
When we found the first position
And every muscle rested

I do remember that I already
Knew it was the last time,
The last time for first positions
The last time you’ll be mine

Ane Brun

 

Uncategorized

7 Year Itch

December 28, 2017

That little canvas was a gift from a woman I’ve never met.

Truth be told, I saw it and it scared me.

I wanted what I wanted goddammit. Or I thought I did.

I just moved to a beautiful house. There was a boy. He returned.

Then I saw another door.

And peeked at the other side.

Magic.

Right on time it seems. Always is.

On February 14th 2018 I will have been emancipated from my sham of a marriage for 7 years.

7 years prior, right around the same time of year, was when I entered that particular contract.

It takes 3 weeks to make or break a habit. Or, if you are me, 7 years.

The time before the farm and the marriage was rather unremarkable.

7 years split between 2 alcoholics, or 10 between 3 if I am being honest and I always am.

I left one version of perdition for another, though I did not know it at the time.

Maybe I was paying my penance forward, or I just needed lessons upon motherfucking lessons.

I didn’t realize until I had long left the farm how much I learned. Physically, mentally and practically.

I can survive quite nicely on my own. Keep a house warm in winter, feed many with little. Grow things, tend to the sick, make an awful lot out of nothing and survive absolutely everything up until this point.

I know how to pack my car to live quite comfortable for quite some time. I can build homes from nothing, just 4 walls and a bed.

And I am on my way to do just this.

It is my belief that we have certain fates, karma (whatever you want to call it) to fulfill. Certain people we are supposed to meet. I have had soul sisters, soul brothers and soul mates galore. I see them clearly now. And they are calling me home.

I am not saying our whole life is planned out before we are born, no no. But I think in each life we have universal obligations to meet. Soul mates to find and teach, who will in turn teach us. And a whole lot of lessons about what we don’t want.

I have felt the discord and agony of playing small, hiding from what I should be doing and apparently, every 7 years it gets to be too much for me, so little by little then all at once, I get the courage to run into the future.

I imagine I felt (and feel) like a cicada when it is time to wake up and start singing.

I have been dormant long enough.

This time though, I welcomed my lessons, invited new, rearranged all of my broken bits into a beautiful mosaic.

I feel good. Strong. Prepared.

So it’s been 7 years.

Now what?

Second verse, same as the first.

I am currently mentally sorting my belongings, what goes what stays, moving things around in yet another in a long line of storage spaces. Do I keep my bed? It is the first big girl bed I ever bought that wasn’t a futon. How much stuff can I fit in my car? What do I need to make me happy where I am going?

I have realized the answer is ‘not much’.

I am already content where I will be.

There is a prolific absence of doubt.

I have done the dress rehearsal for this. I know my lines and directions.

I have practiced this so much it is all coming naturally to me.

The foundation has been laid, stage set.

All I have to do now is move into the future.

Sacred contracts waiting to be filled.

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Beast not Burden

December 23, 2017

Mercury stations direct today.

It is a glorious day.

Life starts again.

Truth be told I tried my best to stay quiet the last 18 days. There was cosmic fuckery afoot and I know to just duck and cover. Don’t make any big life plans or purchases, expect communication breakdown etc.
I got put in Facebook jail at the onset and I was not surprised. Irritated as fuck, but not surprised.

More truth be told…

I have been trying my best to be quiet and in a holding pattern of my own design since October 6th.

The day he left.

He left prior, he lives far. But he wasn’t gone, he was still with me, texting goodnight and good morning, studying for tests about flowers, telling me about his day, listening to me about mine.

He wasn’t mine yet, more holding patterns.

But we had consummated our desires at least.

September 22nd, he remembered.

We both remember everything.

We were in the getting to know each other exploratory negotiation stages of things.

We were both holding back.

He came back.

“Did you miss me?” I asked.

“You have no idea.”

Oh honey, I do.

He also said that I didn’t deserve his ‘shit’.

Oh honey, hush. I was made for this.

You see…I don’t see any shit. Just a war boy at war with himself.

I see a beast, not a burden.

Did I ever tell you the story of my mother and my grandmother?
I must have, it is my favorite story, my matriarchal legacy.

Both my father and grandfather went to war. Both my mother and grandmother waited for them.

My father saw my mom and knew right away she was the girl he was going to marry.
The love between my grandparents was so strong that his family had a pact when he came home from Europe to keep him hidden from my grandmother for as long as they could, if she knew he was home, she would take him and they would never see him again. I think they managed for a week or two before my grandmother came to claim her man. It is told in light, but rooted in truth.
My father went west when he got home. My mother waited for him to come to his senses and then she just went and got him. Drove across the country to claim hers and brought him home. But the way he looks at her, she is his home.

I have heard these stories told over and over since I was little.

And I have been yearning for mine all my life.

I come from beautiful, prevailing love, it is in my blood.

My mothers and their mothers were shield maidens, powerful women. And what good is a shield maiden without a war boy? Where would I put all this love? I have been tending to my own empty house long enough.

For a war boy to exist and thrive there must be someone to love and someone to hate. Otherwise there is nothing to fight and nothing to fight for. No rest, no respite. They need to protect and be protected. Somewhere safe to come home to else they live in the battlefield. There has to be balance, sanctuary.

I will keep you calm and you will keep me safe.

 

Uncategorized

A Matter of When

December 22, 2017

Never ‘if’, only when.

I should know better, and I do.

I still have crippling self-doubt.
I go through periods of time where it feels like all of the magic has left the world.
I am beginning to see the correlation.

I have dubbed these times “the nothing”.

The hardest part of a two day drive is the second morning. That halfway-there feeling.

Closer but still so fucking far away.

The best part is that first morning, you feel like you have all the time in the world, everything is beautiful and new.

Nothing but possibilities ahead of you.

But you gotta sit in the car for 11 more hours to get there.

I am okay with sitting and waiting.

At least I try to be.

I used to be impatient, and greedy mine mine mine now now now.

Not now.

I want what I want, just as sure as I am about what I don’t want.

I got a phone call about an ex this morning. At the end she said ‘sorry for putting you through that.’

Nothing to be sorry for.

I am really okay.

On the surface it looks like I hang on way too long, get too invested, hurt way too much.

But I don’t.

Not unless it’s unfinished.

The ex in the phone call, I was done. It was over. I had no angst or remorse. Just done.

The one before that too, his girlfriend messaged and asked me to stop talking to her man, so I did.

It was easy, before she said a word I already knew.

He said he would make a hammock into a sex swing and I said ‘I fucking love you.’ Casually.

“No.”

“No what?”

“You’re not allowed to love me” he said.

I replied, “it’s been a year, what did you think was going to happen?”

He didn’t have an answer.

Just said ‘stop’.

So I did.

I stopped. It was finished, and I won’t speak to him again. I know this.

Thread severed.

But what of the unfinished ones, the ones that linger, the ones that wrench my guts and sneak into my heart at night, appearing in dreams so I wake up to experience the loss all over again.

I couldn’t reconcile it. I didn’t understand.

I also know, historically speaking, if I have my mind on something it comes, without fail.

Not necessarily on m timeline, but it comes.

So did the answer.

We aren’t done.

It’s that simple and that complicated.

My girlfriend asked me how am I always “swimming in dick”. Her words. I am not really. But it was hella funny to hear her put it that way.

“You are not going to like the answer” I said.

Patience. No ego. Let them come and go.

It takes a lot of faith in my gut feelings about someone.

Giant was a prime example. Even when he was with her we still thought about each other. Sent random messages and songs, he would even come over to test his piousness until he wasn’t pious at all and we had to stop that. We couldn’t not talk to each other, kept erratically messaging each other just to make sure we still existed, and we did. And when he came back, I knew why. We weren’t done. And this last time with him was so much more satisfying, I knew when he was leaving and it didn’t hurt. Now I can let go.

Contract fulfilled.

I have been learning my lessons.

Gelfling was a rough one, I didn’t know how to handle his absence. It’s been 3 years. We still talk from time to time, like today.
Honey why are you surprised by how you are feeling? Did you forget what I am?

Spoke to the Swain boy today too.

There is a vast amount of difference between my handling of the first two and the last two.

I have attained some semblance of Zen about it.

Win, win really, I spook them less when I am calm.

That is why they came to me in the first place. Looking for peace.

I would like to say I KNEW the Last One would be back, but I admit, I lost my faith for a bit, on the second day of the drive, feeling like forever before we would get where we were going. One more message into the ether. And there he was.

It’s that simple and that complicated. He is geographically close to me right now and I can’t see him yet.

My faith is restored. I knew we weren’t done, I didn’t want to be.

Now it’s just a matter of when.

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Then Satan said ‘Here, have Feelings’.

December 21, 2017

He said I “didn’t deserve his shit.”

Baby, you are not a burden.

I don’t really believe in the bible, but if the verse fits, post it.

A year ago today, I posted this pontification and justification.

Romancing May to December

I guess I knew what was coming.

Truth be told, I didn’t know why I only dated young ones. Until now.

For someone who spends so much time introspectively sifting through the wreckage of her life with a magnifying glass and a whole forensics team, I don’t know if I have a definitive answer.

The closest I can figure is that I left home and dropped out of school at 15. While my friends had the luxury of prom nights and dating I was working, paying rent, adulting basically. I had my son at 21, so while my friends were off to college or university switching majors and figuring life out, I was changing diapers and trying to keep a tiny human alive.

I’d only dated men my own age. Long term monogamous relationships wherein I had no semblance of self, other than what it meant to be ‘their girl’. I have said before I carved off so much of me to fit in with them that there was very little of me left.

5 years ago I stopped doing that.

I literally spent 2 years in a cabin, alone in the woods figuring myself out.

The first person I dated after coming out of my cocoon was 24 years old. I was 40.

“I didn’t plan it, it just happened that way. I guess fate stepped in the middle, and I needed him then.” Sarah Slean

I remember bracing myself for that first date thinking “I don’t care how pretty he is, if he starts regaling me with tales of beer pong and yammering on about his band I’m gonna politely excuse myself and bail.”

Instead, 6 hours later we were still talking, like old friends really. I forgot I was on a date, I forgot he was a stranger and I forgot how old he was.

For 3 months he brought me around his friends, we went out, stayed in and had a great time. His folks knew about me. It was the happiest I recalled being for a really long time.

Then Satan said ‘here, have feelings’. I asked if he would date me officially and that was that. He ended it, stating he didn’t want to be in a relationship. He started dating the next one 30 days later. I wished him well and decided enjoy it while it lasts, don’t lock them down. Leave them better than you found them.

Seemed fair.

The idea of being in a proper relationship made my skin crawl anyways. I loved living alone, had no desire to cohabitate with anyone for a long time. This just seemed to work.

I met another and another.

I warned them, told them how old I was and their eyes would light up like stars going supernova.

And like all bright lights that burn with that kind of intensity, they didn’t last. And I remembered my lessons, and wished them well.

I met and dated a 28 year old for the better part of a year. He didn’t want children so I felt safe to stay. He also didn’t want to break up with his actual girlfriend either, a little fact he kept hidden from me, so safe he was not.
I’ve met men like him and there are not enough women in the world to plug that black hole he has where his heart should be.

But this isn’t about him.

This is about the Last One. Also 28. I want this to work.

I know the pieces fit, I watched them fall away. Tool Schism

Schism
ˈs(k)izəm/

noun

  1. a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences in opinion or belief.
synonyms: division, split, rift, breach, rupture, break, separation, severance;

chasm, gulf;

discord, disagreement, dissension

 

But we are not opposed. We are like-minded and compatible as fuck.

However there is discord.

And an ellipses.

I am sitting in the abyss, refusing to become a monster, and just waiting.

I will be waiting here….
For your silence to break,
For your soul to shake,
For your love to wake

Rumi

I left myself that note last year, Romancing May to December.

I have seen enough examples of these things working. He was 16 and she was 32 and they are still together into her 50’s. Another relationship where she is 20 years older, another going on 8 years now with her 22 years his senior.

Just because this isn’t normal doesn’t make it any less viable.

Yes, it’s rare, but so am I.

Uncategorized

For My Young Ones

December 20, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I read this and I howled. It is the first page of her new book*, I read the rest like I was starving.

I would never say any of this, although I feel it sometimes. Sometimes I want to shake them and ask “Do you not see it doesn’t get any better than this?”

but…

They don’t understand. Their eyes haven’t seen all there is to see yet and I am just a piece of the mosaic that their life will become.

What I have finally started to realize is, they are also part of mine.

I didn’t understand.

I learned not to ask early on.
I don’t ask much at all. Not for you to come, or stay or what you do when you aren’t with me.
I rarely ask questions that I might not like the answer to.

I have ‘no rules’ tattooed on the inside of my wrist.

Do what thou wilt, that shall be the whole of the law ‘round here.

This goes for me too. If I’m with you I made a decision to be here, do not doubt this.

I, in turn, will do no harm, and take no shit.

I know it seems like I am in charge of all the things but I am not.

I like it when you drive, plan things, decide…especially on me.

And so you know just because I don’t try to keep you doesn’t mean I want to be kept.

Of course I want you to stay, I decided you didn’t I?

I love you dummies.

And don’t even start with the fussing, just because I love them doesn’t mean I love you any less.

You have seen my heart, how big it is, how much room there is to move, explore, play, be yourself and still be safe in here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They are friendly ghosts.

Truth is they will pop by, ask me advice about this girl or that one and I will tell them what I think. Un-vex them as best I can.

Say things like, “she just doesn’t understand yet, but she will, be patient.” Or “did you try telling her that? Say it like you just said it to me.”

Just because they are still around doesn’t mean they are allowed in. Do you understand?

If the conversation turns to flirting I will undoubtedly say ‘I am with someone now’ and they will understand because they were my ‘someone’ once and heard me say it to the others.

But sometimes they still need guidance and kindness.

I have all the advice, I have had many experiences and I have learned to learn from them, just like I am learning from you.

I have theories on so many things. Some rooted in truth, tried and tested and yes, still truth.

Some of you come along and blow my theories to smithereens. This pleases me.

Thank you for showing me what is possible, I hope I have done the same for you.

That being said.

If it seems like I am holding back it is because I am.

I read this once and it scared me…

Junot Díaz — ‘She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you’ll know loss the rest of your life.’

I don’t want to be that.

But sometimes what I want and what I am end up in conflict.

“You spoil me”

“You are the only who…”

Those words hurt me, they shouldn’t but they did.

What was I doing? Was I being selfish? Am I hurting them?

I know what it is like to eat the best piece of cake when I was young and having everything after taste like sawdust.

Until now.

I started thinking about things differently.

Life is comprised of moments, the ones I have with them are good moments. I am kind among other things.

So what if I raise the bar?

Stay as long as you want to. Take what you need. There are no conditions here. No limits.

Just love and exploration of what is possible.

 

  • https://www.amazon.com/dp/099907962X/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510239258&sr=1-3
Uncategorized

Soul Mates and Pancakes cooked over Twin Flames

December 18, 2017

I spend way too much time on the internet. Also I am getting older, wiser and losing my patience with most things.

I am also sick of my own shit, America is burning and I am babbling about Tinder, dick pics, my vagina and these boys I happen to meet.

I saw a psychic life coach yesterday, without knowing the life coach part.

I got coached.

She reorganized my life and priorities in 40 minutes or less, then we touched briefly on the boy thing.

If I look back at my history, since I became awake and aware human female with biological illogical wants and needs. I have had crushes forever. It is my natural state of being. And good god it is distracting. I was/am scared of my potential, easier to hide behind someone than be myself. Perpetually playing house when I should have been building my empire.

I mean I have been. 400K views on the blog, 183K followers upon the Facebook. All in 3 years.

I did this.

I wonder what I could have done if I hadn’t dated anyone for basically my whole fucking life.

I guess I wouldn’t have anything to write about. Past accepted.

At what point was I going to realize, okay this is a big deal. At what point was I going to start feeling good enough.

Yesterday I guess.

Giant said it ages ago and I pouted instead of listening “you are destined for greater things than this, than me, I am just some guy.”

He isn’t wrong. Doesn’t lessen my love for him, but he has a wife to find and yet unborn children to raise. I have already passed that point in my life and he is going to be a great father.

Our Sara of Lords said “loving you is not a punishment.”

She isn’t wrong either.

But maybe it was. Watching me waste my potential and do their laundry instead. Giving over my body as a playground and disregarding my mind. My body is a theme park really and the rides are awesome, but still. My mind is a library full of wonder.

But that isn’t exactly what this is about. I find myself typing these words often. I have my favorite phrases and verbs. Other words and terms I avoid like the plague.

Words that sound like nails on a chalkboard…including but not limited to

Vibe

Perfect

Soul mate

And the worst twin flame

Ugh.

Fuck that shit.

My sisters are my soulmates and boys are just for funsies and shit to write about.

I see beautiful couples all day long, I was raised by true love. I have felt immense and incredible amounts of unconditional love in my heart for men who have been in my vagina. But that twin flame soul mate shit, and the he’s so perfect crap always sounded like fertilizer on fake grass.

I wrote an article, several in fact about the Swain boy. Just trying to get it all down so when it was safe I could reread it and relive it. I posted it with the caveat that I myself was not ready but it was free for anyone else to see.

A girl read it.

She said “this is the most accurate description of a twin flame meeting I have ever read.”

Internal I screamed no. and outwardly I sighed.

Ya, it was.

I spent so long denying the existence of such things that I refused to see it. I refused to use the words.

I should know by now, when asked ‘how does it get better than this?’ the gods always reply ‘let me show you.’

The way my universe works. The gods saw this as a challenge.

What did she say?

Oh honey, buckle up we have somewhere to take you.

Now, in the time I call after, since I decided to be single and soul search and all that other happy horseshit… I have met me some magic men, I have taken gods to bed, I have been fucked in ways my tiny brain could not have dreamed of in the time called before. I have me all manner of delicious and vicious monsters and men and we connected on levels I hadn’t ever experienced before.

I thought I had seen and felt everything there was to see and feel.

Nope.

Nuh uh.

So it is like this.

When we are small we go to the playground. Slide down the slides, get lifted up and dropped on teeter totters, swing so high we feel like we are touching the sky with our toes.
Then later, the carnival comes to town and the rides are bigger, better, faster if not a little scary.
Then we hit up a theme park and go on rollercoasters that lift us up and drop us down and it seems like nothing is better than this.

You go on these rides and they are still good, but after a while they are just rollercoasters.

Then the engineers make a ride that launches you into a blind curve at 70/mph and you think, okay, this is really it this time. This is the best thing ever, I have never felt anything like this, it doesn’t get better. And you ride it until your legs shake and all you want is more.

And then…

Oh and then…

Some amazing nerd in a government lab of awesome somewhere comes up with the idea of a 4D interactive ride. Not one of the boring ones on a track where you shoot things no no. This one dangles you, whips you around all the while showing you this high tech 3D projection on a 360 degree screen and you realize, this is what it feels like when I fly in my dreams.

Dream love. Defying physics with visuals that have your brain believing you are flying.

Good god that it good.

And that is what happened.

Something that could only be described as a waking dream. Bliss, pure bliss and joy. Flight.

Twice.

A soul mate and a twin flame.

Ferfucksakes.

Not in the same body, not the same boy and definitely showed up in the wrong order.

But, in the way soulmates, the gods and the universe just know all the fucking things, I believe he stepped aside so I could experience the other before I came back. Among a million other things I have to do before I can disappear completely.

I think a twin flame is temporary. Eternal flames are hard to come by.

One also cannot live in a theme park. The magic wears off. And then you go home to your soulmate and make pancakes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Dear White Women

December 17, 2017

I know I am going to lose friends and followers and trust, I am okay with this.

I don’t need your consent.

Now before I started this article, I literally had to seek permission from a woman I have never met, nor spoken to but whom I respect for her drive, her intelligence and her outspokenness. I chose her because I knew she would have no trouble telling me if I was being an ass. She is black, from Barbados. An island that was integral to the slave trade and taken over by Britain when they were taking over everything and being assholes. They still are. Segregation is alive and well.

I see it and it breaks my heart but I literally have no way of knowing what it actually feels like.

And that’s the problem.

So I asked.

And I listened.

And no matter what her answers, I believe her.

People assume or follow old stereotypes because it’s easier than asking. All that does is breed ignorance.

I don’t want to be ignorant.

“It was hard for me to approach you and ask if I was offside or offensive.
But I think that’s the key.
Being willing to
a) ask
and more importantly
b) accept the answer given.”

Knowing that I might be wrong, and being okay with it. Changing if necessary.

With that in mind and her permission…

Dear White Women,

What in the actual fuck are you doing right now?

You are taking up space, voting for monsters and being racist cunts.

I think I lost my ‘white girl card’ when I admitted out loud that I do not like pumpkin spice lattes, I don’t like bubble baths, any color of wine, nor shopping and I do so very much love sex.

I may have gotten honorary status back when I successfully looked cute in a pair of Uggs (one time) and went to many, many, many brunches.

But I don’t want it.

This is not a collective nor a sham of a ‘culture’ that I wish to participate in or belong to.

I can be proud of myself as an individual and not proud of the group I was born into by having tits and light skin.
I am also a stripper with a MENSA IQ, so ya. Big fan of smashing stereotypes (and the patriarchy).

I am talking to the Mean Girls, the Paris Hilton ilk and clones, the privileged, the crazy Christians, especially the evangelical Stepford wives, and the equally offensive ones who wear native headdresses to Coachella not bothering to notice that that is NOT okay and love to say Namaste after yoga talk about vibes and have no idea what that actually means.

You are not a queen or a goddess, you’re an asshole.

You are not woke, you are in a bubble.

I got in an argument on the internet the other day. I do try to abstain from such things, but this ignorant piece of shit was relentless with his ‘white pride’ bullshit. I have many things to be proud of but the geographical location and skin color I was given at birth are not among them.
I was raised to be proud of accomplishments, knowledge, things you can control…WHO you are not what you are.

Old white men have been in charge for far too long and just look.

GESTURES BROADLY AT EVERYTHING.

Now, said argument was centered around this article, which showed statistics. A cold, hard and rather ugly FACT. This is for the 63% who decided a pedophile was better than a Democrat.
Fuck you sis, and the horse he rode in on.
This is for the enablers, Brock Turner’s mom and the girl who said “he’s not a bad guy”. Yes he fucking is. Every trigger happy cop with a gun and a god complex has a mother or a wife or a sister. You failed them. You are failing everyone. You are excess baggage and dead weight holding back the evolution of society for a fucking handbag made in Vietnam and a chance to be the top mom on the phone tree.

https://www.awesomelyluvvie.com/2017/12/white-women-shit-together-alabama.html

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I read the article. And a few more things, also I have eyes and I can see what is happening here.

The solution?
And I mean this adamantly
“it is time to let black women run the world.”

… I was listening to a black woman on the radio this morning, she explained it better than I could. She said we, white people don’t listen when black people say we don’t have the right to say and do certain things to and about them. Terminology we use for each other, is not ok to use for black people because it what we used when they were slaves. When someone says no, I have to listen.
She talked about Roy Moore riding that horse to vote too. She said how everything racist white people do in the south is calculated to intimate black people and remind them of slavery. The overseer on the horse.
And how she knew, just bringing it up, there would be people rolling their eyes saying she was exaggerating. But that this is their experience, every day.

I was speaking to another (white) woman about all this.
She heard someone else’s point of view and BELIEVED her.

 […] talking about Roy Moore’s wife. How she gathered together a large group of these so called Christian white women to defend her husband and hold a public fund raiser for him with the press there. I was so angry. I couldn’t understand why anyone, let alone a woman, a mother would vote for him. A pedophile, someone who hurts children. […] these women aren’t voting for a pedophile, they’re voting against black people, in particular against black women. […] this goes back to plantation days. Doug Jones fought against the KKK, he jailed men who hurt four little girls, little black girls. These white women are sending a message. Racist white women in the south still see black women as a threat. Back in plantation days they could beat them, whip them, and have them sold if their husbands or sons took an “interest” in them, now they have to pretend to be civil. But this is how they do it. They continue to put their racist husbands, sons, brothers in power.

I believe she is right. Both racial and sexual equality is a threat to a ‘way of life’ that should have died out years ago, but they cling to their old ideals. It defies logic.

The #metoo movement was started by a woman of color but a bunch of famous white women had to say something years later then it caught like wildfire. Glad it happened, but credit where credit is due.

And yet, there are roving groups of white women trying to shut that down too. It’s almost as if they like being oppressed and owned by men even though they have NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THAT ACTUALLY MEANS.
It’s Stockholm Syndrome on a massive scale.
They actually believe they are safe in the white castle, no honey, you aren’t.
Those are not princes, or kings or even knights. They are fools in tinfoil with olde timey blood money. Slavery never ended, it just became the prison system.

I refuse to ever say all lives matter because that is a fucking given and no one is threatening my life because of my color. A cop pulls me over and I don’t even get a ticket, that is not the grace of god that is unfair and I see it.

There’s the difference. Just because something doesn’t happen to me does not give me the right to ignore it or deny it.

That is your privilege showing yet again, please tuck that back in and shut up.

We have had the floor and the voice long enough. It is time to let others speak and for fuck sakes listen.

And I expect to hear a rousing chorus of “not all white people” and just like the “not all men” I am not listening. I know this already. I am done.

I also know there is a certain breed of men who only listen when other men talk, so as a woman, a white one at that, here goes…

Dear White Women,

If the picture I have painted here does not resemble you beyond melanin levels or the occasional mimosa, please feel free to go about your day, maybe do something nice for someone for no reason. Just keep being awesome, read more books, you know…empowered women things.

If the picture I have painted here does resemble you it is because I know you. I have dared to be different, to speak up and out and you have been the worst of my tormentors. I am more scared of you than I am of strange men and that is saying something. You are bullshit bullies and if there is to be a fight against you and your kind, I know what side I am going to be on.

Time to eat some humble pie and I hope to god it’s as full of shit as y’all are.

Step out of your comfort zone or be forced out.

Wake up, be better, or die off.

Things are changing and your ignorance isn’t welcome here anymore.

Tomorrow I will go back to talking about love and horoscopes, but today, I am angry.

Uncategorized

Psychic Ass Kicking

December 16, 2017

I made my annual pilgrimage south.

2 days in the car driving, through mountains and tunnels and Georgia straight to the ocean.

To the condo of pastel hues and life sized wooden pelicans.

It isn’t exactly mecca. It’s a retirement community in the middle of Florida, on the Atlantic side.

But for me it is time spent bird watching, ocean swimming, rollercoaster riding and regrouping in the sun. When the air at home hurts my face.  I still do not know why I live where the air hurts my face. This is a welcomed reprieve from it. Something to look forward to.

The first night, upon arriving, the moon was FULL and the tide was HIGH.

I didn’t wait for daylight. I walked down to the beach, said hello to Mama Moon and Mama Ocean.
Paid my respects, made my wishes, did some witchy shit and then fell into a peaceful sleep.

On no less than 3 mornings I watched dolphins swim by from our 3rd floor balcony. Yesterday they were close enough to touch. But I didn’t run down. I wouldn’t interfere. I sat with a Cheshire cat grin and just watched them with awe and joy.

Yesterday a rocket launched from Cape Canaveral and I stood on the beach with a thousand other people all facing the same way, hands in the salute/sun shielding position and watched an orange ball moving impossibly fast into the sky. 45 seconds after it left sight a low, beautiful rumble swept down the beach, hitting us all square in the chest and reverberating. First building then ebbing like the tides do every day, twice a day. I felt elated. Man-made miracles are miracles regardless.

In between days spent soaking up the sun, there are pilgrimages within the pilgrimage.

I go to Universal Studios and ride the Hulk until my legs shake. Wander through the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. The Last One and I talked at length about coming here together, he wanted to see it. And there were moments where I could actually see him beside me, watching the joy register on his face. I saw the whole thing again through different eyes and it was bitter, but fucking sweet. Maybe one day. I learned a few tricks this time around to avoid crowds and lines.

The second is meeting Our Sara of Lords in Cassadaga, it’s a psychic camp near Lake Helen about a half hour drive inland.

Doesn’t look like much really. Just a sleepy community. A hotel, brightly painted houses and a statue of Jesus in a park, his arms open and head tilted in a way that says ‘let me give you a hug dork’. I did not hug tiny Jesus, but I put my hand on the love tree growing behind him and that felt good.

On the second floor of the hotel are long white hallways with silver mirrors and dark wooden doors.

You can make an appointment with a psychic in the lobby and she or he will take you upstairs to the room they use and you get any variation of a reading you can think of.

I have had cards and palms read. My aura, my future told and a lot of sunshine blown up my ass about how unique and wonderful I am. That may be true, and so may be the myth of fingerprints.

The one area of my life that continues to vex me is romantic relationships. I don’t know how to girlfriend. The process of becoming one is, unknown to me. I can love all day long and it is a good love devoid of ego and claws. But I guess I don’t know how to be loved.

It was with this question I picked a woman who reminded me simultaneously of my paternal grandmother and the Oracle from the Matrix.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I told her before even sitting down that I had no idea what her process was, that I liked to just wing it. She chuckled. Told me she was interactive, that the more we talked, the more I would get out of it and asked if that was alright. Still functioning purely on gut instinct I said yes. Even though, I prefer to sit in silence and see what comes.

You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need. Rolling Stones

This blog got brought up early and I was thinking to myself “I do not want to pay to sit here for half an hour to talk about the damned blog. “

Her first question after discussing numbers was ‘are you monetized’.

No, no I am not.

She laughed again and launched into 20 minutes of what I needed to do to make money doing this thing I am really good at. The roadblocks I use to stop myself were no match for the steamroller of truth she was driving over them.

This 60-something woman smiling at me, she runs her website, is a life coach, takes pole dancing, is working on her core.
I have ZERO excuses.

I needed her to show me this.

The rest is personal.

I know what I have to do.

I have to stop being afraid of succeeding. I know how good it feels to get things done.

I also know that somewhere deep down in me is a girl who wants to succeed and cannot afford to get lost in loving a man.
And that is the only kind of love that will do for me so…

If I build it, he will come.

Happiness will find you if you stop hiding.

The Oracle: No, you’ve already made the choice. Now you have to understand it.

I walked in there already knowing what I had to do. Just took a beautiful no bullshit woman to pull it out of me and make me see it.

I have 2 weeks between getting home and leaving again. I have all the tools. Time to finish building my empire.

Here is the link to hers.

Boomer Woman Your Time is Now!

 

 

Uncategorized

Breaking Out

December 15, 2017

It seems to me that my hair doesn’t grow, for these extended periods of time, then suddenly and all at once, I wake up with half inch roots.

I know it doesn’t actually work that way, but it feels like it. So does my life. Nothing, nothing, nothing, wait for it… earth shattering kaboom.

½ inch roots are not earth shattering.

I have noticed, in the past few years I have gone from 50% grey/white/silver to (on the top anyways) about 80%.

I realllly want to grow it out.

I’ve tried, a few years ago, to get white streaks, lighten my hair from the box black it is, and I don’t like it. I feel washed out.

I want to try that silver/white wax stuff, see if I can ease my transition. Cutting it is not optional and I have a small head, so hats and scarves are a no.

Also, I’m kinda afraid I will look older.

Or… (scary drum roll) my age.

I will try the wax, or a wig (ew) or perhaps get some extensions, but those seem like such a pain.

I will have to relearn how to do my makeup. Or learn. I’ve been doing the same thing for 20+ years, both with my face and my hair.

I am breaking out.

Not in a metaphorical way, like I have pimples right now, lots of them.

Weather has dictated I haven’t been outside as much as I’d like, although I have gotten some sun and I am glowing sorta, under the pimples.

My eating habits are fairly deplorable on a good day and that hasn’t changed. So that ain’t it.

I bought some new make-up. I am actually considering learning how to apply it like the fancy girls on YouTube and Instagram.

That is probably it.

Also I feel like I am ready to shed my skin again.

I have gone through my closet and gotten rid of old things that don’t serve me. Went through the filing cabinets in my mind too, and let go of a lot.

But that doesn’t usually denote a break out like this. That’s just a Tuesday every few months or so.

I got carded at a bar the other day. The waiter was high as a kite, with squinty pothead eyes.

He wasn’t really carding me I don’t think. But still. Flattering. I will take it and say thanks.

I also have a tan right now and the bags under my eyes seem to be permanent, I have had enough sleep 3 or 4 times in the last 2 years since they appeared. I am soul tired and bone weary. It’s been a long journey and I am only halfway there.

I don’t know why I look young, maybe I’s the acne.

I would rather pimples than wrinkles to be totally honest.

I drink, I smoke, I sit in the sun. I wash my face with whatever soap is closest to the sink, whenever I remember to do so.

If you were to look at pics of me from my farm life, I look older then and we are heading into the 7th year since my liberation from perdition.

Maybe I am a walking Roald Dahl quote “A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”

I am notably more attractive when I am happy. But I think that is normal.

Joan Crawford directly attributed a clear complexion to regular and good sex…oh there it is. Haven’t gotten laid lately.

For the record the last two were 22.

Maybe I am feeding off their youth.

General consensus is I don’t look 43.

And in no way do I feel 43.

Some days, post car crash, my body says we are 80. It has become time to return to yoga, I know this. My bones and muscles arguing with my nervous system at every movement. I have good days too.

My heart is a toddler, we have established this. Vagina a greedy teenager and my brain either a hamster spinning out or some mystic mage who has been here a thousand years.

I’m changing again, I can feel it. Breaking out could be metaphorical as well.

But it’s retrograde so I resemble a caged tiger who knows how to unlock the gate but is biding her time, just pacing and resting and getting ready.

Or the rocket that was supposed to launch 20 miles away yesterday. It has been postponed.

I have no doubt it will get where it’s going and that there is a tiger in me somewhere that will be unleashed. I never lock her cage.

When that Swain Boy asked me to remind him how old I was, he asked 34 or 43. I answered truthfully. Shortly thereafter, I stopped hearing from him.

I get it.

Doesn’t make it less ouchy. But in his defense, there was a lot of drinking involved the first 2 times we met, so I understand why that particular fact didn’t stick. Also, we usually only hear what we want to hear. Like, I specifically remember telling him and I definitely remember him saying he didn’t care, it’s just a number. But when you take the closeness out of the equation and are functioning solely on memories, sometimes it’s easier to find fault so you can walk away and stop the yearning.

In actuality when spun right, I can find the silver lining.

I usually do.

Maybe, just maybe, he actually was looking to see if some kind of future was possible.

Maybe I am full of shit, maybe he was full of shit.

Seems to be the norm. But I don’t know. The idea that he was just a fuckboy doesn’t taste like truth.

It was something else.

Who knows?

It might be a mystery that never gets solved.

Same with my face/life/everything, it just is what it is.

I will take it and say thanks.

 

 

 

 

error: Content is protected !!