March 2016

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Also something about butterfly wings and tsunamis, not sure if it fits. Sometimes when I write I know where I am going, sometimes I write to figure out where I need to be. It’s a process.

Sitting on the porch this morning. Shivering a bit in the morning chill, the sun doesn’t hit my balcony until 2. Smoking, drinking coffee, letting my mind wander. A wee bit of breeze raised gooseflesh and for a second I waxed nostalgic about the 2 weeks I had allowed myself to smoke inside, in my room to be precise.

Wait, gross, no.

I don’t want to go back to that or there.

It started on the polar vortex and lasted through until March.

The apex of the mess/smoky room of sadness occurred when my Sunrise had a lapse in judgement and went running back to her ex, came out 3 days later and landed in my bed, bawling. Kidlet was a mess and I was still talking to the Giant post-split. The trifecta of sads.

Binge watching Netflix, chain smoking, ran through 2 rolls of toilet paper soaking up tears and blowing noses. Cuddle puddle of emotion, complete with puppies and kittehs.

I was having this discussion
In a taxi heading downtown
Rearranging my position
On this friend of mine who had
A little bit of a breakdown
I said breakdowns come
And breakdowns go
So what are you going to do about it
That’s what I’d like to know.
Paul Simon

Ya, what are we going to do about it?

More million dollar questions. I’d like to be rich now please.

Her ex is abusive. He called her at work the other night, she put him on speaker and I was drunk enough to hang up on him as he was getting nasty with her. I said to her, do NOT reward that behavior by going to see him. He called back and said he didn’t want her anyways to cover his hurt little feeling, bullshit male posturing, I roared into the phone “Lucky fucking me because I WANT HER SO FUCK YOU.” click.

It probably isn’t that simple, god let it be that simple.

I know what she should do. She would benefit GREATLY from having a man who loves her without chaos. She already is chaos, the good kind. I looked her in the teary eyes as she sat on my couch and told her that one day a man would see in her the things I do. She is beautiful, kind, loving, nurturing, and sexy as fuck. I need that for her.

Kidlet is at least trying to date. His ex keeps coming back like herpes, making demands and changing the rules, she doesn’t know about geese and ganders. One set of rules for her and another for him. He is starting to see and I see him making effort to disengage. God let it be that simple.

I too should find someone to get under so I can get over my own shit too. It is really that simple.

I am a little more complicated, of course I am because it’s my forest I am crying at the trees.

“You’re in it right now aren’t you? My mom used to say that to me when she saw I was thinking hard on something, you are IN it right now.”
Sam, Garden State

I’m fucking in it. On my way out though.

To the girl at work who said “Brace yourself, here comes Billie to talk about her vagina again.” I say both, fuck you and it’s better than what I have been talking/crying about. At least I am laughing again.

The other things filling my time? I bought another new vibrator and I’ve managed to achieve tantric orgasms, they last for about an hour after the first mind numbing body tingling 2-3 minutes of ‘oh my god I have left this planet and am orbiting Jupiter right now.’

It’s nice. “Gonna leave this world for a while” and “A moment of forgetting, a moment of bliss.”
Tom Petty and Peter Gabriel respectively.

But then there is this…

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
‘Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind.
Mumford and Sons, The Cave

I’m coming outta my cave and I’ve been doing just fine…
The Killers

I’m not fine, but I will be.

It would be really easy to go running back to my old lovers.
Drogo came out of nowhere for a check-in, a full month ahead of schedule, he really does know when I need him, bless him. But I didn’t claim sanctuary.
Hot neighbor has been around, the weather is better, but aside from some hugs, I haven’t cashed in my fuck ticket.
Car is back on the road, I could easily drive to Toronto to see my others, or down the road to Wolfling. But it feels wrong.

“Don’t look back, you’re not going that way.”

I left them all when the Giant showed up. I didn’t want them anymore. Tells me something was inherently missing, also the fact that I had so many makes me think something was missing in them, before he showed up and showed me.
I do just want one, the ever elusive fifthelementfrankenmonsterlover I keep dreaming about. The one who loves me regardless.

Gelfling said “come find me”. I just might. We have unfinished business.

At some point, soon, I am going to realize that however tantric and magical these orgasms are, they aren’t enough either. I’m going to need touch and talking to from someone other than myself. I didn’t leave a trail of breadcrumbs this time, just follow the smell of coconut oil and sex and listen for the humming and thrumming.

Hide and seek.

www.passionprops.com

I am not for everyone.

I know this.

But if one more of my friends says “fuck that guy, he’s not good enough for you.” without conjuring me a God or drawing down at least an Angel of the Lord for me to play with ima have a righteous tantrum.

I try to keep these to a minimum, I get mad and windows break 500 miles away.

Mythical mamas need love too.

I make mountains out of molehills. I truly do. But I move them with my hips and hey, pretty amazing I made a mountain out of anything.

YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED THIS MOUNTAIN TO SHOW OTHERS IT CAN BE MOVED. (Love that quote)

What I think and speak I become.

These words I write change the world, the way I see it and for others.

They call it spelling for a reason. Words are literal magic.

When sleeping women wake. Mountains move. (Chinese Proverb)

This is the truth.

My house if full of rocks, all picked up for varying reasons, pretty, shiny, blue, quartz, or just round.

Sometimes because they just feel good.

Every one of these rocks I have was once a mountain. And I hold them in my palms? Magic.

Nothing really moves mountains, proverbial ones are easy. Giant rock formations from cataclysmic seismic events before time and man are a little harder to budge.

Unless you are water.

I get stuck in these arid places. No water, no flow and a palpable lack of magic.

I feel trapped in a chrysalis state, wrapped in veils that won’t let me see or breathe. And suddenly, with very little warning, I have wings.

There are different ways of waking up. One interpretation is just opening your eyes. That will have to be a start. Willing myself to see, ceasing my willful blindness. Stop shutting the world out.

I gotta wake up. I need a coffee and a soul shower.

Water cleanses, refreshes, sates, quenches. Gets rid of cobwebs and the dusty remnants of cocoons.

I need water.

I need to be water, I need to remember that I am indeed water 70% give or take.

I know someone who has “love and gratitude” tattooed (in German) across his chest. He acknowledges that he is 70% water and that water molecules respond to emotion.

Talk sweetly to water and the molecules rearrange themselves into beautiful patterns.

The double slit theory proved that particles behave differently when observed. Just the act of being watched changed their intended patterns.

People are like that.

You behave differently when I observe you. There is a purpose for me being here. I am altering your trajectory in some way. The pearls of water on my hips* carving new canyons in your psyche and you into mine.

On my right wrist I have tattooed ‘there is no spoon’. From the Matrix. The whole quote goes ‘you cannot bend a spoon with your mind, that’s not possible, what you must do is realize the truth….there is no spoon.’

We are all made of particles, atoms, tiny microcosms moving at varying speeds, responding to the things we think and do. I am made out of the same things that compose a spoon, or a lamp, I love lamp.

There is a theory of entangled particles wherein across time and space, two atoms created in the same cataclysmic event will have an equal and simultaneous reaction when the other is affected. Science is trying to determine if said particles had a prior agreement to react this way or if there is another dimension they are communicating through. One without the confines of time and space or any measurable distance.

It’s both.

Time is a manmade construct.

I believe in sacred contracts. You wandered into my life because it was decided upon an exploding star. I wished for you.

I have people in my life like this. I think that is how we meet each other. It’s not written in the stars, it’s written by them. Find someone with a good amount of dust from the same star and there is your soul mate.

Bruce Lee was by all rights a rather exceptional being. He did things most people cannot fathom. He moved around in the matrix with such ease he appeared to be super human.

What if I told you, I am made of the same components as he is/was. We all are. Every element in our bodies is the result of collapsing stars. We are the result of ancient cosmic events and yet we play so small. Stop.

He told us to ‘be water’. I am, and as such I can move mountains.

*The Dixie Chicks

March 6^{th  2:30am}
As I was drifting off, a thought made me sit up and utter a rather loud ‘what the actual fuck’ to no one.

I fucking forgot to pay rent.

I have lived on my own since I was 15 years old. I’ve avoided paying rent sure, but forgotten?
Not like this. Especially not for 7 days.

The fuck is wrong with me?

My girl is coming over after a week of continued unheeded reminders to get my car on the road. She is now just doing the things I cannot, taking me by the hand and taking me to the Ministry. My adultier adult.

Granted, I took in a foster puppy for 2 weeks so I had an excuse to be on lockdown. But she has been eating on her own for a week now, and putting herself to bed, so that excuse ran thinny a while ago. Plus she left yesterday.

My Sunrise took me out for brunch and belly laughs today. I told her what I had done/not done and she said I got caught in a Leap Day vortex of sorts. I have been known to bend time on occasions, but this isn’t bent, it is broken. I am lost and nothing is linear. Getting warmer.

It’s supposed to get really nice out tomorrow and stay that way. No longer sweater weather.

I was thinking ‘okay, time to catch up with my life. Do one big thing a day. Make lists and adult that shit.’

Laying some groundwork this evening, cleaning, sorting laundry…

Seemingly innocent task, kinda Zen, necessary.

Nope.

Suddenly I am Indiana Jones and dirty clothes turned into an archaeological dig and I unearthed the outfit I wore the last time I was with the Giant.

I crumbled.

Cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.

My kid had to pull me out of a pile of laundry like Short Round on some rescue mission in a collapsed diamond mine cursed by a mummy or some shit.

I remember posting to Facebook “Sub-Zero wins, I am wearing a sweater on date night.”

Glad I did, he chose the coldest night of the year to make me charcoal barbequed steaks.

I asked him to stay with me and he said he would.

He didn’t.

It was the last supper.

Why can’t I stop?

I am a crier admittedly.

I am this guy’s wife, with amendments and additions.
If I even think about Schindler’s List and or the Notebook fuckin’ fuggedaboutit, I am done.

Any of my friends? You cry I cry, that is a given, I am an empath.

Certain tones, smells, songs, make me weepy.

But this is soul sobbing. Over a sweater and a boy I knew a month.

I don’t know why this is happening, I know it isn’t normal even for me, the girl who cries, and I don’t know how to stop it. Even I’m getting sick of my own shit.

I made it 3 days.

Lie detector determines that is a lie. I cried at brunch, I was laughing that hard.

Oh ya, being lied to makes this awful bell ring in my ribcage and the reverberation shakes the tears outta me.

I used to cry like that when I knew ex-hubby was lying, but it was different, there was a rage behind it.

When the Poet went dark I fell in a hole. That first night was the worst, Nika held vigil from afar. But that was 2 years in and 2 days out.

Gelfling, I saw a dead doe on the road and just knew we were done. I felt like something got torn away, not a limb or anything more like a tether. 2 days and I wasn’t happy per say but I functioned and moved forward. Even when he came back and reopened the wound, I was fine in a day. Practice.

I thought I lost Drogo, lost a night there. Was fine by morning. And then we talked it out over nachos and chuckled at my silliness.

When Wolfling ghosted I was just like ‘what the fuck’. 2 tears maybe 3.

High School Sweetheart was more of a long coming catharsis. That first night was hard but in an afraid of the unknown kinda way, then I was relieved. 26 years, I was pretty used to him being gone.

Our Sara of Lords said “Tell me why you’re so focused on Giant.”

Deep breath.

I miss his energy.
I feel naked and cold without it. Like I’m lost.
Like something bad is happening all the time.
I feel like what he is doing is wrong/bad for him.
And I miss him constantly.

Leah said “If he was that important he’d be with you.” She has a maddening point that sounds like truth.

I posted the laundry incident to Facebook and one of my other girls said “It sounds like you are in love.” She also has a point that sound like the truth.

Both points are currently pointless.

I am scouring the internet for some magical meme that can make this stop.
So far, this…

Music is having an adverse effect.

I’ve been paying attention to what girl is next on stage so I can leave before a song knocks me on my ass and back into the changeroom, my mascara costs about 60 bucks a tube. I cannot keep doing this.

Sara is helping…
“I’m wondering if it’s his, only his energy you miss. Or the combination of that list you just made.  My friend Monika the writer just wrote about the void.  And you said the word.  I’m sending it to you. Not saying you don’t miss him.  But something feels different.  You feel desperate. You don’t do desperate. I worry.”

She sent me this.

Solar Eclipse in Pisces: Goddess Rising – Earth Shifts.

PORTAL that is the word I was looking for, I fell in one and I have no idea when I am.

The blessed double eclipses are coming and the space between is sublime, blissful, magic.

I showed up early.

Sara says

“…you lost an unknown. I know it’s far more complicated. I know your heart is hurting.
He is with her. Release. Fill the Void. We even do best in Chaos. And then Create.”

The first eclipse on a new moon falls on Yugadi, New Year. Kali. Time to destroy and start anew. Ohm Nayam Shivaya.

Bud White: The Night Owl made you. You sure you want to tear all this down?
Ed Exley: With a wrecking ball, want to help me swing it?
(L.A. Confidential)

There is another side to this wormhole/portal/vortex and I will see you there.

https://www.facebook.com/poemstogo/photos/a.685137224946220.1073741834.681205055339437/868929426566998/?type=3&theater

My magic came back so hard and fast I am reeling from it.
Punch drunk, trying to sort through it and stay upright.

I am putting my babbling incoherency to paper to see if it makes sense.

Maybe my Omega can figure this out. Matthew?

I feel like I’m getting handed puzzle pieces. I don’t have the box so I am not sure what the big picture is. Half the pieces are upside down. A few of them are already nestled together, I have a few corners and edges and I am slowly piecing this together.

I am having trouble switching tenses. Is, was, will be all getting tangled in time somehow.

The heart has reasons which reason knows nothing of. Blaise Pascal

There is no logic in this place. Sad Cat Diary

I never stop questioning why.

Not the poor, poor pitiful cajoling of ‘why me’ punctuated with pouty face. That is as pointless and redundant as the word redundant sound, so very.

I never asked god ‘why me’ when the good stuff was happening… Studio 60

I just smile. Sometimes with a Cheshire cat grin that is my most grateful, mystic, playful face.
Sometimes wistfully with teary eyes and an ‘oh well, what next then’ and I wait for divine intervention.

Oh look, here it is.

My karma seems to be instant.

I’m writing this in bed, in the green binder. Pulled some seemingly blank pages, I swear they were empty. Then they weren’t.

Two things

1. Tabula Rasa, the director’s cut.

List of days I can begin again.

And this…

She still cares for you. After I am gone I hope you find your way back to each other. True Blood

Fuck.

2. The owls are not what they seem. Twin Peaks

That’s all, just those words on the top of a page

“Then there was the owl. I was driving home the day before fetching him from the airport and I had the weirdest thought, I have a thousand million thoughts a day, some louder than others. It’s easy to lose them in the crowd. Except when, right at that very moment this really loud thought comes roaring over all the others, an owl flies into your car window. The thought was this “you are going to tell him you love him and then you are going to have to kick him out of your house, it is the only way this will work.” Two days later, that exact thing happened, exactly the way I had watched it happen in my head.”

The owl happened on March 15^th 2015. Window was open, I was smoking, halfway down my sideroad almost home. Singing Mumford and Sons at the top of my lungs

Hold me fast ‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer And hold me fast, Hold me faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack

I have seen 3 owls in this life. This one didn’t fly into my car exactly, he flew parallel to the window, wings outstretched the tip of one just inches from my face. I stopped the car. I had to. He swooped low over the hood, then up and landed on a telephone pole. I just sat there staring at him trying to process everything. He was staring back. When I finally got composed I eased the car forward and the owl took flight again and led me home.

Nothing goes away until it teaches us what we need to know.

That very same owl came back and told me “If you have to choose between me and her. Pick her.”

I have been “her” both ways.

This road goes two ways. (How FrankenKyle says I love you. AHS)

There is more.

Rob Brezsny strikes again.

The last time he interfered a penguin threw up.

Penguins nurture their offspring by chewing food—mixing it up with all God’s enzymes—and then vomiting it into the mouths of the penguin babies. Perhaps you weren’t the butt of a cosmic joke or some Linda Blair-esque bad review, but in fact the recipient of a very precious gift of love. Who knows?

https://www.facebook.com/poemstogo/photos/a.685137224946220.1073741834.681205055339437/868929426566998/?type=3&theater

I spilled my guts and heart out on the internet, left my feelings out for him and the world to see. But he wasn’t looking.

It took me a month and that owl for me to say it to his face. It was already too late.
He said it back, right before he moved away.
Spoke to him the other day. Still love the fucker, he is a good man and an amazing friend. I asked him if I had remedied the situation with the ‘others’ and he hadn’t had to move if he would have given me a second chance, he said he believed he would. That is enough.

Today I got this

Love is the most difficult and dangerous form of courage. Courage is the most desperate, admirable, and noble kind of love. Delmore Schwartz

This is feeling like some serious déjà vu.

Pieces of the Hulk and pictures of Jesus.

Y’all remember Jesus right?

Once he thought he wanted her. But he kept coming back to me.
I hadn’t shaken my narcissistic inner toddler that would constantly rant ‘mine’. So I ended up the mistress. Took what I could get, which was him, more often than I should have had him considering he belonged to someone else. He came back to me 3 years later and reminded me I had said I was going to show up at his wedding in a red dress and object. He looked for me that day, and for quite some time after.

I write to leave pieces of me everywhere, like cake crumbs on the forest floor, so I can both find myself and be found.

I’m currently lost.

12/3/42 and black 19. I don’t understand, numbers vex me. Someone explain?

The other thing I found in the binder full of magicks?

“When single shines the triple sun, what was sundered and undone shall be whole, the two made one.” Dark Crystal.

There is an eclipse coming, on a new moon.

Open your eyes and look at me.
Heaven.

Another day the walls between the worlds are thinny, another wishing day.
And I have a date with 88?
Huh? That doesn’t seem right.

Stop just in time.

You heard my voice
I came out of the woods by choice
Shelter also gave their shade
But in the dark I have no name
So leave that click in my head
And I will remember the words that you said
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart
But I was sure we could see a new start.

Tabula rasa

I’m realizing I left myself clues too. The puzzle? I have seen this before.

This is what love looks like.

I feel like Dikembe Mutombo.

No no no, not in my house.
(slaps the boy away)

Every prophet in her house.

Jesus fucking Christ I am getting hit on with alarming regularity this week and I am not even ovulating. If this keeps up I will need a guard dog next week.

Oh shit, I let them all go. Metaphorically. I put my poor undersexed girl through torture. Sent her faces to go with the nicknames and we both deleted them one by one as I said goodbye. My posse was a bit much for the last one. Sacrifices.

I had never looked at them all at the same time, it was a little overwhelming, the amount of beauty made my eyes water a bit. They were something to behold. But I had to let them go.

“I’ve named them all the same thing and there is terrible confusion.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer

To be fair Drusilla was looking at the ceiling just imagining stars.

Stay down.

Whack-a-boy.

One of the Plastics from work, actually THE Plastic asked me to go out for a smoke with her, so I did.
Asked her if she needed a cigarette or a light, she didn’t (weird) she just wanted to talk to me (weirder). So I waited for it.

She has an assignment for school about ethics. She needs to write a paper on her personal code of ethics. No one at school knows what she does and the inner workings of stripper etiquette would really be lost on the masses I think. “So, if a girl leaves a bandana on a chair it’s like a bookmark to hold her place?” Territorial pissings with bum towels. What’s a bum towel? And so it would go…  See what I mean.

Ironically, two weeks ago she literally put herself in between me and a customer I was speaking to when she saw the massive wad of cash he had in his hand. So maybe even if there was a dancer code of ethics to be written, she might not be the best one to ask.

But I digress.

What I said was this…

I am the sister to all women and I fucking hate it lately.
Went out with a cute boy, had an amazing date and towards the end I realized I had heard his stories before, from a different perspective. He is my best-friend’s ex. So I can’t go out with him even though he has gone from scratching at my door to downright kicking it in.
I met another really cute boy, he asked me to hang out and it popped into my head right before I gave him my number to ask if he had a girlfriend, he did, so I walked away without a word.
The Giant that I am still smitten as fuck with is dating someone so I can’t go near him even though I really want to.

Neither my road nor my horse are high.
I’ve been here before, walked a low road before, kicking dead horses and whatnot. Spent my 20’s with no morals, no compass, no rules.
Mine Mine Mine.
24 = I lost a really good friend way back when by fucking her ex.
26 = Jesus had a girlfriend, I knew it, tracked him down anyways, told him where I worked and proceeded to dance for him once a week for a month until we made the leap and I took him home once a week for the next 2 years, the mistress.
29 = I scooped ex-husband out from under his now wifey while they were on a date and we know how that went.

I cannae.

As if to illustrate my point, last night a tall drink of water came up to me at the bar and asked for dances. I had an accidental psychic-no-filter blurt and said “this is going to end badly.” Danced for him for a good long while, he wasn’t bad at all, we got along. I heard my name being called for stage and I asked him what kind of music he liked ‘art rock’ he said. “What the fuck is art rock” I replied. He said “you know, like Explosions in the Sky*.” I almost broke my hello my name is Sarah, it’s been 3 days since I cried at work streak. Held it together. Danced to the Weeknd, Rihanna and some other catchy garbage without triggers. ‘Lemme see you work work work work work.’ It worked.

He left, came back, found me again and asked for more dances.
I was reeling from the déjà vu all over again and the drinks I poured on it, but I managed.

Shift was over but I was making stupid good money so I pushed myself to stay until I couldn’t. In the middle of goodbye he asked for my number and in an attempt to deflect, that question arose, ‘do you have a girlfriend?’
Of course he does.
It ended badly, just like I said it would.

As far as my guard dogs go. I seem to have let my guard down, or called the old one(s) back to life by saying goodbye. Some indestructible goat-spider silken thread that cannae be severed and I accidentally tugged it whilst trying to cut it. ‘Come find me’ he says.

Fuck.

Oh sinnerman where you gonna run to? Nina Simone

Run to Me. thenewno.2

*See also Siren’s Song and Lyrically Speaking (a band I had never heard of before a month ago, now a giant fucking deal)

I love funny.

Not ha-ha funny.

Just strange.

Like me.

I forgive, it is my religion.

I learn, it is my religion.

I remember, it is my religion.

I love, it is what I am.

It’s just what the fuck I do.

Me and Forrest Gump, not the smartest bunnies in the drawer but we know what love is.

I do.

I have loved. Been loved.

I don’t like using it as a verb. And my tenses are always tricksy.
Active? Sometimes.
Passive? Ya, that too.
Past tense, nope. If it was ever there it still exists.
So my love is a noun?

Am love.

She fucked her brother, what does she know of love? About as much as Jon Snow. Absolutely nothing (say it again)

She has a point though. Love is supposed to be sacred and mine is all here and I look a scattered mess.

I also asked who the fuck was going to love me with my guts spilled all over the internet.

That’s the million dollar question. If we could answer that and the other, we would have 2 million dollars, unless the answer is the same and then it would feel exactly like winning the lottery.

Yup. And I burn everything to the ground.
I’m sifting through the ash.

Warmth can only come from a burning, and love always comes due in blood. Stephen King

Ever since I woke up and took control over my life, started being honest about who and what I am I have never been wrong about genuinely loving someone. They all needed/deserved it and had some role to play in my life, all of them continue to be in it. Passively.

“The dog has to be put to sleep my boy. Do you understand why? Mark said, You’re not putting him to sleep you are putting him to death, aren’t you? The vet said yes. Mark told him to go ahead, but he had kissed Chopper first. He felt sorry but he hadn’t cried and tears had never been close to the surface. His mother had cried but three days later Chopper was in the dim past to her, and he would never be in the dim past for Mark. That was the value in not crying. Crying was like pissing everything out on the ground.” Stephen King

But I cry, oceans. I am a girl, this is a thing I do.
I need an arc.

So how do I keep from pissing everything on the ground?
(Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy ~ Blake)

How do I hold memories sacred?

Archives (I am) archangel, archbishop. All these things wrapped up in one girl.
An arch is a curved structure that spans a space and may or may not support weight above it.
Arch may be synonymous with vault.

Welcome to the vault.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. (Unknown)

My immortals.

I see something in them worth preserving. Doesn’t mean I want to keep them or fuck them. I just like knowing they exist. I need to show them, and everyone reading, their worth. Because I want someone to show me mine. Or find me worthy of keeping, celebrating, loving.

“That is my super power, the girl who says nice things and means them” (conversations with Drogo the other day) I told him I could see his soul and it is golden and warm. It is. Being near him makes my soul happy. Do I love him? Yes and it is pleasant and calm. Am I in love with him? Nope. Passive.

I do believe in love at first sight. I have felt it, been in it.

I was 13 years old and I still love the fucker. Passive.

I have loved since, been in it, am in it. Active.

I used to think that I was not in possession of my whole heart and therefore could not give it to anyone without it being tainted, tattered, torn. That used to be true. I tried to love my ex-husband but I didn’t know how.

I didn’t understand what it meant.

Now I know that I am a mother, daughter, sister, friend, lover. The love I have for my sisters is different than the love I have for my child, the love I have for my old lovers is as different as they are. Different than how I feel about this one. There are as many different kinds of love as there are people there ever was or will be, as there are snowflakes in an avalanche as there are angels dancing on the head of a pin or drops of water in the ocean. As with everything I just listed, love is not something to be measured or metered out in controlled doses.

I may be scattered, battered, tattered but I am not torn.

Love is not finite or fixed, we can’t ever run out. The more love I emit, the better I feel.

My heart is a stubborn thing, once she gets fixed on someone, everyone else falls away.
Perhaps another reason I need to be the keeper, archive everyone else so they still feel loved when my body stops wanting to be touched by anyone but him.

https://www.facebook.com/Jmstormquotes/photos/a.1586930328210390.1073741827.1586920178211405/1755927234644031/?type=3&theater

“Think I’ll go for a walk now, feel a little unsteady, don’t want nobody to follow me, except maybe you. I could make you happy if you weren’t already, I can do a lot of things, and I do.” Ani Difranco

The first rule of empath sex is we should talk about empath sex.

The second rule of empath sex is seriously, talk about it.

The third rule of empath sex is if you are an empath and you haven’t tried it.
You have to fuck another of your kind.

It’s spectacular.

After the flood all the colors came out.
U2
Beautiful Day

It wasn’t colors, not even sure if it’s the truth.

I do know there was a flood and I have been drowning.

I wish I could stay mad at him but I cannot.
Covenant of the Cougar being what it is (they know not what they do so just let it happen)
And him being what he is.
Fucking Scorpio.
Doing that thing with his tongue, and where was I again?

So here is what happened.

Young Un the first and I were both trying to relationship at the same time, with others.
We have spoken of this before and admitted that neither of us are very good at it.
I was scared of the boy I liked and I used Young Un to learn from and as a vessel to hold all of my feelings, instead of telling the one I had feelings for. He was my example of ‘where I went wrong before’.

He was the wrong one to lean on for advice. I can see that now. Chosen for his age and not the outcome.

Young Un found a girl who was amazing except that one thing. They weren’t sexually compatible.

I probably wasn’t the right one for him to lean on either considering we’re sparky.

Neither one of our others worked out, so he is coming over tonight.

We are both sex-eaters and empaths.

We are both starving. I have been crying for the better part of 2 weeks now and I am running on empty.

I have been masturbating as much as humanly possible and it feels like eating tofu. I am craving steak.

As beings who are open to the emotions of others to the point of tripping around in their feelings and getting them tangled up in our own, when are we more open to each other than when we are quite literally, physically tethered to someone else?

Never.

Took a year I think before I realized the nervousness I felt when I was with Young Un the first wasn’t my own. We talked about it from a safe distance, he found me intimidating and I internalized it as my own.
Thinking back, it wasn’t a bad thing at all really. His youth and nervous energy was really good food. Like static electricity. What shorted everything out was when I was sending back what I thought was mine instead of what I usually emit, which is calm and pink and unconditional. Compassion with some passion on top.

I am still learning.
Michelangelo

He sparked the article Blowing and Glowing. Wait, not just him. There was a perfect storm.

“We cannot and should not fuck outside of our kind.

This is now my divine law and I have followers. I need to make t-shirts and write it in the sky.

There is a spark that exists inside of some of us. If we open ourselves up sexually to ‘the others’ (aka the spark-less) ours dims.
If they are the void kind of humanoid we can literally get sick from it, sad, lost and weakened. They steal our light.

The equal and opposite is therefore true, if you can find someone whose fire and lightning feeds your own that is how stars are born.”

Young Un the first was lacking lightning with his girl. He was lacking and lost.

I was not. I tasted something new, more than I am used to. I was full and found.

It took me forever to figure out why sex with some people was just better. Like mindbogglingly better.

I have come to realize, sex is an energetic exchange.

For me/us/we end up telepathically transferring our higher emotions through touch.
Like speaking in tongues, channeling something bigger than us, godlike.
There is French slang for orgasm petite morte translates to ‘little death’.
And like death in the tarot it isn’t a finite ending, it signifies change.
It’s a conduit that takes me closer to the divine. But only when it’s divine.

If someone is void we end up pouring ourselves into nothing and being drained. There has to be a back and forth.

“Honey, you are young, you don’t have to settle down right now and you don’t have to settle at all.”

I don’t like his exes. They are mean to him and I cannot wrap my head around it.
He isn’t fond of mine either. “Fuck that guy, you deserve better. Anyone who has the privilege of your company is fortunate indeed.”

When I get that feeling, I need sexual healing.
Marvin Gaye

If I could go back, I would do things differently.
He was giving me the best advice he could from his perspective and doing what I asked, which was just keeping me grounded.
There is no conspiracy here.
Just two people who have an empathic connection wandering around lost, hurt, hungry.

I haven’t fed him in 2 years and he still raves about how I cook (and taste).

I’m making steak tacos.