July 7, 2020

I stole the title from a Peter Gabriel Lyric.

I tried posting how I was feeling in real time the other day and it went badly. I just really thought I was having a ridiculous Chicken Little moment and I could use it to look back and see where I was and what not to do.

I wrote a postmortem before death. That’s just weird.

And like the Oracle from the Matrix stated, “would you still have broken it if I hadn’t said anything?”

FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK

Noodle is officially cooked.

Good Karen messaged me after and said I write very well when I am in distress. She was one of 4 people who read if before I pulled it down.

To me its just looked like the same building blocks stacked into a different configuration.

46^th verse the same as the first.

The sky fell.

How many times have I fallen apart and how many different ways can I really rearrange the pieces and get back to myself, is myself anything worth rebuilding or do I throw everything out and start over?

I pulled that post and I am mid edit/purge of the entire blog right now. It isn’t easy.

What is really strange, lately I have been talking about everything but what I am to scrub from the web.

I guess I hit the mute button a while ago, until I didn’t.

Maybe I am psychic, but I don’t trust myself as much as I do others.

Talking to my witchy Viking rune girl from Colorado.

I was drowning and called all the witches for help.

They are rallying, slowly. Time and reality have this very thick feeling right now. Like the universe is viscous. Trying to walk through water and there is a wicked undertow. I am fighting the urge to stop fighting. Oh succumbing sounds so good right now. The plane didn’t crash as I had hoped, instead we were locked in our seats for 2+ hours of turbulence. You get to decide if that is a metaphor or not.

All I want to do is sleep.

I am worried about a couple of my best witchy bitches. They just not sleeping, vibrating at some other frequency instead. I am almost jealous, I want to feel connected to the ether again like that, but sleep is my only escape from life right now.

I feel like a ghost. Like I am not real and that is with a good 8 hours a night. I dread being awake. I have said some really fucked up shit when sleep deprived. I have no idea what my excuse is now. Punch drunk?

It is not a good thing for me. Once upon a time sleep deprivation or odd sleep cycles were supposed to make you feel closer to the divine, but whatever god of mine lives there is a screeching angry god of panic.

I trust my tongue more when it is coated with whiskey than I do when I am physically exhausted. But what about mental exhaustion? What about mental exhaustion in a retrograde during a pandemic?

I used to fast to tap into my daemons to write, fun excuse for lingering anorexia. But it worked. It might be what Good Karen said, I write better when I am in distress and my stomach has been rolling too hard for a week to really eat much.

I was trying to eat yesterday and it just felt strange, like I didn’t remember the mechanics of food consumption.

I think that was just a few hundred words of stating I am not okay.

The closest I can get to an explanation is  feel like I died at some point and this is just some weird limbo simulator and I am getting punished like Sisyphus, just on this loop and I want off this ride now please. This rock is too heavy and Albert as wrong, I am not happy.
I felt like this in Newfoundland too. I remember saying it out loud and it seems just as ‘real’ right now as it did then, maybe more so. Maybe I got to visit heaven for a minute and was deemed unworthy, so I was cast out back into whatever this is.

Hulk and Giant saw the bat signal that is my Stella Polaris self, flickering in a weakened state but they are both a mess too. I can’t ask for much. But it was nice to know they still care. Still part of the same weird loop though.

I think everyone is struggling now, we are all exhausted. Being held in siege by the media and the dangling fear of what panic button is going to get pushed today. Rehashing the old with a twist or is it going to be some new toxic cocktail of crazy.

I got an email today from a girl who follows my page. She had messaged me last week and asked for help getting a racist fired. She gave me shit for a curt response.
It wasn’t curt.
I was upset that I couldn’t do something, I don’t have that kind of power.
I wish I did.
I wish I had a magic eraser or even some magic words to right all of these wrongs, but I don’t.
How do you convince someone that something they believe isn’t necessarily the truth, or it doesn’t have to be.
How do you undo damage that was done in childhood?
I am still trying to undo my own and that ain’t going so great.

Every example that could have been made, every metaphor, analogy or suggestion has been meme’ed and people are just comfortable and stubborn in their own antiquated beliefs.

And sis? I am just one person. If I had any kind of influence, I would have sold enough books to buy a truck and trailer by now. But I don’t and I haven’t.

Mother Teresa said if you want to save the world start with the people closest to you.

Stabbing Westward said I cannot save you I can’t even save myself.

I thought the full moon and eclipse were last night. I was wrong. But I laid in bed feeling nothing, disconnected and it hurt me. I didn’t want to go through this again, that is why I left that island. The Weigh Station. The void, the nothing, the lack of magic.

At least now I have a shot at redemption.

Tonight I am going to sit in the backyard and give my fears to the moon.

And tomorrow I am going to figure out how to bring the rest of me back from Newfoundland, and start walking into the unknown.

Angel, angel or devil, I was thirsty, and you wet my lips.
U2, Trip Through Your Wires

This meme really pissed me off.

For a myriad of reasons.

The obvious… ‘a right woman’. Should have read ‘a good woman’ or ‘the right woman’, but alas, grammatically correcting memes is a task without purpose or end.

But seriously.

The concept of a ‘good woman’ is open to interpretation. What is good for some is bad for others. I should know. I am for all intents and purposes a good woman. I don’t nag, cheat, steal or lie. I am supportive and loving, forgiving and accommodating. I also exhibit devilish behavior. I am wanton, I don’t bow down to rules written by men on behalf of an imaginary sky daddy. I used to smoke and drink. I still cuss and I love to fuck.

Just as the concept of ‘good man’ or devil is relative. I prefer horns, to me those are the good men.

I also believe that ‘right’ is a malleable term that can change and warp over time. Yes, that was the right outfit to wear in 2002, but I no longer have the fashion sense of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in her cardigans and chunky heels.

I also think that change is good, just not forced change, or denial of who someone is at their core for our own comfort.

I am really sick and tired of the idea that we need to find one human in our 20’s that we don’t mind fucking, and then just fuck them until we die.

I realize monogamy was not mentioned in the offensive meme of offensiveness. But hear me out.

Let’s say you actually find a devil and that is not what you want.

Hell is empty (after all) and the devils are all here.

There are 7.7 billion people on the planet. Why pick one that is not exactly what you are looking for and then try to bend them and break them into a shape you like better? Why grind their horns down until their magic and power are lost?

If someone made a meme about ripping the wings off angels to suit our purposes, there would be a mighty ruckus. But from all accounts I have read, angels are subservient, sycophantic and pretty boring. Vanilla really.

Speaking of angels, Mister Rogers said that love is the action of loving someone as they are moment to moment as they are, not how you want them to be. I am paraphrasing but I think he would forgive me.

He acknowledged that people change in a good way.

Change is great, I love change. But forcing someone to deny who they really are and change to suit your agenda is wrong.

Devils aren’t for everyone, I get that. They run hot and passionate, there is a bit of underlying evil that can be misconstrued as cruelty if you don’t know what you are looking at. But the original Lucifer was God’s favorite and the most beautiful among the angels, he was cast out of heaven for arguing with god. Personally, none of that sounds bad to me.

I usually love a good devil and a good debate. But I am not omnipotent, and I understand that I have been wrong, I will be wrong again and it isn’t the end of the world if I am.

And for the record…the Satanic bible has thou shall not rape in it’s commandments, actually goes so far as to say thou shall not even hit on a woman who is not interested in you so, ya…god dropped the ball on that one.

I just don’t think the devil is as bad as he has been made out to be.

This meme reminds me of the one that says women are not rehabilitation centers for badly raised men. It’s my blog, I can go adjacent to topic for a minute. Hush now.

I mean really, someone is raising them. They exist, these bad men. Brock Turner had a mom. I have met horrible men, dated a couple. They scare and infuriate me. But I wouldn’t call them devils, they aren’t that cool. Demons are fallen angels and these incels have no soul at all. I wouldn’t imbue them with supernatural qualities, they are trolls if anything. Angry misshapen men who lurk in the darkness and fantasize about taking what they haven’t earned. Who raised them?

I have a devil child, I do. He is a giant pain in my ass. He is passionate and strong. He doesn’t just blindly follow rules, which is great now, but was a little tricksy when he was 5.

Did I raise him as well as I could have?

No, see above where I am not infallible.

However. He is a good man. And for that I am grateful. I will take a small bit of credit for this. I raised him without shame and fear.

He fucked up, I fucked up and we talked about it. He knows it isn’t the end of the world. And he is stronger for it. He also knows he doesn’t have to be strong 24/7. He has the seemingly rare ability to express his feelings and not worry about this being construed as weakness.

I say rare, but I see it a lot with is generation, especially among his friends and it gives me hope.

Repressed emotion begets violence, either against oneself or others.

Shame is a spiral that only goes down.

But my point is someone is raising these badly raised men who are so caught up in their idea of masculinity that they cease to be human. Generational curses are hard to break, I know this. I broke them.

And sometimes it’s not just the mamas. Sometimes it’s the world or other women.

I have met some very broken men with good mamas and bad exes.

Now the therapy part.

I fucking love therapy, everyone should go. Everyone should always have access to a trained, non-biased individual whose only goal is your improved mental health and general contentment. Somewhere safe to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth it is a gift from god. And we should be able to try on therapists like shoes until we find one that fits and have different shoes for different occasions.

I realize that is unrealistic, but it shouldn’t be.

If I could, I’d be like Oprah in this.

YOU get a therapist, and YOU get a therapist, EVERYBODY GETS A FUCKING THERAPIST.

But mental health is a fairly new idea. And the toxic idea that we should just be able to handle whatever life throws at us is forced upon men a thousand times over. They are never allowed to be not okay. Asking for help is, again, construed as weakness.

Then you get a meme like this, which agrees with my above statements, but says it in a really bitchy way. We can drop the eye rolling any time now.

Everyone has their own path and they might be tiptoeing or striding along it. Or even standing still. It’s their path. Stop yelling at other people and work on your damned self. Grow your own horns or find someone without if that suits you better. More devils for me. Win win.

I am sick of people judging people really.

Why keep people in your life just to make them feel bad about themselves because they aren’t what you imagined them to be.

Rude.

The takeaway from all this?

Shame is bad.

Therapy is good.

And a devil without his horns is just a dude with a bumpy forehead, crippling anxiety and a lost sense of self.