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Turn the key and engine over
Let her go, let somebody else lay at her feet.
~Gaslight Anthem

I went to Cassadaga Friday.

We were early so I took Panda to Bob Evan’s for her first biscuits and gravy experience.

She was a happy Panda.

As we were finishing Agape by Bear’s Den came on the muzak.

I was happy at first, then left with a sense of foreboding. The last time I heard that song anywhere that I didn’t deliberately play it I ended up eating a pot cookie and having one of the weirder more uncomfortable afternoons of my adult life. It worked out in the end, but fuck that was weird.

Scared me a bit as we drove into the psychic community.

I was hyper aware of omens.

Panda felt like we were going to get murdered. I felt calm and good.

Our Sara of Lords and her beautiful daughter met us there. Flashbacks of last year but I am so much happier now.

I was told my lady was busy. Second choice wasn’t available either. Almost bowed out, but I didn’t.

Went with door #3

She was a little exuberant for my tastes. Over explained things with irrelevant metaphors.

She read my palms first and then my cards.

Palms were a strange mix of what I was and what I have become.

Panda sat in an armchair behind me and was my peanut gallery, quipping ‘yep’ and ‘nope’ depending.

Psychic lady got to my heartline and she was waaaaaaaaaay off, to the point where I couldn’t control an eye roll.
Until she pointed out the spaces betwixt the lines.
Islands she called them. The emptiness representing chaos, rejection, betrayal, insecurity.

Apparently I carry archipelagos of heartache in my palms.

It’s not that I didn’t know this, I just thought I hid it well. Played through the pain.

Nope.

I stopped her mid read.

“I have everything in my life pretty much handled, except romantic relationships. I can’t seem to get that right.”

Her news wasn’t all that great nor that surprising.
There was a glimmer of hope for the end of this year…ya, I’ll wait.
I needed a break anyways. Like a real one.
She said I could date without feels.
We shall see.

The cards were…really swordy. Opposition everywhere.

Difficulty with transportation, this isn’t new or news.

It then came up blatantly that a current romantic someone was outright lying to me, about dumb shit too.
I had an inkling.
No one’s phone fucks up that frequently.
No one is that busy.

I pulled a card for clarification. Queen of Cups covered the Page of swords.

I am the only one that can stop this.

If it walks like a fuckboi and talks like a fuckboi. It’s probably a fuckboi.

Time to change your status from boo to bootycall.

Or just fuck off.

I’m fine with that too.

She said it had to be me that ended things. Never been my greatest strength, but see above where I am not good at this. Maybe, definitely it’s time for change.

An ex is coming back to try and reconcile. I narrowed it down to two titans. I think I know who and I know what to say and do. He left me on a deserted island and I’ll find my own way back to civilization, thanks.

https://www.facebook.com/KingsPoetry1/photos/a.1723946661175572.1073741829.1723932144510357/1885902058313364/?type=3&theater

Ya, that right there.

I am just watering flowers on graves that only I visit.

That’s the thing about cemeteries. Nothing grows there unless tended to and the dead don’t notice.
It’s just for the living that can’t let go.

So, moving forward. Leaving the grave yard behind, letting the bones rest…what do I do?

She said something incredibly astute.

I have written upon ye olde blog many imageries of the men I am with, was with, wanted to be with.

I have written the most flowery descriptions of their best qualities, immortalizing them, glossing over their flaws with some high grade primer until they are visions of perfection. Little gods.

These are the floral arrangements I adorn their graves with.

Also, upon ye olde blog I rip open all my scars and idiosyncrasies, all of my weird and strange, my imperfections in an attempt to understand and accept them. I don’t celebrate myself with the lavishness I expend on them, or at all really.

I put myself down a lot.

I figure if I can speak true, I can conquer my insecurities.

Here’s the thing…

They are flawed too.

And I love them as is.

Do I not deserve the same?

I do.

She told me to stop dreaming and manifesting the man I want, and start figuring out what kind of relationship I want.

Seems like a simple thing, but it struck me as rather profound.

Like the truth.

Dream Love, 11:11 A Wish for my Pet Monster and who knows what others…all descriptions of quite literally my dream guy.

I think I want one of those bae things.
But what do I do with it?
How often do they eat?
Do I have to take it for walks?

I said in the last post that I want to eat better, work smarter, write more, smoke less, cry a lot less.

How do I fit a boy in there?

Not a huge conundrum really. Evenings and weekends.

After I am done doing my shit. Me first.

Yes, I would like a bae, eat foods with it, walk with it, snugglefuck it.

I want abundant amounts of fun, passionate sex.
To touch and be touched.
To laugh loud and often.
Strength. Chivalry.
Compatible schedules. I don’t want to see him all day every day, but thrice a week would be nice.
I want someone to look forward to.
Good morning and goodnight texts with some smiles in between.
The freedom to be both derpy and graceful.
Trust and acceptance.
To be shown off and taken out as well as staying home and snuggling.
Adventures both together and separate.
Partnership with his masculinity provoking and enhancing my feminine.
Teaching and learning from each other.
Friendship both with each other and each other’s friends.
I want, above all things, to feel safe and wanted.
Understood and appreciated.
I want to look at them and be looked at like we both won the lottery finding each other.
Ricky Fitz and Jane Burnham.

I’m not in a rush. I’m in a rut and the only way out is to climb out on my own.

I have things to do, places to go, money to make and words to write.

Matthew Hussey said “Unrequited love is worship.” It is time to experience something equal and even.

What can everyone do?
Praise and blame.
This is human virtue.
This is human weakness.
~Nietzsche

Fall upon your knees,
Sing, “This is my body and soul here.”
Crawl and beg, and plead,
Sing, “You’ve got the power and control.”
Don’t pin it all on me 
~Bastille
I blame no one, not anymore. This is about the most freeing thing there is.

I am falling on my knees. This IS my body and my soul.

I am in complete and utter control.

Time to manifest destiny.

I used to have a running joke with my girlfriend.

“Can you imagine what we would look like if we actually tried?”

She is an alt model. So gorgeous and so photogenic, but with massive talent as well.

I’ve tried, a few times, to model. Never goes well, I end up like Ricky Bobby getting interviewed in Talladega Nights and I just don’t know what to do with my hands. I feel like I am under a microscope and every flaw is amplified. I jump at shadows and I end up looking stiff and unappealing instead of sultry like I am supposed to.

I say ‘used to’ because she actually did something about it. She looks and feels amazing. I still skate by and chain smoke.

I never saw myself as lazy. My mind is always busy, hands too. When I get into something, be it work, writing, cleaning…I am all in.
Except when I ain’t.

Unless it’s the book. Damned thing. I meant to finish it here and the days got washed away by the ocean and the sun. I have no regrets.

Saw a psychic yesterday. She told me I have fire hands, which describes me fairly perfectly.
I like to have several things going at once, jack of all trades etc.…but I tend to drop things when I get bored or they get too much.

I am half decent at so many things.

I am trying, I am becoming more self-aware.

What if I just tried 10% harder? The possibilities are endless.

I knew a woman once who taught me a valuable phrase and outlook.
Whether things are going well or badly ask yourself “how can it get better than this?”

I forgot to ask myself that for the last couple years. Now feels like the perfect time to remember.

I know my habit of setting goals and not smashing them because I see something shiny, usually a boy.

I have become complacent in how much better I am than I was in the time called ‘before’.

Oh baby that bar was so low. We can do better.

I was a fishwife, getting cheated on and throwing epic tantrums instead of fixing my situation, i.e. removing myself from it. I blamed everyone else and they refused to change their behavior, so I was miserable. Makes no sense when stated this way. I see that now.

All planets went direct today. This day of our lord January 8^th 2017

This year is a one. New beginnings.

If anyone is expecting some insightful lesson or funny story in this post, you can stop reading now.

I am making my personal vows public, nothing more. Leaving myself a list and a trail of breadcrumbs for the next time I wander off the path because I saw a boy over there and he had a pretty mouth and said nice things.

I will be 43 this year and I have been genetically blessed, I know this. But…

The years add up whether I acknowledge them or not.

The psychic I saw last year in the same old hotel told me I am way more on my mystical game when I am hydrated.
Goal #1 drink more water.

A friend I had (and lost) catapulted my financial thinking from hundreds in savings to thousands.
She herself was up into the tens of thousands.
I want that now. I can do this.
In the time called ‘before’ I had 5 financially abusive boyfriends over the course of 18 years.
Back to back.
When I made the decision to be single and I was not paying for the habits and folly of others, I suddenly knew the comfort of a savings account.

I exist with the mindset that money comes easily and frequently. I shall not want. I have been blessed with tiny miracles always bailing me out of trouble even before I became aware of such things.

But that’s the thing.

I don’t want to be in trouble to manifest anymore. I want to help others, I want to travel, invest and save. I already know how to do this. Follow in my girl’s footsteps, dream bigger and work both smarter and harder. Yes, my current workspace is comfortable, but nothing big ever happens staying in your comfort zone. Time for launch.

Goal #2 expand my idea of what ‘good money’ is. Add multiple zeros to my net worth, save feverishly, spend wisely, travel more, and stress less. Do the things I love while turning a healthy profit.
The psychic I saw this year said money was coming and I wish to prove her right.

I have a love/hate with routine. I need it but I don’t care for it. Panda the roommate says the only thing I do consistently is change my sheets on Sundays.

She isn’t wrong.

If I change my work I can change my schedule and also my routine.

I went to hot yoga with that friend I used to have. I miss how limber I felt after, the high from the endorphins, how clean I felt after sweating out all the bad things I put in my body.

Panda has a perfect peach butt.

Once upon a time I dated a personal trainer and I too was the proud owner of a perfect peach butt, I have the photos to prove it. If I’m going to keep going the way I’m going, I gotta hit the gym. It’s time.

My nights get earlier, so do my mornings. We will have time.

Oh ya, Panda is coming with me on this journey of the new, rich and fabulous, she has a head start.

Goal #3 be nicer to my body.
Less smoking and drinking. More yoga and gym.

This next thing is going to be the hardest to change.

I need to flip something.

I meet a boy that I like and suddenly I’m expending time and energy on him and not myself.
I eat up the crumbs they feed me like it’s a 4 course dinner, and it’s not.

“A hit can feel like a kiss when the body is starved for attention.”

Instead of an 80/20 split in their favor I need and 80/20 split for me.

That doesn’t mean I want someone fawning over me, never did care for that. What I mean is I need to look after myself first. I need to remember ‘no’ is a complete sentence. I need to realize that my time has value. And the big one…

“You have to learn to get up from the table when love is no longer being served.” Nina Simone

Goal #4 Realize I have value on my own. My worth is not dependent on anyone else’s ability to see it.

Which lends itself quite nicely to Goal #5 More sex, less feelings.

I am/was about to launch into a post without doing my research.

Sounds like how I skated through high school/life, I absorbed exactly what I needed to spit it out like I knew what I was talking about. So a lot more than most, a lot less than what I was capable of. Unless I was interested in what we were studying then I ate it up voraciously.

If I tried like 10% harder …Jesus, hold that thought. That is a post unto itself.

This one has to do with Rob Brezsny, Scott Pilgrim and my 7 deadly exes.

I jumped over to Imdb.com and watched the previews, read the reviews and now I kinda wanna watch it.

Also, when your guru/own personal Jesus links your astrological future love life long term horoscope to a movie you have never seen. It’s time to watch it.

I did.

Started the above at 6pm, its 6am the following morning now.

I am awake, in the dark watching the sky turn purple with lightning strikes.
Doing unpleasant math in my head.
Sunday
add 2 Mikes
plus Sam
and Jeremy
and the Giant
Sadly, for this math to work I have to add the shitty fake solja boy who really is the only evil one of them all…carry the one.
Yep, 7.
Wait, the Poet. Minus fake solja boy = seven.
Poet for the save. Thanks baby.

I don’t count the ones from before. I wasn’t me then. They were dating a ghost in a shell.

Truth be told these ones don’t really count either, we were never official. I was happier at the time with all of them, except fake solja boy, than I ever have been in the history of me. So there is that then.

I have always been as bad at math as I am at relationships.

Always adding, rarely subtracting.

https://www.facebook.com/lulus.secret.desires/photos/a.746694875360710.1073741828.746691528694378/1517283394968517/?type=3&theater

That is a metric shit tonne of love.

Part one of my expanded horoscope gave me cart blanche to pull, nay perfect a ‘dick move’.

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20161229.html

Gemini gymnast Marisa Dick has created a signature move that has never been used by any other gymnast. To start her routine, she leaps up off a springboard and lands on the balance beam doing a full split. The technical term for this bold maneuver is “a change-leg leap to free-cross split sit,” although its informal name is “The Dick Move.” The International Federation of Gymnastics has certified it in its Code of Points, so it’s official. During the coming months, I expect that you will also produce one-of-a-kind innovations in your own sphere. 

Do unto others as you would have done to you. Does this mean I can do unto others what has been done to me? I don’t think I could ever be that cold, cruel or callous.

Part two inspired this article

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20170105.html

The fictional character Scott Pilgrim is the hero of Bryan Lee O’Malley’s series of graphic novels. He becomes infatuated with a “ninja delivery girl” named Ramona Flowers, but there’s a complication. Before he can win her heart, he must defeat all seven of her evil ex-lovers. I’m sure your romantic history has compelled you to deal with equally challenging dilemmas, Gemini. But I suspect you’ll get a reprieve from that kind of dark melodrama in 2017. The coming months should be a bright and expansive chapter in your Book of Love.

“Before you hear any dirty lies from someone else, yes, it’s true, I am dating a 17 year old.”

Brief synopsis of the movie. Scott Pilgrim has a girlfriend (see above), and while out with her sees the girl of his dreams. Literally he dreamt her.

He convinces his dream girl to hang out and is then subjected/expected to battle her 7 evil exes.

The fights play out in arcade game fashion.

He has a gory trail of exes behind him as well.

He juggles the two girls at first, but it works out in the end.

It’s entertaining. The film style itself was strange. Worth watching though. The dialog is witty, characters are well played. It’s eye/ear/heart candy.

SP: I couldn’t stop thinking about stupid my ex

Wallace: Just because Envy is back in town doesn’t make it not over

SP: Double negative, it’s tricky.

It’s not tricky. What’s done is done.

Juggling 2 is a dick move but apparently I get a free pass.

There is nothing for a potential partner to fight. I have to do all that myself.

2am ‘wyd’ texts must be deleted and go unanswered, unheeded, unnoticed.

He loses the first battle royale at the end and ends up using a one up extra life to go back and do it again. The parallels are abundant.

On the second chance he pulls the sword of self-respect.

I think that is the key.

The female protagonist is worth modeling myself after. She gives very few fucks, is witty, confident and strong. Has that ‘take me as I am or watch me go’ attitude I never learned to master. She also does a big life move/career change to get away from her past. They follow her anyways but in the end they are gloriously defeated. Even the big bad ex who put a chip in her head to control her behavior. She removes it herself with little effort.

His game? Over.

Mine?

I think I’m ready to play.

Heart went and ripped herself so violently from my sleeve she left a gory trail back to her blanket fort. I hope she is only colouring in there. Brain is hurting. Vagina is inconsolable. They have joined in the keening and wailing. Logic is walking around hands held high and a smug “I told you so” look on his face, and anorexia is wandering around saying “s’up” over and over and over.

That up there was written sometime last year. I am cleaning out my documents folder.

Buckle up buttercups, we are in for some choppy transitional paragraphs while I cleanse and purge and salvage.

I could look at the date and tell you for sure who that was about, but I think I know.

Sometimes my arms bend back (Black Lodge Laura Palmer, Twin Peaks)

I am tired of craning my neck, straining my back and twisting my arms trying to pull pieces of the past along with me. I have places to go, people to see you see.

Trying to figure out how to stop that shit without the blog suffering.

So many unfinished articles, with such amazing working titles as ‘who puts vodka in a wine spritzer’, ‘falling off my high horse’, chaos and a pot cookie’ and ‘hot neighbor and the break in’.

Just little collections of words that transport me to a parking lot in Collingwood, or back to a night where I was up at 3am to rescue my kid from another city and a bad ex-girlfriend.

Chuck Palahniuk is right, these are just stories I tell myself. Except the pot cookie, which had me comatose, out of body and tripping god’s balls.

Today is Epiphany.

I remember years ago, 9 years to be exact. Standing at the bar I worked at frantically scribbling notes on napkins. It was one of the first things I had written beyond a grocery list or a status update in forever.

Something struck me, like a bell in my soul and I reverberated out, vibrating and whole and happy for the briefest of moments. It felt so good I had to write it down, save it.

And here it is

Zen and the Art of Pulling Your Head Out of Your Ass

“I wish I could bottle this optimism and spike the punch with it at a party” and all y’all are invited.

A bunch of random events occurred at the right time for me and I was just in the right frame of mind to notice them all…

Hello my name is Sarah, it’s been 3 days since I had a temper tantrum…

I couldn’t figure out what to write…and then it found me.
I have been itching for a keyboard for days, scribbling things on scraps of paper at work, but they weren’t what I have to say, they were just stepping stones on my way here.

This is just the beginning. Someone told me the secret to the universe once and I couldn’t clean the shit out of my ears to hear it properly…

Wanna hear it???

*just stop*

Exquisite in its simplicity no?

Contemplate grasshopper…

5 days ago I was lost and traumatized. I used to be fond of the phrase “my universe is collapsing in on itself”…no it wasn’t. It was just evolving, rapidly and taking me along for the ride, it’s my universe after all…I just found my seatbelt.
Today I am Zen and calm and happy because I am full to the brim with gratitude and giddy with optimism.
Wonderful things are coming for me, I can see it and feel it. Karma sent me another telegram, this one said

“it’s time”

full stop.

Part two of *zataopyhooya*

 I am open to hearing any explanation for this…

I bought a purdy calendar at the dollar store near work.
It has flowers on it.

As I was flipping through it I noticed January 6th was labeled

(of all things brilliant and bizarre)

EPIPHANY

I drew a box around it and thought “hmmm…weird but cool”

And wouldn’t you know it…as I was standing at the bar at work at around 8 on January 6th 2008, the day of epiphany

I just stopped

Smiled my first real smile in a long time

and it stayed.

Sounds like me.

Actually sounds a lot like me. The most me I was for years prior and sadly many years after.

3 days later there was a shooting at the bar I worked at, ex hubby made the 1.5 hour drive from the farm to my house in under an hour. Laid up in my bed at 5am he proposed, again, and dummy me said yes. Thereby negating all prior epiphanies and lodging my head firmly back up my ass where it would remain snuggly and shit stained for 3+ more years.

I see rhyme and reason for everything I went through, but reading that, seeing how close I was then to how I am now has me working out logistics for a time machine. For one magical moment, spanning 72 hours, I saw the future. And I let it slip away.

Ah well, so be it. I suppose I should just be happy that past me had 3 days of peace. Out of 2465.

Next year, in November, I will have been out of there as long as I was in. It’s going to be a good year.

So is this one.

This is my epiphany on Epiphany.

I already know.

I have goals and the means/mindset to smash them.
Travel more, get outside my comfort zone, less time on my phone, more time out in the world, do whatever makes my body feel good. Less drinking, more yoga.

More sex, less angst.

I head to Cassadega tomorrow.

Panda and Our Sara of Lords are coming with me.

Panda said something pretty amazing last night. She said “I don’t know if I want a reading, I already feel like I am going to have a spectacular year.” She doesn’t want it tainted by the words of a stranger.

Less of the first paragraph and more of the last.

On January 8^th 2017 all planets will go direct for a month.

Nice.

On January 18^th I head home and into a new phase of life.

I already knew I was on the cusp of a life change.
I didn’t need a planetary event to tell me.
I felt it in my bones even before I saw the article stating my work is going to close forever sometime in the near future.

My stomach did one quick flip before Panda and I started howling.

We know how to survive on the outside…others, not so much.

Oh honey that shit is not gonna fly elsewhere. Good luck with that.

I think that will be an article unto itself (or three knowing me).

3 days till direct and 10 after that to soak up the sun and metamorphosize.

I had planned on finishing the book while I was here. That may well still happen. It’s not over yet, even though I haven’t opened it since my arrival. Been too busy making new memories to drag the swamps of the past. But it must get done. No better place than here, no better time than now.

I keep losing track of time.

My girl shared a memory from 2014 the other day and I thought the Facebook had made an error, that wasn’t 3 years ago. But it was.

I just realized it’s 2017. I do so love vacation I have no idea what day it is, just know that in 2 days I see Our Sara of Lords in the flesh again.

We’re going to the psychic camp at Cassadega again. Went last year around now too. Something about ley lines and energy feels good being there, but I feel like her and I could camp out at the edge of a volcano and sleep on the rocks and it would be just fine.

The woman I saw there used no tools, no cards, didn’t touch me in any way. She was happy to see me and marked me as kindred, one of her kind. She was fairly astute. Told me the lying liar I was dating wasn’t lying so much as he believed the stories he was telling.

That experience with the fake soldja boy was last year and it truly feels like something that happened to someone else, a movie of the week I watched while nursing a fairly high fever.

Yes, a fever dream wherein my body was attempting to fight off an infection. Just ew.

The rest of what she told me has remained true. I continue to become better, faster and stronger. The moments of discord I feel are when I stagnant. It’s always been this way, now I am just mindful of it.

2 years ago I was hunkered down in the Milton house. I didn’t make it down south that year. We had one unseasonably warm day upon which I had visitors. The Nerdy Stripper was at my house as were the Dead Glamour Girlz, doing a photoshoot.

I didn’t see another soul for about a month. Hadn’t seen one for about a month prior.

The visit, shoot and shenanigans were a ridiculous amount of fun.

But when they left I was tired.

That was the apex of my sequestered hermitage.

I have since left that time and place and that girl I was. I must have been 3 or 4 updated versions of me since then. But I needed my solitude and I am grateful for it.

This planetary event of complete and utter directness has not occurred since early 2011.
Hmmm, I remember where I was. That was the year I left hubby if memory serves, and all of my drawing of strength and resources began then.
The catalyst was Superbowl Sunday, an ex reached out across oceans of time and reminded me that I existed outside of the prison I was in. He was the key and unlocked something inside of me.
And somehow I found the strength to run. Took a while to untangle myself from the strings and nest I was tied up in, but I did it.

As I am writing this I am having a hard time keeping a timeline. Me, the keeper of records and memories, the human archive. What in the actual fuck. Could it be that I don’t need those things anymore?

When I came down here 3 years ago I had the idea for this blog. Took me a year to work up the proverbial balls to hit publish. It’s still not how or where I want it but it exists and that is something magical in itself.

Tomorrow is Epiphany.

The word Epiphany is from  Greek ἐπιφάνεια, epiphaneia, meaning manifestation or appearance. It is derived from a verb meaning “to appear.” In classical Greek it was used of the appearance of dawn, of an enemy in war, but especially of a manifestation of a deity to a worshiper. (Source, Wikipedia)

I suppose tomorrow or the next day I will find out if I am on the right path. All these signs saying ‘eat at joe’s’ make me feel like I already am, gut says so too.

It is a really peaceful feeling, sitting at this table, hurricane shutters open, all I can see is the ocean.

Everything feels light and right.

Every cell in my body is looking forward to the next thing.

I just found a website making money off my words.

“I am not a snack for your starving ego, I am soul food for someone who actually has one.”

I FUCKING WROTE THAT. IT’S MINE.

You can now wear my heart, on a t-shirt, sip coffee from it or pack your groceries in it.

Oh the fucking irony.

My New Year’s resolution was to start making a living from my words, and someone else already is.

Just as I am about to publish this wherein I begin by saying…I cannot, for the life of me, write snippets. Its epilogues or nothing.

But not soul food.

I’m hard pressed to find pull quotes that can stand alone without the context of the article to support them.

I am way too wordy.

I am not a poet.

I am barely a writer.

First person flowery diary entries on a blog platform do not a writer make.

Oh god, I just realized what I am. I am a reality TV show.

Ew.

Unscripted chaos. Grade 10 reading level for the most part. No one to bleep my swear words, or edit.

I have a quarter of a million views upon this website. So I’m doing something kinda right I guess.

I take issue calling it a blog (even though it is) like some strippers hate being called strippers (even though they are).

I’m friends with some seriously good poets/writers.

I don’t want to ask them how they do it. I know there’s no answer. There is no scientific formula that can condense 500+ rambling words into 50 or less poignant ones that shoot straight through the reader’s heart and either lift it up or dash it against the rocks of their psyche, depending.

I am a drunk throwing punches willy-nilly at a bar fight I have no business being involved in, landing a couple by fluke but mostly just looking the fool.

If I was alive when the bible was written I wouldn’t have had a fun job like proverbs or psalms, I am the long ramblings that make not a lot of sense out of context and Methusala begat Junopres and they raised sheep for in the valley of evil with their 89 kids until one of them did something stupid 26 pages later and there was a righteous smiting by the Lord amen and shit.

When I first started writing this thing I had no structure or discipline. Still don’t but (lucky for all y’all) I do have word counts. My maximum has been set at 1515 per article. I too am a Sesame Street child, if I have to scroll too long to get to the end of something I lose interest.

I know why I am like this.

Panda and I had a conversation yesterday about my ‘attachments’. I get attached to people and things.

I know why, I lived my formative years without people and things.

I write so prolifically and wordy because I didn’t write a word for 25 years.

Poems I had written while high on acid were the trigger for the burning of all my writing at age 15.

Everything went into the fire and I shut my mouth for a quarter of a century.

Including the collection of short stories I had published at age 12. The poem I won an award for at age 11.

All I ever really wanted to do was write and that went up in flames. Recognition for words was not as important as medals for sports, good grades etc. What I wanted didn’t matter. What would the neighbors think?

It’s funny now that I am an adult and I do my own things, the things I chose to do are the same as the things that brought me joy as a child. Writing, photography and I made jewelry for a time. I am pretty good at them.

And now that I can live and write out loud again I have to say all the things.

Never had a boyfriend in my teen years, gotta have all the boyfriends now.

Didn’t have a lot of clothes growing up and my closet is an overflowing gypsy magpie nest of sparkles, flowers and covetousness.

Once you see the source of the problem, it becomes easier to fix.

This blog is about self-discovery, documenting the ridiculous things I do, find the patterns and reasoning and work it out.

I admire poets, I love the gambit of emotions they can elicit with a few well-chosen words.

Doesn’t mean I have to covet or emulate.

I am me… wordy, nerdy, needy, slutty and dressed to the gypsy nines…and that is okay.

But I can share them

https://www.facebook.com/Alfawrites/photos/a.2264284423710295.1073741829.2250573485081389/2558340770971324/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/poetryofmonsters/photos/a.460130384088031.1073741827.460116800756056/893102647457467/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/Jmstormquotes/photos/a.1586930328210390.1073741827.1586920178211405/1903553426548077/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/BeautifulMindsAnonymous/photos/a.1577818049137125.1073741829.1574368502815413/1725339101051685/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/nicolelyonspoetry/photos/a.1693005940956852.1073741828.1692616304329149/1816684971922281/?type=3&theater

The moment you think you are cursed you are.

The secret is all inside your head she said to me
The answer is easy if you take it logically
I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free…
Paul Simon

Twice this calendar year I have had men approach me and say that they are cursed, doing some penance, trapped in their own minds, possessed by demons or something like it.

Comes out sounding like ‘forgive me mama for I have sinned.’

If you need me to exonerate you I will. My telephone to god breaks and is in repair of its own accord but I forgive you.

They think they have to pay for the dark thoughts and less than shiny deeds of their past.

No baby.

First off, the past is done. Can’t be helped, it’s over and only exists in your mind. I know people who live there, and they are the walking dead. Please come back to the here and now.

Secondly.

Universe doesn’t work that way.

The universal collective of energy that a lot of people like to call God is not very godlike.

Omnipotent? Yes.

Unfathomable by our little human brains? Uh huh.

Full of miracles? Damn skippy. (I just watched the sun rise over the ocean)

Judging you on your day to day and the shit you get yourself into? Nah.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Dreaming up punishments for you imagined indiscretions? Fuck no.
Even the act of saying Hail Mary’s only serves as a time out akin to what you would give a toddler.
Sit down and think about what you did.

There was a time when I believed myself to be cursed. A puppet at the mercy of some palsied madman in the sky.

I held my own strings the whole time. They were tangled from being tossed around in situations I should have cut and run from YEARS prior.

That’s when we get stuck, and in effect are cursing ourselves. When every sign and every cell in our bodies screams NO and we stay.

Even then, the lessons learned flailing around in that stagnant muck come in handy from time to time.

That was my crazy underground garage adjacent to rock bottom and three floors down.

I have been awful and dumb and I am sure I will be awful and dumb again in the future, I am human after all, but it’s my business and between me and my god.
That is all.

The universe is composed of energy. It doesn’t differentiate between good and bad. We are conduits, yes, but once it goes through us and back to the ether it’s neutral. We get to decide, both coming and going how to shape it and use it. And more importantly, when to let it go.

We are a creative bunch of meat puppets, bordering on narcissistic when seen en masse. Why is this happening to me? Why me? Oh I did a thing now I must be punished by some puppet master in the sky.

There are no strings, just string theory.

When I say something is between me and my god, I mean it’s between me and me. I punish myself for my misdeeds in more creative ways and for a lot longer than some imaginary white man on a cloud handing out judgement would.

My gut is my guide.

If it feels light, I go that way, if my stomach rolls, well…sometimes I turn heel and go the other way and sometimes I take a deep breath and dive in anyways. It’s human nature, it’s my nature. I accept the consequences. And I know beyond all doubt that everything is as it should be. Because it is.

Stephen Hawking said the universe does not allow perfection. And yet we all strive for it like it a) exists and b) is attainable.

It don’t and it ain’t.

We are fragile, fallible beings on a blue rock hurtling through space.

The prisons we lock ourselves into, the moral codes we look to as law, these curses and blessings bestowed on us by gods and monsters?

We made them up.

We are the gods and monsters. Angels walking, devils too.

I have been all of those things in the space of a day. Depends on who you are asking.

If you ask me I am a humble little meat puppet, fairly self-aware, trying to do my best and love as much as I can, as hard as I can as often as I can. That is its own reward.

Sure, if you fuck up by all means, sit back reflect and learn. Try not to do it again.

But if you do, I will be here to forgive you.

The universe’s timing is perfect, even if it doesn’t suit your ego. (Dean Jackson)

“You fuck like a god, I both love and hate that about you.”
(Because you act like a god too. Uncontrollable, only appearing when you feel like it and not when I need you, which is often.)

Feels awfully strange quoting myself, paraphrasing really.

But if you are gonna fuck gods, and I do, you gotta play by their rules. Which morph and change on a whim.

“God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players [i.e. everybody], to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.”
― Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

Precisely that.

I got the following message from Our Sara of Lords

She said,

“Notes for a post
Every 3 months
Sex god
Jezebel in hell, the rest.
Persephone
You said to remind you.”

I replied, “Thank ye, the Pan thing reminded me already.”

Her – Me too. Lol. Thanks be to Pan.

Me – Always.
‘Who’s your daddy’ just popped into my head.
I need to buy a vibrator.
Left mine home.

Her – ‘I want your sex’ popped into mine. Lol. We’re ridiculous.

Me – (It’s because) we’re closer now.

She is my touchstone. She who knows all of the things I have done. She is the eldest and wisest of my three weird sisters, the one who made it safe to speak all my truth out loud. I can message her day or night and tell her I need church and she is there for me. She listens to my ridiculousness, my imagined sins which are actually just me enjoying myself and feeling some weird misplaced puritanical guilt over it. A holdover from Salem I suppose, when we had to hide what we were.

I am done hiding, mostly.

I mentioned in a prior blog post about how, although 2016 sucked god’s sweaty balls, I had an abundance of seriously next level sex.

Sucking god’s sweaty balls is what got me through. Well, that and the spectacular, otherworldly sexcapades that the ball sucking was foreplay to.

Seriously, somehow 3/3 of my top three were in this godforsaken year of clowns, gorillas and death.

Maybe it’s me. Getting more comfortable in asking for, nay, demanding what I want. As much as a submissive demands I suppose.
It’s all tied together. Having Her to confess to making it easier to open up.
If you judge me for the things I ask for, I don’t want to fuck you anyways, so there’s that then.

Ask and ye shall receive.

Bacchus, Pan and Dionysus.

Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Trifecta of sex gods.

I call one of them Daddy and he likes it. As much as I do apparently, so A LOT.

Another was my Holy Ghost, he who leaveth room for Jesus when he hugged me. Zeus and lightning sex mixed with Charon, the boatman for the dead. In the mythology that is my sex life I can mix metaphors and make as many hybrids as I chose, it’s mine. He is all of these things to me.

And the other…not ready to talk about that just yet. Sara knows and that is all that matters.

Let’s go back to Daddy.

I messaged him yesterday and inquired “do you like this shit too or are you just doing it to make me happy/wet/squirt/cum?”

“Oh I like it” he said.

Thank fuck, been waiting for you for a while now.

I just realized what is happening here, True Blood Season two. I am Maryann Forrester a devout follower of Dionysus, a magical creature in my own right and I am (not so patiently) waiting for the ‘god who comes’.

Because, when he does…it’s worth it, it’s divine, I have this some of the time. The way she shows me I’m hers and she is mine. Open hand or closed fist would be fine. The blood is rare and sweet like cherry wine (Hozier)

It all comes back to Dionysus. The sex and wine, the debauchery, orgasms of such intensity that I leave my body and I am left thrumming and vibrating at some ethereal frequency. Heaven for heathens.

I am also Jezebel in hell, so much fucking waiting in between. The version of Persephone I am is longing to go back into the dark. That is where the giant couch is. That is where snuggles turn to sex like the flick of a switch, from tame to beast mode.

Waiting for my sex god to come down from Mount Olympus (up from Hades or out of the woods or wherever it is he goes) and bless me with his devil dick.

Beast mode sex god monster cock.

I don’t just give blowies, I worship the thing.

‘Just hold my hair and let me suck your soul out’ head.

‘Mascara running making me look like a panda’ head.

The penitent [woman] shall pass.
Penitent…humble before god.
Penitent…kneel before god.

(I watched an Indiana Jones marathon Christmas day, hoping god would show, but he didn’t)

I was poised to kneel, atone for my sins. Worship.

I am still waiting.

Love is a demon and
You’re the one he’s coming for
Oh my Lord

Could I be Your Girl?
Jann Arden

I dated a waiter.

He worked at a high end billiards room near a university campus.

Late shift usually. Made good money. He was charismatic and charming, mostly. Megawatt smile.

I worked days back then. I think our relationship lasted longer because we barely saw each other through the week.

He was a writer too. A damned fine one actually. Had I been paying better attention to the signs at the time I could have studied him, learned things. But I was a silly little girl with a penchant for kinky sex and drama. He kept those parts of me well fed. Didn’t leave room for much else. He wrote erotica too, some of it for me or about me. Introduced me to a lot of things both literary and literally.

We had plans to meet up after work one night. I was safely tucked in the Annex at our favorite coffee shop, waiting.

He rolled in later than planned said he was looking around the room at all of the stragglers meandering after last call and he had to stop himself from shouting the following query…

‘You are afraid to go home and be alone with yourselves aren’t you?’

That was 1996 if memory serves and it is tattooed in my memory.

For the simple fact that it is the truth.

Alone.

One single word that strikes fear in the hearts of many. For others it is a soft blanket we wrap around ourselves when the world gets too muchy.

I am one of the others.

I had a conversation with someone who had been in jail for a couple years. Some of his time spent was in maximum security which meant a huge portion of the day spent completely alone. 22 hours a day, 6 days a week. He got to go out for an hour every Sunday.

“No one came to visit” he said, “just my mom. And when I got done being angry about it I realized we are all essentially alone.”

I know the feeling.

Never been incarcerated, but there were long stretches of days and weeks when I lived in the Milton house that I saw no one. Not a neighbor, not the postman, and definitely none of my friends. Literally months would go by and if I didn’t get in the car and drive away from the sanctuary of my beautiful home I wouldn’t have seen a soul I knew. I was chatty with the ladies at the thrift store, made a few acquaintances, but had it not been for my stubbornness and a brand new set of winter tires I’d have forgotten what my friends looked like.

I realize it’s not the same thing. But when he told me that it tugged at the heart string called sympathy. I remember that drop in the pit of my stomach when I realized none was coming to get me, save me, help me or even just to see me. It was a sickening vertigo feeling, like falling in a dream.

And then I woke up.

I survived pneumonia alone, crippling depression, a flood, a court case, being snowed in to the point of needing heavy equipment to get me out, the birth of this website, the death of my old life, the letting go of my high school love, the entrance and exit of the poet.

And I did it by myself.

There were days I thought I wouldn’t make it.

It didn’t get better all at once.

Slowly, over the course of two years, I had mini epiphanies. Then it hit me. I couldn’t tell you what I was doing at the time, but I know I laughed long and loud, from my center. I’m still smiling.

I had kept myself tucked into relationships because I didn’t think I was capable of doing things by myself.
But I had been…
T’was I who went outside in -20 degree weather and pulled a heater core out of a scrap Jeep and installed it in my own, I had been trapped and I freed myself. T’was I who stacked the wood for the winter. T’was I who cleaned up every flood from farm springs. T’was I who nursed errrbody back to health through various illnesses. I’ve gotten myself out of every bad situation I have ever been in. Technically I got myself into them too but shush, that’s not what we’re dealing with today.

I believe everyone needs to go through this. Face being alone with yourself. Your thoughts, your fears, the deafening echoes of your psyche arguing with itself and the silence that follows. The quiet is the scariest part, but after that it becomes addictive.

The boy I spoke to is 19 years old and light years ahead of friends that are much older, and even me. He carries this calmness within him, this Zen that I can only attribute to someone who knows what it is like to go to the edge and stare into the abyss. I find myself gravitating to him, he is kindred.

We have no rites of passage as a North American society, no coming of age, no markers, no trials and I believe we are lost because of it. Trying to jam things and people into the holes in our psyche that would heal on their own if we gave them a chance.

Older civilizations would send their children out into the woods and (if) they came back, they were worthy, contributing members of society.

Not anymore. Parents are helicopters and babies are bubble wrapped. We carry around tiny computers in our hands and document our every move looking for validation for accomplishing very little. Every emotion expressed without being experienced or examined.

“I started to get that sad feeling and reached for my phone, but I thought ‘don’t’ — just be sad, let it hit you like a truck, I pulled over and I just cried like a bitch, it was beautiful. Sadness is poetic. I was grateful to feel sad and then I met it with true, profound happiness.” Louis CK

Let’s get right to the sex and death.

2016 will be remembered as the year of the reaper.

My girl Pippa posted the other day that 2016 wasn’t that bad for her.

I am inclined to agree.

I did at one point tell 2016 to go home for being drunk and mean, but Carrie Fisher had just died and I felt like I got kicked in the childhood.

Everything is relative.

Mind you, the shit I went through this year might well have killed previous versions of me. But I am not that girl anymore. Bigger better faster stronger, like titanium or adamantium.

My girl Nika and I were talking the other night and although her year has been utter garbage, we also collectively agreed that we had some damn fine next level other worldly best sex ever sex this year.

This is also true.

Wonder if being well fed had something to do with my super human strength and my ability to survive?

Survey says…

Fuck yes

Pun intended.

The girl I am now would never settle for the lack of quality or abysmal quantity of sex I had in years past either. Spooky, it’s almost like everything is connected somehow.

Yes, 2016 has been markedly steeped in death, tragedy and abominations against the lord.

It all began with the murder of Hamarabe and the asinine reactions of the internet at large.

If I was a god? That might have been my last straw too.

There have been several times I have wanted off the planet myself.

Speaking of Gods. I am afraid we are all in for some serious fucking disappointment when we collectively realize that 2017 isn’t going to be this magical clean slate where nothing bad happens, might I remind you that 19 days into the year will see Donald Trump moving from president elect to actual president?

I suppose it is easier to mourn the deaths of icons rather than face the slaughter of ideals. Or actual slaughter for that matter.

Gods don’t wear watches. The universe adheres to no calendars. Time is a manmade construct. So is the concept of good and bad.

A lot of what we are going through is man’s bullshit, all of it actually. I don’t mean men men, I mean mankind. We stopped being kind. Not that we were ever an overly kind race, now we just have tools beyond rocks honed into axes.

One of those tools is the venue by which I address you now, the internet. Upon which I learned that 15000 Americans woke up one fine November morning, got dressed brushed their teeth and waited in line to vote for a dead gorilla.

Come on now, we can do better than this.

I implore you from my soapbox web page please DO BETTER THAN THIS.

We have gotten lazy and whiny. Looking everywhere but within ourselves for something to blame.

Sorry to spoil the ending, but it’s not 2016. It’s you and me.

Speaking of endings. Technically and numerically speaking 2016 was a 9 year. 9 is the end of a lot of things. It really did feel like 2016 was trying to kill off the 80’s and I do feel like we should all form a protective circle around Betty White until further notice, but still.

2017 is a 1.

We do get to begin again, but not because of some superstition or a date on a calendar, but because we have the chance to do this every day. We have the opportunity to wake up and say today is going to be better, today I will try, today I will be kind, learn something, and let something go.

Personally, I have a few chapters to close, new things to explore and some ego to let go of.

There is wiggle room here.

I won’t call bullshit on anyone who wants to exclaim ‘new year new me’.

Let it ride baby, I believe in you, let’s do this.

Celebrate the end of 2016 if it makes you feel better. But do not mourn what is lost. Let it go. Come in clean.

My girl had a comforting thought.
She brings light, it’s just what she does.
She runs Beautiful Minds Anonymous.
Yes, it’s sad that we are losing our icons, but they led really amazing, very full, blessed lives and left amazing legacies.
They did more living than most of us.
Let’s start living bigger.
Honor them and enjoy the life we have rather than mourning what is lost.

Live bigger. Laugh louder. Be creative. Do something with yourself. Strive for notoriety. Leave a mark, a big one. Change your corner of the world. Be remembered.

Depressed people change locations but not outlooks, happy people do what they can with what they have in the time given.

Do not enter 2017 without letting go of something significant from 2016
An old idea, label, habit, fear, concern of ego
Let it go to free up the white space for something new to enter.
Brendan Bouchard

I think this is a fabulous idea. And not just the first day, carry it throughout this next year.

It’s not easy but it’ll be worth it.

We have to be the change, the love, the light and the kindness we want to see in the world.

This is all on us.

We invented the construct of time, so by default, we get to invent how this year goes too, with our actions, attitudes and our thoughts.