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I should be doing laundry, for this is my natural state of being, always in some perpetual climb up Laundry Mountain. Yet here I sit. Typing away. He asked me to, almost demanded it, as far as anyone commands me to do anything. I’ll abide. He’s right. Laundry can wait.

I hit a wall this week. Ended up in a weakened state and the words wouldn’t come.

“My Lady write something or finish writing something tomorrow!! … I didn’t like hearing that you hadn’t been able to write for days…You need to write, I need you to write.”

I need you to write he said. Reeling, smiling, smirking.

He said ‘finish something’. So here this is. Been on my mind for a while, hiding, coming out at opportune moments.

I sabotage myself sometimes. I hide my own writing from myself. I have stacks of coffee stained scraps of paper everywhere. Keep telling myself I will organize it when I have a day off. I never have a day off. Last time I managed to do anything with them I had pneumonia, dear lord please let that not happen again. Even on my laptop, I give things obscure names instead of dates or explaining content in ‘my documents’. I lost this one, and now it is found.

I am full of idiosyncrasies like these. Right now I am listening to the same song on repeat. This happens, I get an earworm and refuse to kill it. Feeding and refreshing it instead.

There is method to my madness. If I am to dance to it on stage I need to memorize every subtle nuance and match my body’s undulations to it.

As far as the treasure map to my words, I find them when it’s time and not one minute sooner.

I got given another name… Rogue. From X-men

I think that is astute.

He says I absorb everything from everyone, because I do.

I need someone like him. Adamantium.

Someone that calls me down for dinner and knows my silence means I want to but I cannot right now.

Someone who sees me holding the fork halfway to my mouth and waits to catch it, knowing it will fall and I have to run to quill and parchment. My truest loves.

Someone that knows it’s bred in my bone to save the world and I cannot stop without losing limbs and the thing that keeps me upright and strong.

He wants me upright and strong, he wants me crumpled on the floor and weak. He just wants me.

One look from him, one word and I am naked.

There is no hiding here, no modesty. Just my soul laid bare.

He asked me not to describe him, but I am nothing if not defiant.
He is the home I get to come to after years of wandering, healing others, cleaning up god’s mess.
He is sanctuary and sustenance. Someone who knows I have to eat, and sometimes I have to feed.
He is really good food (and I am full).*

Succubae and her Incubi.

If you adhere to the Christian description we be evil things. Mind you, Christians got sex all wrong, it isn’t a sin it’s power. Considering what Christianty is… of course they want to control it. Heaven forbid we be happy and strong.
Marvin Gaye got it right, ‘when I get that feeling, I need sexual healing’.
History called us monsters, soul suckers, leeches. Parasites do exist in all forms, human and nonhuman. I have met men and women who feed off people without giving a drop back. Fuck, I dated many. Not anymore.
I’m the kind of creature who fucks to heal herself and others. He is like me, but the man version. As much as anyone can be at least. Whole lotta half breeds and interesting hybrids of fae folk running around. I have embraced my strange, my gifts, my talents and have found more and more people like me. I wandered alone for a long time.

I still get a little shy exposing my weird. But I had to know so I asked him a few awkward questions. My gut was right, we both use sex as food and an energy exchange. We can intuitively feel different frequencies from partners. Once I realized this everything changed. I stopped giving my body and my energy to incompatible ones.

I now know what it is like to be known, exactly as I am and adored for it. Not just known, but learned and studied and given space and light to grow.

I won’t settle for less because I made peace with alone. The gratification of free will and that soul satisfying ‘just is’ feeling. Sated.

I saw him coming. He said he felt the same. He looked at me and knew me. He has been my kind for many lifetimes.

My logic is mutable, and as such is still sometimes fixed. “How can this be” she whispered. I get everything I ever wanted, and I am starting to dream bigger than before.

Still don’t get to stay but I get respite, rest. A touchstone and maybe a chance to organize all the scraps of my own life.

I went through a lot before I realized what I am.

Now is blessed, the rest remembered.

(*Ani Difranco)

You are a child of god, your playing small doesn’t serve the world. ~ Marianne Williamson

Be who you were meant to be and you will set the world on fire. ~ St. Sienna

Sarah, you are bigger and better than them, than this, they don’t deserve you. You are meant for greater things. ~ Leah

Since I was 16, I always saw you as a goddess I can’t understand these men that don’t.  ~ Blake

You have only realised how gorgeous you are when everyone else saw it way sooner… There is an innocence attached to that which makes you golden. ~ Iain

I don’t feel golden Iain. I don’t feel like a goddess Blake.

And Leah, Jesus.  She promised me I would never see her mad, except when she is mad at the world on my behalf. She’s pissed. Her sword is ablaze. Mine is in a box somewhere. She scared me a bit in that moment. I’m afraid I am scared of my potential.

I can’t fight the world right now. I don’t want to. I told you before, I had enough fighting to fill 7 lifetimes and it just left me feeling shitty and ashamed.

I can’t fight with myself anymore either. There are days like today where I feel small. And I want it. I want to be insignificant. I want a normal life and a normal man who looks at me and sees ordinary. No need to run or hide. Just plain old me.

These men I let in are not chosen lightly. I see something in them. I see souls.

“They know you are better than them and that you will leave, so leaving you is easier” she says. It never occurred to me to leave. Why am I not offered a choice here? “It’s not the absence of a thing that gets you, its having a thing and the loss of it I am talking about” ~ Cold Mountain.

All I see is the good parts, they see shit. In themselves, not me. It’s the good ones that leave, the bad ones stay and feed.

I used to think I was shit. I was half wrong. I was shit but I had potential. Somehow that’s all I see when I look at them.

I wrote that on my son’s birthday.

Only the first line is a thing, and I didn’t even write it.

I say it a lot. I said it to Our Sara of Lords today.

In this year of our Lord 2016 I finally swallowed it and realized how sweet it is.

I get bigger and better. The people around me get bigger and better.

I get treated bigger and better and they find bigger and better in themselves.

I said to a boy 3 days ago, “No one can come to you without being able to handle you at your full potential.” I need to amend that. They NEED you to be your huge beautiful powerful self. You aren’t protecting anyone, you have to do right by them by doing right by you.

I had to have an awkward conversation today. With my present. It’s not always easy, knowing what is going to happen. Being fed storylines that zig and zag in fits and starts like Memento. I do really need some sticky notes.

This whole being psychic thing is a major pain in the ass somedays. I think I was having one of those days when I wrote the above the line, up there. Got some news I didn’t want to hear. Like the day I saw a dead doe when I knew Gelfling was gone. Or the day the message came through the internet ocean and I had to let the Poet go. They are gone. I am still here. Loving, being loved. With more purity and enthusiasm than I am used to. A girl could grow to love this.

A girl could grow so accustomed that she would never settle again. That is a thing. My thing.

I have 3 men in my life that treat me like I am sacred, because I am. And as of today they are all saying thankee sai to the others. Sofa king fucked up, but I am over here grinning like the Cheshire cat, with wings.

I have people in my life that know when it’s me talking and when I am channeling from the ether, and they listen intently regardless.

We are still in the first week of the new year, and I am evolving rapidly and bringing my present with me.

I have no desire to be normal. I have every desire to be me.

Jay, this is for you.

And Aimee and errrbody really.

It is the first day of the year.

I put my kid on a plane at 3 am. He was stomachsick, homesick and heartsick.

So be it.

In a time called ‘before’ I would have tried to keep him with me.

Thank fuck it isn’t before, it’s now.

I like now. Now is a good place to be.

The Land of Zero Fucks.

This is where my kid’s plane gets cancelled and we just roll with it. Finding joy in good wings, good company and two little girls dancing to random piano covers in a spectacular hotel on New Year’s Eve.

You see my friends, I’ve learned to just let it be. Whatever the fuck IT happens to be. Except if it is a creepy clown. Gack, no. yuck. I will be rocking in the corner.
(She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts)

I know what the mens I work with think of me. I am a mildly crazy turbo slut.

I kinda am.

Totally fine.

I also conduct myself (mostly) with class, grace, poise and I believe in the greater good.

The call me Mama Billy, with sarcasm and a lil bit ‘o’ reverence. Okay, a lot of reverence.

I know what I am.

The more I get to know me and like me, the better people come around.

Seriously. Like amazing magical people.

I am amassing a small army.

This is new to me.

I have fucked up beyond belief. Lied to keep people around, put myself through hell trying to appease others and it got me nothing but being in the wrong places at the wrong time. Broke and broken.

I hereby give everyone permission to be their most authentic self.
Scream if you have to, cry if you want to laugh as much as possible and give zero fucks.

Do no harm and take no shit.

You can bend and bend and bend some more trying to make other people happy and all that is going to happen is you will weaken and break and they are gonna leave anyways.

Trust me, I know.

It’s the same with stuff. Stuff comes and goes. Things break and get replaced. Things become outdated and useless. Dangerous sometimes.

Be like Elsa and let it fucking go.

I spent my childhood/teenage years pretty fucking alone.

It sucked.

I got attached to some horrible people and some pretty bad outfits. I didn’t have a lot of clothes either.

And I stayed and I bent and I broke and they left.

At the end of the day all we have is our integrity, and if we lie to ourselves and others about who were are and what we really want…there is no truth there, just a cardboard cut-out of the person you could be.

A girl on my Facebook page messaged me one night. Wanting to kill herself over a man who obviously cares very little for her. Uses her for whatever purpose. She asked me ‘how to keep him’ and to pray for his return. I said “fuck no. Instead I’ll pray for you to see your worth away from him and love yourself.”

She calmed down and got some help. 45 days later. Same fucking same.

I got mad.

Viciously authentically Sarah fucking mad.

Told her all the same shit again.

She won’t listen.

I can’t save her.

She has to save herself.

I learned this the hard way.

Everyone does.

There is no instruction manual save these words here (and they will go unheeded by most).

It’s okay. I didn’t listen either. I almost died.

I am eternally grateful that I am alive.

Near death tends to shake the veils off.

I stopped lying to myself and everyone around me.

Sure, people left. A few people liked me better broken. I didn’t and I matter.

I started looking at all the things I put aside to make others happy and I picked them all back up, burned what didn’t suit me and expanded on what I loved. Went back to work, embraced it. I started writing, posting memes with lightning speed, eating good food, being nice to my body, especially the hungry thing that is my vagina. Just told the truth about it. Yes I have lovers, you can be one too if you wish. Here are the rules, I make all the rules…alrighty then pick me up Thursday and feed me.

They always pick me up on Thursday and I am always well fed in all ways.

And if not I locomote outta there. Another train will come by.

There are 5 great myths that fuck us all up

1. Right (replace with ‘better’)
2. Wrong (replace with ‘worse’)
3. Never (replace with ‘not for long’)
4. Forever (replace with ‘for a while’)
5. Perfect

Perfection isn’t what we think. No one is perfect, no thing is perfect. Perfection is tiny moments here and there. The rush of a new lover or familiarity of a seasoned one. Sun on your skin. That first sip of whiskey. Belly laugh with your kid while two girls dance in a hotel lobby.

When I realized all of these things I became me.
Messy funny silly loud obnoxious powerful magical slightly crazy turbo slut me and I have never been happier.

This is me.

This is my year.

I know this.

Like I know the sun came up this morning. I watched it.

Like I know I am loved honored cherished.

42^nd run around the sun. The answer to life the universe and everything according to Douglas Adams.

I believe him.

The answer is, keep learning.

I need a bigger word for optimism. I require bigger words for most things these days.

New Year new me? Fuck that shit. I worked to get here. There is no starting from scratch this time.

Not new, MORE. More magic, more adventure, more sex, more love, more money, bigger better faster stronger.

I have got this.

My foundation is beautiful mutable and strong. It’s built on the bones of the girls I used to be. And I will whisper her a secret, she is unbreakable.

I told a story told to a younger version of me…

“You’re going to travel a dark road, and you will have to become dark for a while to survive it. The place you are going kills light. Your war is coming. If you want to live you will have to become war. Your light will dim, you will fight dirty, fall down and make mistakes. You have to be dark for a while.”

I’ve forgiven myself ever fumble and sin because they got me here.

The last 2 years have been a search for peace and I have found it. Trying to quell my rage and wrath but they have a place here. Sometimes there is war and I will fight. Without hesitation or reservation.

I forgive my nemeses past because, well, good try but you were weighed, measured and came up wanting.
I have no one to conquer but myself and my imagined limitations.

I have no enemies, only those I can help and those I cannot.

I have no limits. All of this ‘human’ stuff is exactly that. An invention, constructs to give structure and discipline. I cannot abide. Don’t need it nor want it. I control my thoughts and my body. And this is the year to let them do as they will. Fuck gravity. Fuck time. Fuck limits. Let’s see what we are capable of.

I conquered the place called ‘alone’ and found comfort there.

I am alright with my heart being broken with the things that break the heart of god, because unlike god, I can and will do something about it.
I heal what others break.

I know what to do with your pain because I learned what to do with my own.

The universe doesn’t see good or bad, it just sees energy. There are no limits or stipulations, I give and take like waves. I am a calm blue ocean others swim in, and I am a hurricane when destruction is necessary to rebuild.

I see so clearly why everything has gone the way it has.

I am blessed with second sight, hind sight, foresight.

This is my life and I will do with it as I see fit.

And what I see and what I want is more. More of everything.

This is a year of balance and power and exploring my potential.

I want to be seen and heard.

I am grateful for everything.

“Out there in the spotlight

You’re a million miles away

Every ounce of energy

You try to give away

As the sweat pours out your body

Like the music that you play

Later in the evening

As you lie awake in bed

With the echoes from the amplifiers

Ringin’ in your head

You smoke the day’s last cigarette

Remembering what she said.

Here I am…”

My soldier and I had a back and forth today. I spilled some things I cannot say here.

He wrote a note to 24 year old me. It was pretty amazing.

Told me I was going to go into the dark, but I would come out. Told me it was okay to make mistakes. Told me my light would make the sun look like a candle, that I would be heard around the world. Told me I was going to save him. 24 year old Me was a clumsy stripper with no self-esteem. I would have shied away from him, but been intrigued I believe.

I did everything wrong in the time called before.

I recalled a few times from before when I stepped in and saved people. I always was what I am, I just denied it. I denied everything.

I carried around a lot of shame about my job for pretty much the entire time I have been doing it. I lied about it a LOT. Ran from it and to it like a tennis match. I squandered my money when I had it and missed it when I didn’t. Allowed men to abuse me physically, emotionally and financially because there is NO way I was beating myself up enough for how much I liked doing something so dirty. I needed reinforcements. I found plenty men willing to treat me like shit and take my money. Yay?

“You pretend it doesn’t bother you

But you just want to explode”

Now I am 41, stripping again.

And for the first time in 17 years I feel like I am doing it right. My way. I am not looking to others for guidance or approval. I am just me.

I went home in July and when my sister asked what I was doing for work I said the words “I am back stripping, really enjoying it.” I had never said that out loud to my family. It just flew out of my mouth like it belonged out and I let it out and it was good amen.

The acceptance came slowly. Months earlier I told two boys I went to high school with what I was doing. They didn’t flinch. Didn’t get gross about it, just said ‘okay’.

It is okay isn’t it?

It is such a huge part of who I am. It’s me.

The shame is gone and the secret is out. I love being a stripper.

“Here I am, on the road again

Here I am, upon the stage

Here I go, playin’ star again

Here I go, turn the page”

Christmas Eve I got in my first fight at work since the 90’s (if memory serves which sometimes it doesn’t). First rage since Tyson, that was her name, Tyson. She came at me and I launched her 10 feet.

I fucked her boyfriend later too. Apparently I was really mad. Kidding. I fucked her boyfriend because he was wonderful, one of my 4 horsemen, the Stripper Whisperer. Still love that man.

Where was I?

Oh ya. Fight at work. I touched on it the last two articles. Things I cannot abide. She did two outta 3.

I didn’t have a thesaurus to hit her with and planned on using my fist. She is a small word kinda girl anyways, 2 syllable max. Got interrupted. Actually escorted to the bar and given a free drink.

The strangest thing happened after. I couldn’t get out of the back room. I kept getting dressed getting 8 feet back onto the floor and someone would come get me, ask me for a dance and back I went. This went on for the rest of the night almost. Just like the good old days.

I got a sweet message from a man I play pool with at work the next morning. I have a small archipelago of men masquerading as islands. Places I swim to when I need a break but don’t want to be off the floor. He is one of them, he said I looked magnificent that night. I asked my soldier if that man had seen the fight, he said yes.

I am at my most powerful in those places, under black lights, music blaring out of speakers that have been around longer than I.

I joke that when men draw women superheroes, they put my boots on them. Super Stripper. Able to unclip her bra one-handed without losing a beat, able to disappear on stage completely. Walking around saving my tiny corner of the world. Naked and free. Conquering my own demons and slaying others as well.

I am the bouncer’s favorite for a few reasons. One of them being I can handle myself. Rather well.

I am a Geisha and conduct myself as such. Mostly with poise and grace and if I find myself on my back I can fight.

I have laid off the drinking to a degree. I find it more satisfying to maintain control than to block everything out. And I am necessary again. I have to be present.

I’m the size of a giant when I’m angry or happy. The stilettos don’t hurt.

A new year is upon us. 2 years ago I sat at the ocean and gave away all of the fucks I used to carry about other people’s opinions.

I am what I am. I am happy and strong.

I love my life and my job, suits me just fine. It is me and for the most part I love myself.

I don’t want to fight myself anymore, I’m hella strong and tend to wear myself out.

So why deny myself?

I’m not playing star, I just am.

(Bob Seeger Turn the Page lyrics)

I love words.

Louis CK does a bit about how we cheapen language. We truly do.

“How will you describe the birth of your child when you have already wasted the word awesome on a fucking sandwich?”

Truth.

Once upon a time I had a nemesis in the form of sister-wife.

I woke up laughing one morning and retracted her title.

She wasn’t worthy. She was a gnat flying by my ear. People only have as much power as we give them, I have all, she has none.

I wanted to call her a succubus, but that would insult my fellow succubae. We who eat sex and use it to heal ourselves and others.

Parasite. Aye, that. She has a mental illness that makes her unable to form any semblance of self. She was born without a soul. So she steals/cheats/lies her way into other people’s skin and lives. Feeding off the host until the host packs up and leaves.

I called her a leptictidium once. Latin for ‘delicate weasel’. Usurper too.

Apparently when I get mad, I bludgeon people with my thesaurus.

I love monsters.

I do.

One of them is misconstruing the moniker.

He calls me humminbird. He sees my wings.

He is my Keeper.

He has taken abuse meant for me.

A girl made the mistake of asking me if I had a problem with her when my rage building. I do. I did. It’s over now.

She has a small mind and a big mouth. She spits words she doesn’t understand and has no rights to. She was warned.

I can’t call it a fight any more than I could call sister-wife a nemesis with a straight face. It wasn’t a fight. No conflict worth having ends with someone whinging the words “Why are you talking to me like I am little?”

“Because you FUCKING ARE.”

Words are powerful things. Once upon a time a faggot was a bundle of sticks. Now it is a word that causes death. It is designed to cut and tear at someone for varying reasons, none of which have merit to me. I won’t call it a knife, I know my pen is mightier than my sword. Words cut and leave jagged wounds that won’t heal. Like that one, which when I struggle to describe it, is a dirty prison shank.

What rhymes with shank?

My Keeper and I had tried to reach in and help this girl. I use that word with remorse. She shames my gender and profession by existing. Skank, the answer is skank. That word always made me think of clearing your throat with the intention of spitting out the yuck you find there. She is the yuck.

There are those with soul and love and light, there are those that protect us from the others.

Low men and women. Labeled as monsters. Nay nay. These creatures that draw breath and commit atrocities are a different breed of thing. Meat puppets without a shred of humanity. The lord is their shepherd but these sheep have teeth and claws. No soul, no light and no mind.

Sometimes fire must be fought with fire.

Sometimes we need the good monsters to fight the bad. Cull the herd.

Take a life to save a thousand. Cut out cancer for the greater good, even if the cancer is a skinny blonde white girl.

“She’s gone from one to be protected to one to protect others from.”

Yes sweetheart.

She showed her yellow sash when she hit you to get to me. When she thought hurting those who had her best interests at heart was a thing she ought to be doing.

He got in between us, my monster did and took the force of the blow. Human shield, but more than human.

He had to, if she’d hit me…I cannot imagine what he would’ve done. I’ve seen what he does to those who put their hands on me with ill intent.

He would never hit a woman, this I know…but I’ll say it again, she was no woman at that point. Just a spastic, flailing skin sac full of drink and drugs, lashing out spewing poison from a mealy mouth. Drowning and ready to take us with her into the depths. Oh honey, I can fight underwater. I prefer it actually.

I call him my monster, but there is no leash here. He stands with me of his own free will. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip and its bliss. We recognized each other immediately. We both fight for light, just in different ways, he hurts when he has to so I can heal when I can.

We tried to pull this girl out a hell of her own making, she pulled the curtains and locked the door.

I tried to explain it to him like this. She is like a cat (a skinny, skanky, dirty, mean ol’ cat) that keeps running back into a burning building finding worse places to hide. Somehow avoiding the flames and making sure you get burned. Then I have to run into the flames to get him out. Stop now. I am out of balm.

Fucking little twatling.

The addition of ‘ling’ to any word denotes affection. I’ve none left for her, but it’s funnier this way. It also implies inconsequential and aye, that she is.

I say it the way southern women say “bless her heart”. A beautiful fuck you.

A Scorpio will ignore you so hard you will begin to question your own existence. I am not a Scorpio, I am not of their tribe, but I love them I am their ambassador and interpreter and they have shown me their secrets.

I realize by writing this I’m breathing life into these two low women. Whatever immortality I give them with my words will be squandered so I am not worried.

The worst thing you can do to someone you cared about is … nothing.

My ghosts taught me this. Thanks guys.

With this last tap of the keyboard. She’s on her own.

What is worse than rape?

Figure that out and you will have all the answers.

The General’s Daughter

There are rapes worse than mine. I know this. We tell ourselves in a twisted attempt to seek comfort, “it could have been worse”.

I have to argue that point. It was what it was and it was bad. Imagining scenarios where the horror was multiplied doesn’t really bring me any peace. Not living in the past brings me peace.

Fighting the good fight, speaking out loud so others feel less isolated. That is empowerment. Knowing I am whole and healed and not at all what happened to me.

Once upon a time I had nothing and no one.

My family life was in ruins because I ruined it. My friendships were fleeting things. I was as alone as I ever was.

I had been friends with a group of girls, who out of some misplaced jealousy, turned on me one night and held me down outside of a high school dance and kicked me in the head until I couldn’t see.

It could have been worse.

I had no other friends. I was really alone.

Eventually I met another girl. And I clung to her like a floating headboard after the sinking of the Titanic.

Here is where we run into issue with our obsession with comparisons.

I won’t lie and say I have never met anyone as fucked up as her, I have. For some reason I used to be a magnet to that type of inhuman human. But let the record show, she was/is really fucked up. Sadly however, compared to the girls who probably would have left me maimed if not dead had someone not come along and pulled them off me, she was a fucking angel.

She was my first really abusive relationship. She furthered my isolation from my family. Every day there was new drama, I didn’t rest for the years I was with her. Always on alert for the next thing that was coming to get her. She was a false martyr and a master manipulator. I had no sense of self and didn’t know any better. I do now.

A hit can feel like a kiss when the body is starved for attention (unknown)

Been thinking on her a lot lately. Remembering her patterns. Using them to prepare for war.

You see dear readers.

It’s happening again.

Well it was. I tend to write in retrospect.

When I was 17 years old, and thought the sun rose and set on this girl’s ass, that she could do no wrong…she did the penultimate wrong. And she wanted to take me along for the big long ride into Wrongland.

She cheated on her man. No great sin in and of itself. People cheat, it’s a thing.

But to cover her tracks, she said he raped her.

I think I just figured out what is worse than rape.

I hadn’t been on the planet all that long. I had no first second or third hand knowledge of what that word actually meant. But somehow I knew she was wrong.

She said the words out loud and the villagers picked up pitchforks and torches and set about lynching this guy. This man who had committed only one crime, sleeping with crazy.

She backpedaled her way out of it. Said she was drunk when it happened, that she had night terrors from past experiences and got confused. The mob settled down.

I didn’t know the man she accused.

She was my only friend in the world.

But I wouldn’t lie for her.

There are things men can do to women that are unforgivable abominations against the Lord. Rape is exactly that. Taking something and leaving you alive to remember being violated.

There are things only women can do to men that fuck them up on the same level. Lying about being pregnant, which I am ashamed to admit I have done. And so very much worse…false accusations of the supreme violation that is rape.

Three times in this calendar year, men I care about have been falsely accused of rape.

Although I have proof, undeniable proof, that these 3 men did not commit the act they were accused of. I believed them when they told me. I know what lies taste like and they are telling the truth.

I have said, and continue to say, to all women. If a man hurts you in any way and you tell me, I will believe you without question. I stand with the victims. I have been through this process and came out stronger on the other side. I am here for you.

But these men. These good men, who would rather wear a label calling them murderer, looking at me with insurmountable pain in their eyes pleading for help, deserve my protection as well. Without question.

Here is the thing. I had to defend myself for 13 hours on the stand during my rapist’s trial. He almost got away with what he did, he got a reduced sentence…why? Because of women who cry wolf.

I hate using that phrase. Wolves don’t do this. Rapists are low men, and false accusers are low women. There is no comparison here.

Rape is an abomination of something I hold sacred. And to lie about it, makes you equally low in my eyes.

This last girl to spew this poisoned shit was someone I called friend. No more. She no longer exists.

When a woman cries rape she cheapens what I went through. She makes it harder for those who have to live through it. And the pain caused to the falsely accused is something I don’t think I could bear.

I am the sister to all women and good men. I cannot abide.

I wish I could say that when I was 17 and I watched all of this happen that I walked away from that girl and her toxic circus. I didn’t. She used and abused me for years after. I wasn’t strong enough.

I am now.

I say with alarming regularity that I don’t like Christmas, never did.

Lie detector determines that is a lie.

I loved Christmas as a child.

Trees, gifts, family, food, magic, love.

I don’t remember when I stopped believing in Santa Claus, but I had 2 younger sisters so I kept the secret, in cahoots with the adults, feeling very grown up.

When I was 13 my dad’s family came for Christmas at our house. There is video proof of what a little shit I was. It’s embarrassing to watch. But the rest of the video is filled with smiles and dancing and my Nana and Papa singing. So I just skip over the bits with me in it.

My Nana died when I was 15 and that is when a lot of light left my life, not ‘all’, but most.

That was when I started disliking Christmas.

Even the birth of my son 6 years later couldn’t bring it back. So I faked it. And in the way of my child, he knew.

He is with me now, the same age I was when I had him and we are gearing up for a pilgrimage to ocean.

We did this 2 years ago too.

There was an ice storm Christmas Eve. I rolled in from work 5 minutes after the power went out and my partner at the time (Budget George) was decidedly unprepared.

I found myself filling tubs, trimming wicks, making snow blocks for the freezer and barking instructions.

We made it 4 days, well fed with no great losses.

Then I went to the ocean with my boy. First Christmas it was ever just us and it was bliss.

Mostly.

Budget George had a choke chain around my neck and yanked it often.

I walked in the door upon my return and said enough. Who knew I could break chains?

2 years prior I had hit my most southernly bottom point in the pit of hell that was my life.

I was trying to reconcile with St. Anthony, which consisted of sneaking off to hotel rooms to fuck before he went back to MY farm and sisterwife. Christmas was coming and I wanted to go home. He said I could. Shock of all shocks, he fucking lied.

I spent that Christmas alone. Locked in my girlfriend’s cold, dirty apartment with her cats. Sick as fuck. Watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer crying so hard I burst a blood vessel in my eye and tore my esophagus.

I lied to my mother, pretended I was fine. Pretended Anna was home. Told her we had Chinese food and movie marathons. Truth was I did eat Chinese, but I wretched it up, violently. 5 days of crying and puking and crying some more.

It was my lowest point.

Lied to, lying, abandoned by everyone.

I climbed out of that hole into another, this time with Budget George for company.

It wasn’t the best of times nor the worst, but when you are that low, even an inch up seems like a mile.

2 years later I dumped him and started to really live.

The winds of change are blowing today literally and figuratively.

It is the warmest December on record. Also literally and figuratively. I am surrounded by people who keep me safe and warm and loved.

My bed now looks like the inside of a gypsy caravan (I just laid out my summer clothes)

Last year around now I was neck deep in fighting a long overdue court case.
I was home alone in Narnia. And I was brave and strong and tough.
I was as proud of myself as I have ever been.
I won and she never did pay me.
I fought the good fight, the defendant’s rather famous lawyer said so.

I am not thinking on last Christmas, I am thinking on the one before.

2 years ago was the ice storm. I kept 4 people safe warm and fed without power for 4 days before I went away.

Came home and changed my life.

Shed 200 pounds of deadweight and decided to see what alone felt like.

Feels like bliss and magic. Young Un’s and freedom. Sunshine and manic fits of writing.

I opened my mouth and spilled my guts onto the interwebz. Found purpose.

I’ve had a decidedly fucked up and magical 2 years.

I’m going back to the ocean to power-up and give thanks.

In 7 days begins my 42nd turn around the sun and I already know this next year coming is going to be the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. I feel it in my bones.

Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom because that’s where the fertile soil is.

Happiest of holidays everyone.

It’s my anniversary today.

A year and a day ago I started this website.

This is my 151^st post. And I am still rambling about nothing/everything.

Conversations with the soldier yesterday, I said it was okay that I got raped.

He got his back waaaaaaaaaay up and his arms around me in a perfect circle.
“No it isn’t” he whispered. Who knew a whisper could sound so strong?

“Aye, tis. And I will tell you why. I was raped so I could learn how to conquer and get past it. So I could say those words out loud and help other people survive it.”

Everything I ever did got me here. I regret nothing.

It’s funny to have Facebook and now this discombobulated diary out floating in the vast ocean of the internet.

Karma markers everywhere.

Facebook means well with the ‘hey do you want to see your memories?’
I want them all.

7 years ago I was ruined.

6 years ago my body was tossed around the inside of my jeep and my bones matched my mind. Broken.

5 years ago I saw a light and had no idea what to do with it.

3 years ago my witchy mama came to rescue me.

2 years ago I went to the ocean and decided to change my life.

Last year I let my heart live on my sleeve and there she sits. Safe as houses.

Fairy tales and parables about the monsters I let into my bed.

So many monsters come and gone teaching me things, being taught by me.

And my one worry was ‘who in god’s green anywhere is going to love me like this?’

Messy guts spilled like an oil slick on the ocean of the internet.

The answer is 2. Maybe more.

12.13.14 I let go of the boy I loved my whole life. He messaged me today, “I cannot quit you” he says, so let’s make that 3.

The more me I become me the more I am astounded by the ‘shit guys say to me’.
(Not just men, women too.)

I started a biweekly posting to Facebook.

Sometimes it’s bad, I do work in a strip club after all.

But sometimes it is better than I could ever imagine.

I told soldier my dirtiest secret yesterday (one I hadn’t even told The Poet and he knew errrrting) and he didn’t flinch. He just said its part of who and what you are. Said he would love me forever and would never want me to change.

Another one who adores me from afar somehow conjured everything I ever wanted to hear into a message and I just stared at my laptop in awe. He spelled out a life based around a profound understanding of who I am and what I need. Including the words “go tend to your soldier, I am not going anywhere.” This is what bliss feels like.

They have both read everything I have written to date and learned me. I cannot describe how amazing this feels. To be really seen and adored for it.

Not just by them, by so many people. I really did find my tribe and the language they speak is like music to me.

I have come home to myself in this tiny house.

I have a renewed idea of what sanctuary means…what an honor it is that someone else sees me that way.
Mind you, I am Gypsy and will always wander.
I will never be done soul searching.

I hid from the world and myself for so long. I buried all the things out of misplaced shame…and when I finally dug them up I realized they were diamonds.

Dear Girls,

I wish I could call you women, but as it stands, at this very moment we are fluctuating between High School and Preschool.

There are not enough mamas for the whole drunkenmonkeymentalmidgetcircus happening nightly.

And dad has been drinking again.

Stop.

Stop now.

Please.

I love all of you.

Almost.

She who never socially progressed past 4 years old, who throws shoes and tantrums like confetti at your own pity party, please know I tried. But being near you was my soul equivalent of chewing on tin foil.

I couldn’t, I can’t, I won’t with you. You are all sharp angels and teeth and you bite every hand that gets near you.

I tried to save you, guide you and you would run the other way, arms and mouth flailing not caring who you hit. I’m done.

You were never drowning, you just had to stand up.

Everyone else. I need you to listen.

Ours is the last clean club for a thousand miles in every direction. I know because I have been out there. Keep this up and we will be scattered to the winds of the Prairies or taking orders at coffee shops. Which is a better fate than those clubs by the airport, they’re hell and purgatory combined.

I started dancing in the 90’s after the Supreme Court ruling against any contact came down. It was all air dances for half a decade, then a slow decline back into grabbing and grinding. I do not work other clubs because they are brothels and sex is sacred to me. I am protective over my vagina and yours.

Maybe we should get on a bus and go to the cities where every girl has a set price list and the floors are littered with condoms when the lights come on. Take a little field trip and you can see why what we have is worth saving. Maybe then you would see that we work in paradise. Safe.

I need you to appreciate what we have and work with me to preserve it. I am almost alone and I am tired. Sofa king tired.

Listen to me…

If the boss gives you a drink limit it’s because you need one. The club makes all of its money selling booze. Do not bring booze into the bar. If you get caught by them you get sent home. If you get caught by the police or a liquor inspector we all get sent home. For good.

So…

No, you can’t have that vodka back and when you sober up I will explain why, again, for the 10^th time.

I will keep taking your booze and hiding it because I love my job.

I will keep explaining things until you hear me because I love you.

But if I hear you use that word in anger one more time my hand will fly on its own.

There are 2 words straight whites girls do not get to use. Faggot is one. Especially not spat out of a drunken mush mouth full of hate and anger. And especially not aimed at Him. I will cut you off with the same sword I defend you with. I cannot abide.

You have no idea what you have done. Not every kindness comes with a price. Sometimes people are just kind. He is.

So yes…I will keep taking your booze if only to stop your poison tongue.

Which brings us to the 3^rd word no stripper should ever use. Whore.

I am dog tired and bone weary.

I keep hearing hoes calling each other hoes. STOP!!!!!!! THAT IS YOUR FAMILY.
The world hates us enough without us hating each other.
For better or for worse these are your fucking sisters.

Just like any family there are the alcoholics among us, sibling squabbles and tantrums. We won’t always get along. I need you all to see that it is us against the world.

I have worked in some weird places and my favorites were the ones where the girls showed some camaraderie. The 50/50 clubs where half the girls did extras and the other half didn’t. We found our counterpart and gave her what we didn’t want. My ‘blowjob girl’ always tipped me out at the end of the night, of course she made more money than me and of course she knew I helped. This is how it should be, always.

I make more than enough money to get by, I stand back so other girls can too.

This is my way. I talk to men, walk away and get chased. I’ve been at this for 19 years, I know what I am doing.

This is my body and my hustle.
I respect your body and your hustle.
Respect mine.

Every man and every song in the club BELONGS TO THE CLUB NOT YOU.

You will never see me jumping on every dude that walks in the door.

I know how to share. Got a gold star in kindergarten.

Competition is pointless.

There’s enough to go around.

There will be more if we stop pouncing on every dude that walks in the door.

You don’t get it.

Do you know why strip clubs exist?

Men need a break from the world and there is nothing more soothing than tits.

Be soothing. Be soft. Be kind.

Except to that guy, that guy likes getting choked a bit, and that one slapped around.

Watch out for the ‘ear rapist’. That one pinches and bites.

Regardless whether I like you or not. You are my sister and I will not allow you to be misused, stolen from, treated badly. I’m always on your side. Always.

I will always have a baby wipe or a cookie sheet for you. I will always have a clean shirt and a couch to crash on.
I will hold your hair while you puke, I will dress you when you need it.

It’s my way.

The rest of you have lost yours.

Dear girls I work with,

Stop.

Please.

We are your sisters.

P.S. I love you