Punishment, anyone?

So it turns out I am a glutton for punishment….choosing someone I ordinarily wouldn’t, violating all my own rules. There is nothing good that can come out of this.  There is a reason why I avoided love for this long; my mother always said, a woman in love may be stupid.  Turns out I am that person, andn  turns out my intuition about this person was right.

Sometimes in life, even when you try your darnest, you still fail.  Perhaps this is Cassandra’s curse for being born female.

I don’t regret being born female.  But I do regret things that have happened to me because I am female.  The world is not enough, my friends.  Humanity doesn’t have much to show for itself.

I am not proud of anything.  I have gambled this long for this person and this love.  If I fall, I fall.  It is God’s will at that point. I have tried my best.

When Anne Boleyn was taken from the Tower of London to her death, she stated a very thorough and forgiving speech.  Here was a girl not yet thirty, who was governed by her father, the Catholic church, the country’s monarch, and ultimately killed by her husband.

Yet the whole world blames her, as though death before her people and professing her love for God were not enough.

Therefore the world is not enough.  For some, the count of witchcraft is a real offense, and the prejudice is real.

I have stated on my fb before that as long as you have true ownership of your soul, that is enough.  The men in my life have turned up short.  I think it is a shame to have so much privilege in life, especially if you are a white male, to be petty with the women in your life.  It is not a testimony of manhood or privilege.

I know that every night, as I put my head on my pillow, I have pulled my weight in life.  I have reconciled with my God, and He loves me very much.  That is all one can say in life.



This young man expresses everything I feel about holidays

Movie bliss

Yeah….at least he is honest…..

I plan to do more far more inventive things on my holiday, such as:

1. Run through the forest naked

2. Do MJ

3. Do MJ and heroine

4. Do MJ, heroine and crack

5. Do MJ, heroine, crack and cocaine

6. Repeat #2-5

7. Read a book

8. Write a book

9. Read all of George Sterling’s poems

10. Learn how to navigate a heli

11. Fly to Africa

12. Run through Africa naked

13. Try to behave 😛

Mourning Alone is an asinine experiment in fortitude

I wouldn’t recommend it: mourning alone.

A lot of family members have died in the past few years – I hate to speak about it.  It absolutely insanely horrifically senselessly terrifies and horrifies me to talk about it.  I have been extremely private about my family my whole life – not to say that my family life has been horrific – my family has been a lot of fun – but I have always always top-notch secretive about it.  Because of numerous reasons and varying historical events, I have always been extremely fiercely protective of my family, even sometimes at the expense of my own common sense and well-being.  We, in the family, all operate with a similar modus operandi – family first, secrets last.

Alas, should there be any confusion about it – the CIA has approached me about how I keep my secrets – I think we all know how that meeting went.

Nonetheless, my family life has gotten ahold of me, and tragedies line the pages.  I won’t try to explain what happened here – modus operandi exist for plenty of good reasons and fortunes.

However, being alone and such in the world – mourning is a horrific task to take on one’s own.  The memories alone will crush you, and especially with no family members to reference or confer with, the terror of the night is steady onto its own.  I have no coping skills to recommend – each moment offers its own tenor of horror.  Each night I look out the window and hope to God that he grants me the fortitude to live because nothing is like mourning alone – the willingness to go there is a willingness to re-align with your family members.  The terror is that I am almost willing to give up anything or do anything to see my passed ones – even for a minute, an hour, a hairline’s breadth of time – to see a reflection of yourself – oh, how the body heaves.

I know that I am treading upon very dangerous grounds, and that a psychologist would recommend plenty of hours on the couch, if not more intense treatment.  But I want my bout of the human experience.  Life is tough, and we have to live it.  In my own way, my toughness is my way of honoring them.  They didn’t have it easy; neither will I.

The dark of the night offers its own refuge.  I fear not.

Dedication: I miss you like the sun misses the moon.  Farewells will not separate.  My fare will seal us. Desires will come plenty, but they are nothing compared to you.


HERE IS MY PUBLIC TESTIMONY (I have a lot of qualms with people using the Internet as a forum for public confession, so I hate to confess anything in public or online….well, because I am a secret pervert, and I have a secret life as a stripper in the dark corners of the world, and I secretly covet your…..uh…never mind).

I promise to behave for the rest of the year, and put other things before money and work.

As a singleton, I have a lot of problems with work – I don’t know when to stop because I am single, and I have a thousand justifications as why I should keep working (well, those documents aren’t going to write themselves!  who else should do this work besides me – I don’t see anyone else here!  that looks like so much fun, I can’t wait to do it! – so on, and so forth).  Honestly, it is not healthy to keep working, and I don’t cultivate those relationships that are important to me.  So I suffer in the long run.  Historically, my suffering has led me to throw myself harder into work, so the cycle continues (well, he’s not going to be there for me, but my work is!).  Partly is that I live by myself, I work at home, and I just stare at my work, and feel triggered to do it.  Oy, call it a workaholic syndrome.

So, I promise to take pause before throwing myself into work at least for the rest of the year.  I promise to take a break!  It kills me.  I might have an anxiety attack though.  Or multiple anxiety attacks at the thought of not working.

Ok, my secret confession (grab your popcorn folks, this one is juicy): I have been seriously guilty of stretching out my work longer, and making things more complicated than they need to to be just so I can work longer.  I like sitting in the energy of efficacy and getting things done.  But the stretching bit…..it may have had something to do with…….oh, I don’t know, uh,…..maybe….uh…an avoidance of something??  I don’t know – can’t put my finger on it.

My defense is that I am a Scorpio Rising, and have a naturally obsessive personality.  Not much of a defense, I know, but I thought I’d throw it out there.

On a much more serious note, I think I am going to hell for liking work so much.  I do think I will suffer for not working hard enough on my relationships, and using work as a subterfuge.  UGH.  I seriously think we were put here on Earth to enjoy ourselves, and not kill ourselves for a few dollars or the like.

Oh well….c’est la vie.  Life is not work.

Thank God and the Heavens and whomever else – I wasn’t raised in org religom

Everyday I come across idolatry (dogma that doesn’t identify with the human experience, or, in short, reasoning for human cruelty), and I thank the Heavens, and everyone else for not having been raised in a dogmatic household or any organized religion (one of the positive qualities of being really lazy and non-commital) – I am free to think on my own, and be free of guilt, conditioning, shame, etc.  Jesus, that is a lot of work. I go to a Catholic university, and everyday I am so happy I am not Catholic.  So so so so deservedly happy.  Shit, if I had to have guilt complex every time I had sex or whatever…..well, you get the idea…..

Aphorisms of the Day:
TGIANC (Thank God I Am Not Catholic)
DAD (Deathly Against Dogma)
POWMYH (Proponent of Whatever Makes You Happy)

No, not even the rain can have such small hands


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

E. E. Cummings, 1894 – 1962


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture

are things

which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens – touching skillfully, mysteriously –

her first rose or, as if your wish be to close me,

I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere


nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility

whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing

– i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;

only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses –


no one, not even the rain, has such small hands



Amended by moi (punctuation, words, etc.)

No, no, I am not allergic to all oranges…my allergies extend to all citrus

My allergy list has been extended by a full yard.  I am now allergic to all citrus!  This is not even remotely funny because I am allergic to a lot of things already, but one more?  Heavens, I’m allergic to bananas!  Do you know how weird and awkward that conversation is?


Dinner host hands ME a banana.

ME graciously shakes her hand and smilingly states, “No, thanks.”

Dinner host presses on, and points the banana up to ME again, suggesting that bananas are good for you, and they are so healthy, and by the way, did you get your five servings of fruit today?

ME hesitates, says ‘no’ one more time, and sighs, and then states, “Thanks, but I’m allergic to them.”

Dinner host looks at ME unbelievingly, as in between the look of “are you kidding?” or “is this a joke to get out of a eating a banana? – good heavens, it’s only a banana, why would you want to get out of it?”

ME squirms in her seat and says, “Yeah, it’s been a while, I’ve been allergic for quite a while now – I really do miss them.”

Dinner host sets the banana down, bewildered and tries to talk away with the least awkward expression possible.

ME squirms in her seat some more, and tries to glance around so she may suffer sudden amnesia, and forget the interaction she just has, all the while trying to not look longingly at the banana, should suddenly allergies may also flare up by the chance of mere sight.

The camera pans away from ME from the angle of the BANANA.

-end of scene

Now, let’s have that scene, but increase it 40 fold in my life, because those scenes are not blissfully awkward already.