Posted on | March 3, 2014 | 1 Comment
HI!!!!!!! My God–I just had to check in at my Abandoned Empire. It’s been so long. But, you’ll be happy to know that in my absence I’ve been very productive. Writing and rewriting and submitting work all over the globe. The Globe of America’s United States anyway…
Yeah…I rewrote two old stories and polished 3 books of poems and all of it is OUT THERE, being judged and admired (I’m sure…)
So, even though I have had to go further underground than I have in awhile, I feel like parts of me are still out there. My words are floating through the Universe, having their say. And I can stay in…away from the fray…and not getting in anyone’s way with my out-of-the-boxness.
But….I just wish I felt better. I’m having some issues with nausea & being unable to eat or keep food in. It might be scarier if I wasn’t really undoing a huge area of my oft-mentioned scoliosis-spinal twist thing.
I’ve had stomach problems in the past related to muscles in my back & ribs & abdomen coming unknotted after so many years. It changes everything on the inside–air pressure, position of organs, etc…and you can FEEL it! It is often not pleasant. Remember my exorcism of 2011?
But whatever is going on now is major. I see the change in my alignment, and I see the weak spot in my lower left abdomen where all the pain is. I’m working on strengthening that area quickly because I think my stomach needs support. It feels like it’s just hanging there like a hammock…ewww.
Well…sorry to be gross : )) Sorry to be honest. Sorry to be mortal. Sorry to be human. Naw…I think you all can handle it.
ANYWAY–one final thing: WATERCOLORS!!!!! Yay, It’s my birthday month & I will be watercoloring again. Taking a break from writing to go into my right-brain and see what I can do on that side. I’m going to start 3 watercolors–one will be a copy of an existing watercolor so that I may practice painting what I see. The others will be originals, one will be very wet and vibrant, the other may incorporate some pen & ink.
But I don’t have that for you today…sorry. Naw, I’m not…
Enjoy this timeless old cartoon of me & Pecker having our exorcisms. And actually I got it wrong–his were much more copious than my little blob of green vomit.
Posted on | February 9, 2014 | No Comments
Good Morning Asses,
Without hesitation, I’m going to weigh in on the Allen/Farrow family debate over molestation.
[So rhymey!] But seriously, I’m going to have to take the girl’s side on this. I love Woody Allen. I’ve enjoyed all his movies more than I probably should have.
BUT…!!! Even people you love & admire are capable of molestation. Or anything bad, but especially molestation. Even people who are funny, likeable, brilliant…can do things you would never expect.
I’ve known NICE, MEEK, SHY guys who are not nice or meek when they get you alone.
I’ve known FUNNY guys who are really pretty depressed & bizarre.
I’ve known RESPECTABLE guys, so suited up & professional & smart, who are far from respectable once the blood runs downstairs….
As an estrogen-being who can always take care of her own…uh…sexual urges, if need be, I’ve always been alarmed at how aggressive & uncontrollable testosterone-beings can be. But I’ve got the picture–and nothing surprises me anymore, least of all men with appetites for children.
Children are easy, peasy. Women (or any grown up person) = not easy-peasy.
AND…!!! This argument about the memory of molestation being planted in this child’s head by her mother…
I just don’t think so. You can “plant” something in the head of a 1, 2, 3-year-old.
You can’t “plant” something in the head of a 7-year-old. If my mom had tried to plant anything in me at that age, I would remember, to this day, her doing that. Dylan’s memory of the incident is too detailed, too plausible, just a quick trip to the attic to play with the train while daddy jerks off on your backside…?
It’s too easy. There would be no evidence left of that once the child was able to verbalize it. And at the time, it may not have seemed too blatantly weird & horrifying. It may have just seemed like daddy & I are laying together with the train and he’s very excited about it!!
And at 7, maybe that’s all she understood about it. But 7-year-olds grow up to have a better understanding of these things later…ewwwww…..
And let me tell y’all,
and I have told you this before,
But…I have always been ‘just that weird girl’
In a world full of nice, great,
popular, funny, smart, talented guys…
And I know exactly what that means….
SO…!!! Maybe I am a little biased toward young Dylan Farrow in this case. My experiences on this planet lead me to believe her over the man we all love & enjoy as a movie actor, director, writer, producer, etc…etc…etc…
Will I still love & enjoy his movies? Sure. Smart is smart. Funny is funny. Truth is truth.
*****BRIEF WRITING UPDATE…..
I have 2 of my short stories “deVogonized” already! It’s going great–those old stories were really terrible. I hadn’t looked at them in nearly 15 years–but I think I gave them the fabulous make-overs they needed! By the end of this month I will have 2 short stories and 3 books of poems out in the Universe for judgment & acceptance.
I can’t tell you how excited I am.
Now, speaking of Vogon, here is something so fresh…I just automatically writ it this morning!
A NEWBORN VOGON POEM
Make this skeleton
Of a thought
Grow layers of detail–
A simple muscular machine–
To the sun, to the West Coast
Because they’re not watered down
Please keep your
I ask for the keys
Secret-keepers who will never squeak
Here is what they’re showing me:
A repeat of Jesus &Judas
A religious murder
Someone holy going down
And causing a millennial shift
Did anyone ever wonder
If the 1980s were the end times? [besides me?]
The nuclear holocaust
Time will always be there & things
Will always fill it–
Things, the material world, give shape to time
Hold our memories like
Like chairs, antennae, eyeglasses
Are honored exoskeletons
Now what is that cable
It won’t be a gunshot.
A lethal injection–skeletal steel
So flat under the clavicle
Oh you mean a knifewound?
That’s so old fashioned–
But I like it.
I’ll have some art for you Asses in March, ‘mmmmmmmmkayyyyyyy?
Posted on | January 31, 2014 | No Comments
AN ADVENTURE IN REALITY…
Once upon a compass, there lived a place named Florida. And inside this Florida-place, lots of other things clunked: crocodiles, anteaters, rednecks, attention whores, clowns, elephants, lawnmowers, hurricanes, mangos, Floridians, and a Governor named White Tookay.
Florida was a pretty classy place until the election of White Tookay.
Once White came to power, all hayseed broke loose. All social contracts were annulled & staring was allowed. Pointing, too. Lying, denying, plagiarizing, sodomizing–all encouraged by law. Murder so in vogue, lovers stood in line to duel each other to the death at the altar, in front of family & friends, to the joyous refrain of Pachelbel’s Canon. (But not gays–they were only allowed to pummel each other into something resembling marriage…)
Firearms were so abundant & unregulated they were like jewelry, car keys, shopping lists. The stuff you’re in constant touch with in Florida. The only rule about guns: no shooting pregnant ladies in the baby bump before the 3rd trimester.
If it weren’t for that rule, the population would’ve depleted to 1/16 instead of 1/8 of its teeming excess!
But worst of all: the sinkholes. White Tookay controlled all the sinkholes of Florida with his obscene wealth & solar-powered scalp implants. Floridians were scared. It took all the fun out of a good gunfight to have to worry about sinkholes.
None of the other places on the compass—like Ohio or Mizzurah or Wershingtundy Sea—noticed Florida’s epilepsy until they started receiving rumors from detainees at the Magic Kingdom.
The Magic Kingdom was a compound inside Florida’s northeast sinus. Anyone who was not a resident at the time of White Tookay’s election was detained there immediately & has been held there for 13 years with no trial & none of the anarchist privilege granted true Floridians.
Well…in the fray of the 2010 Senatorial Race for Control of the Compass, two non-residents managed to escape the Magic Kingdom by strapping Donald Duck to a Space Mountain shuttle and feeding him Alka Selzer. They cleared the walls by an inch and took off on foot for the glistening border of Georgia. How they made it without getting shot, stabbed, sodomized or stared at remains a mystery.
But once they stood on slippery law-abiding GA soil, they began to squawk about all the atrocities they’d seen & heard outside their topiary prison:
“Eye contact,” EscapeeOne testified, “to the point of creepiness.”
“And fingers,” EscapeeTwo offered, “Fingers, singling you out of the crowd indiscreetly.”
“Whoa…” Georgia gasped.
“Woe!” her residents chorused.
“That’s not all,” EscpeeOne peppercorned. “There were children, naked, copying bits of Dr. Seuss and taking them to the publisher as if it were their own work!”
“Plagiarism??” Georgia beanstalked.
“Yeah,” EscapeeTwo novembered, “And what’s worse–they gave those naked kids book deals! Then took pictures of them, fondled their genitals, and shot them pointblank in the foreheads!”
“Not before those kids drew their own weapons, though. Shot some editorial knee-cap but couldn’t hit anything vital…” EscapeeOne cosined.
“Sodomy? Child pornography? Murder by duel??” the residents of Georgia peanut-galleried.
“YES!!!” EscapeesOne and Two breathalyzed.
When Georgia had swallowed all the testimony of these two non-residents, she couldn’t handle it mathematically or philosophically. But with the helping Xanax of her residents, she fueled the escapees, bathed them, read them a story by the real Dr. Seuss, then shoved them to bed.
THEN, she called Mississippi. Who called Utah. Who called Wisconsin. Who called North Dakota. Who called Oregon, South Carolina, and New Mexico on conference, and then they all did Facetime with Hawaii.
“Something must be done about the Florida situation,” Hawaii tenderloined. “There’s only one more call to make before our plan of attack…”
“Guam??” tazed North Dakota.
“No…” Hawaii half-toned, “…Albany.”
The States all gasped in torpor. Albany was all that was left of New York. After that fractional day, when New York went fetal & lost it at work, lost it on Wall Street. Then handed the keys to its parents’ Ferrari over to the Terrorists, who crashed it into the neighbor’s skyline and ran over 3,000 cats & dogs that rained from Cloud 101…
…since then, New York had been locked up in Bellevue. And Albany was one crusty old fuck about it.
Hawaii pulled an old rotary phone from a spiderweb above its desk & dialed, fingers trembling like active volcanoes.
“What the…….FUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK??” Albany answered, testicly.
“Albany! Hey, it’s Hawaii,”– mustering all powers of Aloha–”You got a minute?”
“That’s a foolish question to ask a New Yorker. Fuck off.”
“Albany! Wait!” Hawaii and the other States harmonized, “Please! It’s about Florida…”
“What about Floor-ee-duh?” Albany was suddenly plastiscine.
The States all regurgitated the disturbing testimony they’d heard. Albany grunted & clucked & pierced its eyelid with a Bedazzler.
“Hmmph. Urrmph. This is fanatical. Rapturous. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But, Albany,” South Carolina pussycatted, “We have a plan…”
“Yeah, what plan?”
The States whispered like thick boiling cream of their plan.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” said Albany, pleased with the thick creaminess of the plan.
“There’s only one thing…” Hawaii, pausing for bulimic effect, “If we are going to pull off this plan, we must secede from the Union!”
“Stay with us, Albany! We need you to ratify our Agreement to Secede! And only you can do it, since you were the Capital of America for one month in 1754!”
“What about all the other former US capitals?”
“They’re all…indisposed at the moment,” Georgia tattled wormishly.
“Indisposed how?” Albany wanted to know.
“Incarcerated. In State Prisons. For various reasons.”
“All of PA locked up for illegal organ harvesting. Sorry.”
“Oh, god…” There was a distal, poignant, comatose silence on Albany’s end. And, after 31 moments, a grunt of consent. “Yeah. All right. I’ll do it.”
The catch was–snail mail only. Albany didn’t believe in electronics. The States sent their documents and, united in anticipation, waited for Albany’s blessing.
The situation in Florida was glandular by now. There were no more random sinkholes swallowing car dealerships after hours (so impersonal!) Gov. Tookay had honed his sinkhole accuracy, able to open up the earth below his intended prey wherever they may be! On the highways, in their homes!
He had sinkholes eating folks right off the crumbling sidewalks. His solar-powered scalp implants worked in conjunction with a rain-powered GPS to create the most acidic & localized invisible parabolic sinkhole strikes.
In other words: SMARTHOLES.
And there were fewer and fewer Floridians left to witness all this. The entire populace of Florida now numbered 126, including governors.
The other States knew they’d have to locate the Governor’s hideout as soon as they breached Florida’s vulnerable effeminate borders. Smoke him out. And then barbecue him with his own solar-powered skull.
When the Official Secession Document arrived in the mail, smeared in Albany’s preemptive mesquite blood, the States did indeed secede & wriggled free of their positions on the map.
First, they flotilla’d to Cuba, where it was still hard to tell if Castro was dead. They were fed whole chickens & generic painkillers, and given maps to the portal of Miami.
The next morning, the States floated silently to the syphilitic tip of Florida, veered nor’east & encapsulated Miami.
“Where is the Guv’nuh?” Mississippi demanded.
Miami was taken amok–it had never seen a whole State before, much less a troop of States surrounding it.
“Who are you?” it asked meekly, with no hint of its former neon.
“We are the States that seceded from the Union to capture your evil Guv’nuh and restore a sublime totalitarian tourist state to its erstwhile prosperity!”
Miami was unfastened for a moment, but then zipped, “Okay. I can help you. The Governor is at his palace in Tallahassee, making new Smartholes every minute!”—near tears now, Miami vignetted, “I want my old State back. God, I miss tourism!”
“I know, baby, I know,” South Carolina dandelioned, “We will get your State back, tourists and all. Just help us get to the Governor’s palace!”
Miami fell like dominoes. One high-rise hooked to the next, forming a low-speed turnpike all the way to Tallahassee. The States marched, apriled & mayed up this turnpike until they stood before the Governor’s architectural embarrassment.
The States diapered their weapons—mostly AK’s and trebuchets—and prepared to strike.
Gov Tookay was in his man cave masturbating to the aftermath of his latest sinkhole. He’d hit a gang of unruly tweens who were always protesting the copyright infringements being done to their favorite trilogy ‘Twilight.’ They had eluded him too long and he couldn’t believe he’d finally sunk the little whippersnappers along with their paperback editions of Breaking Dawn: Book Three.
SQUISH! His excitement landed everywhere. A large glob even fell on his solar-powered skull, obscuring it significantly.
Suddenly the palace shook. The Governor heard artillery and boulders being launched outside his man cave, and his self-satisfied arousal turned quickly to aroused unsatisfied selfishness.
“Bosley!” the Governor divined for his atheist butler. But the butler had succumbed to the first round of trebuchet fire.
The crescendo of pro-Florida zealotry continued, amplified. Gov Tookay quaked in his Rocky & Bullwinkle slippers. He lunged for his all-powerful technology, barely able to press the vibrating buttons.
“Who could that be out there?” he pilsnered aloud, waiting for the SMARTHOLE to take care of whoever it was.
But the SMARTHOLE did not open up & swallow Georgia or Utah or Mississippi or Wisconsin or South Carolina or North Dakota or New Mexico or Oregon or Hawaii.
The wad of dicksnot on his solar-paneled head had caused a malfunction, and the intended SMARTHOLE opened up somewhere in Ecuador. The palace was still under siege!
The Governor could see through the holes in his man cave what looked like an archipelago standing on its hind legs, surrounding him.
“Who are you and what have you done with my sinkhole?” he blueberried at the big irregular shapes.
“Fuck your sinkholes, Governor Tookay! And your laws against laws! Everyone knows Florida is way too ridiculous to handle the deadly strains of anarchy. We know you just want to destroy Florida for everyone else & keep it all to yourself! Well, that’s not gonna happen!”
“Georgia?” the Governor jaguared, “What’re you doing here?”
“Calling you out, bitch,” Georgia sneered into her AK’s sights and sent a flock of hot metal pigeons into the Guv’nuh’s right nostril, killing him drastically.
The States januaried down the low-speed high-rise turnpike, jubilantly singing Army songs. They carried the limp, pale, selfish body of Gov White Tookay & before any living thing could take a picture of it, they dumped that pale selfish body into Lake Okeechobee.
Back in Miami, the high-rises stood up like erudite podiums. The States mounted them and spoke loudly to Florida.
“Gov Tookay is dead! Come out & be free to follow the Laws of our Nation once again!”
A few wild-eyed anarchists emerged from the swamps and abandoned airports to listen to the States speak.
“There will be no more sinkholes!” New Mexico googleplexed.
More scruffy Floridians emerged from underpasses & rose from uncut lawns. Wary & mutated beyond human recognition, they were armed to the gills (yes) and wrapped in layers of tire tread & armadillo shell (nature’s Kevlar). Some of them toted manuscripts. Some were groping blindly for the muddy, lousy genitialia of others. All of them pretended not to see anything going on around them—
[---Thou shalt deny ever witnessing any wrongdoing--Gov Tookay's 3rd Amendment]–
“But you must stop plagiarizing, sodomizing, and being in denial!” Ohio tunafished sternly.
One angry mutant Floridian pointed its weapon at Ohio’s American heartbeat, but some others knocked it away.
“That’s right,” Ohio teabagged, “Remember when Florida was a flamingo-colored paradise, and people came from afar to enjoy its cancer-causing majesty? And it was only okay to shoot black people? And we only took our own stories to the publisher?”
The Floridians bob their heads & hiss & murmur like swamp things.
“Now, put down your arms & your verbatim copies of ’50 Shades of Grey!’”
“And get your fingers out of each other’s hoo-ha’s!”
“And look around with your mossy eyeballs at all the wrongs that have been done here!”
The Floridians wept, dropped their weapons, let go of genitals & manuscripts, connected vision & cognition. From their high Miami perches, the States directed the Floridians to free the prisoners from the Magic Kingdom, to stabilize the sinkholes with layers of armadillo shell, and create new works of fiction all based on their brushes w/ anarchy.
Within the span of February, all of Florida was restored to its natural ridiculousness. The beaches were level, the condos upright, the residents back to their bath salt romances.
Georgia, et al, sent their Immigration papers to Albany & were granted full membership to the Union once again. And Albany, never one to exhale until peace was restored, exhaled. Plopped down in the lazy chair, pulled an opium pipe from the cushions and prepared to INHALE, when…
…the rotary phone on the desk warbled like an urgent turkey. Albany cursed mightily & answered it:
“Hola, Albany? This is Ecuador. Listen, we got a problem…”
Posted on | January 28, 2014 | No Comments
Greetings & welcome to my Empire!!! My crumbling Empire…
Remember, this Empire is now just a scrapbook, to be found by the Internet archaeologists of the future. The Macchu Picchu of the blogosphere. Or maybe the LaBrea Tar Pits…
So, asses, what I wanted to discuss today is somewhat serious. It involves a new film called DALLAS BUYER’S CLUB, and the actor who is getting lots of awards for playing a trans-sexual woman in the film, JARED LETO. And the reaction of the socially-networked community of TRANS WOMEN who are alive & well today…
I have not seen Dallas Buyer’s Club yet, but I can’t wait to see it. I’ve always thought Jared Leto was a pretty guy, but I haven’t paid much attention to him on any deeper level.
When I heard of this role & saw some pictures of Leto as ‘Rayon’–the transgendered woman with AIDS who lived in the 1980s–he became a much bigger blip on my radar screen.
And I’ve got to say–how did I miss him for so long?? He is just my type of awkward. Yes, I was most surprised to find out that JL is very AWKWARD!
I thought he was probably a very confident, socially nimble rockstar/actor/professional/adult human being. But he is very shy & quirky & not overly concerned with being masculine & not very prone to dating. Anyone. No guys, no girls. A singular asexual being…
And as I’ve watched him on the Award Shows lately, I could see this awkwardness in his appearance, and mannerisms, and hear it in his words. He is not the typical swagger-licious, bad boy, testosterone fueled Hollywood icon. He is very different. Very fluid. Very serious. Effectively humble.
Now, a good portion of the online community of trans women that I follow doesn’t see it this way.
First of all, they want to know why a real trans woman was not asked to play this role. And, after finding out what a sizable list of trans women are working in Hollywood (although still unknown to me), I have to agree. If there are dozens of trans women who could’ve played the role, why did they hire Leto?
The casting couch is a mysterious force in Hollywood & it does not always follow the rules of reality. That is my only answer at this point.
But, since they obviously wanted to hire a biological male — as Rayon herself was — I think Leto was a terrific choice.
Also, there has been some offense taken by trans women over some of Leto’s remarks about playing this character. He refers to Rayon as a “beautiful CREATURE.”
Trans women are sensitive about being called “creatures.” I understand that. But I really don’t think Jared’s heart was in the wrong place when he said this. I think that’s just how he talks. He uses flowery poetic language. I think he feels closer to Rayon than he expected, and perhaps he is trying to come to terms with that by making her “otherworldly.” Creaturish.
Also, in a Rolling Stone[?] article Jared describes some of the preparations he had to do to become Rayon–the waxing, the tucking. This is also some seriously sensitive subject matter in the trans community.
The average, every day trans girl– and there is such a thing– does not want to be seen as a drag queen. She does not want to be seen as a mockery of womanhood, but as a woman. PERIOD. (sorry…) This is an ugly stereotype that even I have seen marring the MTF journey.
Even I have been guilty of seeing MTF human beings as people who must not be in their right minds. Or must want to live lives of fluff & foofiness & folly. Why else would they trade being a male for being a female?
As a biological female who disdained the roles of society meant for my gender, I really had to wrap my head around that concept. It took me reading about ‘Warrior Princess’ Kristin to understand what gender dysphoria looks like from the biologically male POV.
I have a much better understanding now–but I’m still learning how little I know about trans women! How I still have trouble wrapping my brain around it.
As for Jared Leto–no matter what his comments were( “still coughing my balls out of my ass…”), I don’t think he meant them with any disdain or machismo or male privilege or anything hateful toward people of any gender. I think this role was an eye-opening experience for him on a personal level.
Mark my words…I think his percentage of Rayon is at a DRY CLEAN ONLY level. Do you know what I’m saying??
La-de-da-de-da….that’s my defense of Jared Leto & his awkwardness. I hope I haven’t further offended any trans girls. I hope to see more trans actors of any/ all genders on the silver screen one day. But we have to start somewhere…
Also, where are all the trans guys?? I need to know some trans guys…they are a whole ‘nother set of creatures…
oops…sorry…I’m a flowery poet….speaking of…
Here’s a poem from NOW:
How did it happen–my heart so far
From its female side?
Falling behind in heart school
To give a speech but only bleeding
What about those doves?
Can you speak of it? Crow about it?
If Francis loved birds
He wouldn’t throw them out the window
Be a careful Popestar
I can sing I just lack the words
How can you sing about it if its
I guess that is what chanting is for
What were we chanting about?
Here’s a poem from THEN:
The disco diva
Rising on the platform
Silver afro lighting up the night
Times Square millennium
Silver ball drops down Eleven Flights
Screams reach into illicit windows
And grab around for safety
Elevator stuck between floors
Occupied by savagery
When you slip past my knees
And fondle my inferiority
I see her pinpoints of light
As they rain & fall & blow away
Not fixed to any electricity…
Posted on | January 20, 2014 | No Comments
Happy DrMLKJr Day!!
Asses, we like to remember DrMLKJr as a saintly orator. A radical reverend. But let me tell you–that bitch was one angry motha !^*$er! And that’s not a bad thing. Anger is a great motivator. Anger should be used, but not indulged in. And it should always be mixed with heaping doses of intelligence and respect. Respect for the anger itself, and for those who may feel its message.
So holla at you, DrMLKJr!!! From one angry bitch to another. May I strive to use my anger as wisely and courageously as you did, perhaps right here in my Blog Empire, The Centipeep Show, The Octopus Diary…
But, yeah, speaking of that…sorry I had to resort to filthy, low-down gossipy-type venting about friends in our last session. But really…how much more interesting is that than some recipe for cupcakes or another photoshopped photo of a skeleton dancing on the beach at sunset reminding us that happiness is a choice, and if you’re not feeling happy, you should pretend to be, or force yourself to be somehow…
But not with drinking & drugging, because that’s cheating…
SOoooo…what else is new…??? …? I am hoping by the end of this week to be in full fiction mode. Visiting my 4 old short stories & “de-Vogonizing them” to use a familiar term…
Then I want to start a new short story, or series of stories about Cody, my main Singlewood character, because i don’t know her. There are too many people around her that are like stock characters, easily defined, and she is this vague, oblivious, under-realized, overwhelmed waif in a flannel shirt. And not much more. Not very likeable either, but that’s okay. Anyway…if I’m ever going to develop the Singlewood idea further, I need to know this character better.
So, after 2 years of getting all my poems in working order, it’s time to start on fiction. It’s daunting. BTW, these short stories are different from the ‘Adventures in Reality’ you might be accustomed to. I’ve sent a few ‘A in R’s out and they haven’t gotten good response. You can’t be too stylistic if you haven’t made a name for yourself yet? Or maybe they really are crap!
I’m still not sure what the criteria are (is), and I’ve read every literary journal in this nation at least once.
Maybe I do need to go to school, but…….
You all may have noticed that I’m doing a daily memory feature on Facebook. Some of you enjoy it; most of you hate it. We were doing it on our radio show, but it doesn’t make for good radio. Only musical or entertainment memories matter on radio; personal memories go on Facebook where they’re enjoyed or not (scroll on by, scroll on by Facebook derby DJ, scroll on by)
And if you’re wondering, ‘why does she have to remember all these stupid things from the past, jeez..???’ Maybe I do have a reason.
Don’t judge me yet. Actually I’ve seen quite a lot of auto-speculation going on in the Faceworld. Lots of throwback-this and on-this-day-I-met-so-and-so and here’s a picture. So I am not alone, for once.
Well, I hope you have time for 2 short psychic safari-era poems:
And faith asunder under the sidewalk
There thrives a community
Chaotic insects inhabiting the cracks
That make us cry when they rip through our houses
From here to Seattle, eternity
Airlines’ desperation throes
Crash landing into barbed-mesh-
Fractures bone & metal & even glass
Then fills a colony ship
W/ metaphysic travelers.
Now I fear some Xtians will rise up
Against EVIL in all its undefined & relative spectrum
The 80s hive mentality returns to a droning volume
The note said I had permission
To leave it all behind
The note said I could call in sick
For the next four years
It said I would never have to be false again
Well guess what?
The note lied.
We’re here to upgrade your brain
You must take proper care of this one
Keep it clean & no cellular mutations
From the slanders of others
It is their mission to destroy it–
Keep it safe.
This is the new non-violent model
All destructive data removed
So you are free to decide for yourself
How evil you are or aren’t.
Farewell Asses—next time I hope to have some art and/or a positive writing update for you. But I might not, so don’t put pressure on me, goddamit >: /
Posted on | January 11, 2014 | 1 Comment
I’m being serious today & I’m not even going to call you ‘Asses.’
Though my life is wonderful & I’m very grateful for every ounce of peace I experience, I have started of this year with “friend trouble.”
You all may recall that in 2011 I had a lot of “friend trouble.” The end of ’11 was a morass of social chaos:
* I was letting go of people with whom I simply couldn’t keep up socially
* I was being shunned by a few who were offended(?) frightened(?) confused(?) by things I had posted online
* I was getting retribution from 1 friend w/ whom I had tried to set boundaries (boy, was he going to show ME boundaries!)
*And I was trying to distance myself from a tiny handful of friends who, despite many discussions & attempted reconciliations, were just not working out—who continued to hurt me with the same old “behaviour” we had discussed so many times.
Yes, the end of ’11 was a dark time & much more difficult than my divorce-from-family in 2003. [Hell, my family was more than happy to let me go…they never harassed me…or demanded explanations…or called me names (to my face. I'm sure they disparaged me amongst themselves.)]
On top of the decision I had made to distance myself from my then-current social scenario, having such aggressively antagonistic friends from the past show up to complicate things further—let’s just say it was like a multi-car pile-up on the Interstate. If cars were people : 0
But I got through it. I learned ALOT from it—about people, myself, groups, communities, art, technology, spirituality, trust, psychology and death [YES, I learned all that shit from having trouble with friends!]
And time heals wounds. The things that mattered then don’t matter so much now. The sting of losing so many people at once has abated.
But I continued to have difficulty w/ one particular friend. We continued on the rocky path of trying to remain friends through the bitterness & betrayal that had plagued us for many years.
This was not my choice, really. I would’ve liked him to fade away into his own future without me. Even before 2011, I felt this way. But he was not so easy to let go. He did not want to be let go. He clung & begged & demanded 2nd, 3rd, 8th, 9th, 10th chances to be a decent person.
And he would be nice for 2 minutes, then it was always back to the resentful, jealous, controlling, insulting, manipulative, callous behaviour I had known.
And my husband witnessed the demands & insults, and he wanted to step in and put an end to it (long before 2011), but I always said, ‘No, let me handle it. I know my friend. I know why he’s like this, etc…etc…’
Well…at the dawning of the new year, I finally let him step in & help me end this exhausting, frustrating relationship.
It was sad & stressful, but it needed to be done. And I couldn’t do it alone. I had not laid the groundwork for my friend to respect my wishes. Or take me seriously. I had given him too many chances, and let him walk all over me too many times.
I am relieved to have “back up,” to have someone who is willing to stand up for me when I don’t have those skills myself. But I am also prepared for this to NOT be over yet….
Because I have been reading alot about Sociopaths and Psychopaths lately, and I know that is what I am dealing with in this person.
Now don’t go screaming & covering your eyes. Just because a person is a socio- or psychopath doesn’t mean he has killed anyone…(yet). It just means:
* He repeats the same behaviours over & over despite not getting the desired results
* He is easily bored & needs to use & manipulate people to get what he wants for himself
* He thinks he CAN control people (with money & things, with force, with charm and/or contrition)
* He is unable to empathize. He only feels his own jealousy & hurt. Or anger. Or desire. Or entitlement. Or desperation. Only his perceptions matter. It’s beyond ego, beyond narcissism–there is a disconnect between him and the rest of the world. And he can “fake” empathy & understanding for a time, but not a long time.
So…that is what I’ve been up against for so long. Not to mention our early years of friendship when he was sometimes physically abusive to me. And not to mention the abuse I have seen him commit on other unwitting people (namely heterosexual men/boys who are not interested in his advances).
Despite how I come off in writing, in person I am a wallflower, a door mat, someone who avoids conflict (even when conflict may be necessary!) I’m able to write with power & emotion because I don’t possess any of that in person.
And—despite how I come off in writing —I don’t resent peoples’ happiness. I want people to be happy! I want them to be successful in their lives & careers! I want their children to be strong & healthy, etc…etc…!!!
I haven’t been overly successful in the outside world, but I’ve found ways to succeed on a personal level, in my relationship, on my self-healing journey. I can’t blame anyone else for my not being a famous writer or musician @ 45. It’s just what happened. I was never ready for that—not only was I unable to achieve it, but I never would’ve been able to handle it if I had. And I can’t resent other people for that.
My friend does not see it that way. I think he blames others for his shortcomings. I think he wants other people to hurt, and be unhappy. And to feel small. Me most of all.
Sooooo….this year, I’m sorry to say, I’m going to have to tighten my boundaries even more than I did in 2011.
I’m not here to be used or controlled. Even with kindness. I will not stand for demanding & pushy, but I also don’t want to be manipulated by over-friendliness — I understand more about that now!
I want to be surrounded (or perhaps “buttressed”) by people who are happy & satisfied with their lives, no matter what. Who can handle themselves like adults. Who are not bored & restless & needy. I want to have adult conversations about books, music, art, politics, people, science, etc… I’m not a psychiatrist; I am NOT your mother.
I want COMPANY, not DISTRACTION.
I want acceptance, not suggestions about what I should be doing differently. I have ARRIVED at just the place I want to be in life. HOME working on the stuff that matters to me. I’m not looking for a new career, or any new hobbies, or any busy-body activities.
I AM busy. I HAVE a career (if I ever choose to go back to it). I have a LIFE.
All right, friends. I’ve had my say; 2014 is the year I do not put up with any more shit. For real. For god damn mother fucking real this time. No more door mat. No more sociopaths. THE END.
[P.S. the difference between a Sociopath and a Psychopath? INTELLIGENCE. Sociopaths are of average or below-average intelligence and tend to make the same mistakes over & over, even after getting caught. Psychopaths are highly intelligent and can fake the appearance of normalcy while still not having empathy for others & plotting to use, abuse & even kill them to get what they want : 0]
Posted on | January 8, 2014 | No Comments
Hello you Lucky, Lucky Asses!
This is your first lucky day of the Year, because guess what!!!
I found a treasure trove of Vogon poems from the EARLY days of the psychic safari. Stuff I had shoved far away from the surface of my writing box because I didn’t want to see it for awhile…
And I guess it’s been “awhile” because it has curdled right back into view. Funny how it does that…
Anyway…I don’t feel very great this evening, so I will only share a niblet of this Vogon feast with you. [See how lucky you are??] But…you will get more later.
This one is from the batch of poems I call The 9/11 Poems. Maybe you’ll understand why…
*** *** ***
The lucid red violence
Rose to a crescendo
Unlike any other explosion
The skull grew cracks & fractures
All around eyes &
The sky spoke
Blaring down streets
Hollow vertebra terror
We never made it to NYork that day
And the floor of the world
Opened like jaws below your feet…
*** *** ***
(Once on Facebook, I mentioned in a post that I wrote some poems about 9/11 before it happened. Some of my family members thought this was very conceited of me to mention! But, if I were a guy, with a penis, they would’ve thought it was great! That I was brilliant! That’s why I had to unfriend those misogynist fucks…AGAIN…I had already divorced the fuck out of them…jeez…. )
Anyway….here’s another poem:
How many names can be remembered in a new millennium?
We still know Caesar, Aristotle
And we even remember their gods
But what will we teach to 4001?
How do they breathe in that future?
I look funny & unevolved to them
Thick & hairy
Amused by Venus flytrap eyelids
My nose looks long & dangerous–
Their noses small clitoral buttons
Dripping w/ snot
Teeth large & laughable
Like a prehistoric horse
To them I am hideous
A real beast w/ ape hands
Scribbling on white tree meat.
Once on the magazine of beauty & vanity
Never a supermodel of the 41st century…
*** *** ***
Oh, she’ll never remember.
Maybe not w/ images
Not cognitive or verbal
But w/ an emotional code
That translates to violent reaction
In every given situation.
YOU gave me this code to remember
W/ the processor in the trench of my mind.
And who gave it to you??
Closet queen baby hiding behind clothes & judgment.
You looked at the puzzle & saw your way out.
Cast aspersions on every color, every gender
‘Cep mirror-image YOU.
And who gave white man the title to Spaceship Earth?
Stolen by force.
*** *** ***
All right. I’m tired. I’m achey. I’ll see you later. Sometime soon. With more of everything this blog has to offer. And that’s a considerable deal, you thankless demanding self-centered empty soulless desperate Asses.
I LOVE YOU.
Posted on | December 31, 2013 | 1 Comment
Happy Old Year, Asses. I can’t say it enough–I am so glad 2013 was a fabulous year after such a streak of weird stressful years. I hope it was good for you too.The Moon & I have been living in a state of advanced apocalyptic hedonism for the past week & 1/2, so I hope this blog comes out okay…
I know you think I hate you. I know I call you “asses” and “Humanitor” and talk about how much I hate all the stuff I don’t understand about you.
But I want you to know that you are all mythical creatures to me. I am still mystified beyond control by your Humanitorianisms. You are all like unicorns. Dragons. Ogres. Tarantulas. Shape-shifters. I am stumped. I am frightened. But I don’t really hate you. And I wish you a Happy New Year!
So…of all the THINGS-I-WOULD-LIKE-TO-BE-ABLE-TO-DO-IN-THIS-WORLD, I’ve chosen Watercolors as my next challenge in life. There are many things I would like to be able to do…I’ve tried sewing, embroidering, all kinds of dance, other art techniques, and music recording…
…all of which take the love & dedication I just did not have for any NEW thing. I had chosen to dedicate my life to music, art & writing, and as much as I would love to sew the beautiful clothes I see in my head–I am not up for learning that machine, and those patterns & all that fabric engineering. Same with music recording–I want to do it, I need to do it. But I can’t do it. It pains me to do it. Why??
Who the fuck knows. It just isn’t what I’m about. My mind does not cooperate with the technology.
But Watercolors fit into the Art category. They present a challenge–to me Watercolors are the ultimate right brain activity! The art I do is very linear, very expressionistic, heavily outlined, angular. That is my natural style, and I like it…but…
…I feel like it’s time to step out of that rectangular shipping container. I feel like Watercolors are a good thing for a 45 yr old to learn. I am more in love with impressionistic images than ever.
So, Asses, wish me luck! And I certainly wish you luck in whatever you are pursuing in the new year.
I won’t comment on the State of the World…I’ve been distancing myself from news & politics & the depression they cause. None of it means anything to me in my personal daily life, and until it does, I’m just going to ignore it.
That sounds healthy, right! You lie to yourself, I’ll lie to you too. Denial v. Storytelling: The Ultimate Showdown in the Truth Apocalypse!!
And, Asses…I will leave you with this tremendously Vogon Poem, found today in my 2013 paper diary:
Women are the new assholes
Men are the new dummies
Gay is the new lame
The game says rules have changed
20 years ago I wouldn’t believe
The female suicide bomber who
About all the tinyscary devices
The beginnings of a robot takeover
The American dream no longer wet,
A dry red divorce
And nevermind the shock-n-awe
That got you here
To future you
You wouldn’t believe
You still look like an asshole
You wouldn’t believe the grey cat
On your bed
Who comes in the early morning
To make sure your dreams
Are just right
You wouldn’t believe the
Transgender soldier if she told you
People are shooting up
Babies these days
A line has been crossed
A collective hair-trigger
A domino retort
A cremation wound
You wouldn’t believe 20 years ago
You were so busy
You never saw how
Things unfolded in Waco
No, you had to watch it
On a ‘Worst Crimes in History’ documentary
Did they really just stand there &
Watch it burn?
Okay, asses…I’ll see you next year if we all survive the chronogenic birth canal tonight. I hope to have watercolors to share w/ you soon. So far, nothing remotely shareable though : 0
Posted on | December 16, 2013 | 2 Comments
I told you I would be back to discuss a TV show I’ve been watching called ‘Masters of Sex.’ And, yay, here I am!
You definitely have to be a Zen Master to watch this show. It is slow. It is about people. More accurately, it is about “humanity.” Slow, slow humanity [aka Humanitor]. There are no computer generated sparkles or explosions. Just people. Talking. And masturbating.
The show tells the story of groundbreaking sex researchers William Masters & Virginia Johnson, their research, their weird relationship & all the people around them. I debated whether or not to watch this show because human sexuality is a touchy subject for me.
It has been the source of most of my confusion, most of my bewilderment, most of my depression, most of my dislike of the human race.
And I was right to be hesitant. The subject matter is beyond depressing. Beyond bewildering. It frustrates me that a mere 57 years ago, people, both men & women, were so pertly & willfully ignorant about sexuality.
Especially female sexuality. ["My God, what IS it??? How CAN they--I mean, without a PENIS???"]
Despite the painful subject matter, I was immediately sucked into the characters, the wardrobe & the hotness of the actors doing all the talking & masturbating. Michael Sheen (who plays Masters) reminds me of my Moonface a little bit. And Liz Caplan (Johnson) is a dead ringer for Kate Moennig–except with normal hair!
Dr. Ethan Haas, Dr Lillian DePaul and Mrs. Masters (Libby) are also quite spectacular to gaze upon whilst being forced to endure the demoralizing dialogue.
Sorry to be so shallow, but hotness matters. Especially on TV. But why tell this story? Why bring up the fact that only 50 years ago, we were a bunch of repressed monkeys in the dark…
…and make a show about it?
I don’t know. Except….that we aren’t THERE yet. What Masters & Johnson started in 1957 has advanced us, yes, has enlightened us, yes…but we’re still monkeys. We’re still uncomfortable, and willfully ignorant, and mostly hormone-driven in our approach to sex, love, and relationships.
We are talking about sex much more loudly & frequently on TV. We are showing sex much more vividly in all mediums.
But are we understanding it any better? Do we still just seek it desperately & constantly without knowing its full limits, its full possibilities, its huge consequences?
From the time I was a small child I was stunned at how sex, gender & bodies were addressed by adults. With shame, horror, silence, guilt, averted eyes, frowning faces, and strict strict rules.
Perhaps because of the violence & sex I experienced very early on I was very AWARE. Of my body. Of others’ bodies. Of how men & women acted, apart & together. And in particular, how my parents interacted & taught my brother & I to interact.
To me, it never made sense. But unfortunately, everyone around me, male & female, seemed willing, happy even, to fall right into these assigned body-roles. I refused to join in the ignorance.
Since I was so sexually aware as a child, let’s just say I have never been ignorant about female sexuality. I may even have an enhanced sense of it. I have never been clueless about orgasms or where they come from. I have never been bewildered by the vagina/vulva/clitoris etc…and what part is where or how to “find” any of it.
And it always bothered me that so many girls & women sat around claiming they didn’t know any of that stuff about themselves. And worse yet–that they would want or need men’s help figuring it out!!
As a kid, I felt like I knew more about sexuality than grown women who had already had sex, and given birth. They seemed…so unsexual. So much like the sex was only part of making the baby. That’s how they talked, that’s how they acted. Whereas the men, when talking about sex, always had this… laughter, this triumphant ownership in it.
Later it depressed me that, as a female, I was supposed to not enjoy sex. That I was supposed to be the “inactive, passive” partner in the heterosexual act. That orgasm wasn’t part of the contract for me, unless I had a particularly skilled lover.
My mother wanted me complicit in this role. She tried her very best to keep me silent & hidden while my brothers were allowed to discuss their anatomy & even show it off around the house. This was not allowed of me. Menstruation was kept secretive–my mom hustled me off to the bathroom with my spotty underwear chanting, “don’t let the boys see, don’t let the boys know, we can’t let the boys see this, oh no…” (And of course, I was never to mention to any potential man friend that blood came dripping out of my crotch every month….)
[Well…I say if a potential man friend is as interested in fucking me as he so desperately seems, then he should know exactly what he's so desperate for : ))]
And my early lovers–my potential men friends–wanted me complicit in the submissive, underpinned, penis-worshipping, awestruck squealing tit-sack role. Who was I to guide their hand or move a certain way? “What are you doing?” Helping you. “I don’t need help.”
As a kid, I sometimes felt like I was something other than a boy or a girl. Something in between; something that should’ve been defined in society but wasn’t. I felt like I knew more about sex & sexuality than the people who wrote books about it.
And that was disappointing to me. And depressing. And confusing. And though we seem to KNOW MORE ABOUT SEX than we ever have, and we’re MORE OKAY WITH SEX than we ever have been, and MORE TYPES OF SEX are out in the open, and women are a much more integral part of the non-sexual world…
…there is still something ignorant about us. There is still this big gaping denial in our sexual knowledge. And we’re still, STILL capitalizing on women’s ignorance of their bodies, we’re still FEARFUL of women’s anatomy & physiology. It is still considered OTHER.
We see this in all the Medical Talk shows that are popular now. These shows are MADE to create more anxiety in women about their bodies–especially “DOWN THERE”, as they so medically call it. These shows were designed to make women scared of all the things that can go wrong with their lady parts–from strange odors to reproductive failures–the horror stories are exhausting. I try not to ever watch shows like this, but I occasionally flip through & it’s always, always, “Doctor, help, my vagina… it’s itching, it’s smelling, it’s leaking oil, it’s talking in tongues, it can’t bake a perfect lasagna, it ripped all the way into my asshole when I was giving birth & now I shit & piss through the same big hole which used to be my vagina…ETC..ETC…ETC…”
No details are spared on these gratuitous shows, and yet the ignorance looms. You would think that a) all women’s health issues come from having a vagina (or any lady part) and b) men never have any health issues at all.
This is all so wrong & ridiculous & harmful to the well-being of Humanitor.
But…a show like ‘Masters of Sex’ with well-written characters, and a realistic look back at a past that was dying to know about something so essential to life…It shows me that women are not as ignorant as they seem, but seeming ignorant was the polite thing to do back then. (it was the men who were really ignorant.)
It gives me hope that we will figure it out someday. That someday in the future, sexuality will not be so unseeable. We can speak about it now, but I still don’t think we’re “seeing it.” We see the images, the pornography, whatever graphic content we want, but we don’t see ourselves in that dance…we aren’t connected to it in any informed way.
We don’t see our primitive monkeyesque role-play as part of the problem. We just keep at it. And the hormonal hollering will continue…for how much longer? Another 50 years? Until Jesus dies?
Ughhh….yes…until Jesus dies, women will role-play as polite, miraculous breeding machines & men as polite & powerful family studs. Gross.
Even as a kid, I realized that only homosexuals knew anything about sex. This seemed to be the case in 1957 when Masters & Johnson were trying to figure out heterosexuals, the homosexuals had most of the answers already.
Well, that’s all I will say about the show. I’m not going to do a book report-type essay on it. Watch it yourself if you’re curious. See how you relate.
Posted on | December 11, 2013 | 1 Comment
Oy Vey, Asses!
It was one of those days that challenges everything you know to be good & true. They happen sometimes.
So I wanted to come back to the Empire & share more colorful art. You’ve been loving it so….
And soon, before the year is up, I will come back to share some thoughts on a TV show I’ve been watching this Fall. It’s called ‘Masters of Sex’ and I’m still not sure if I’m enjoying it.
Until then, enjoy these masters of pieces:
keep looking »