Hangman’s Blood.

He sat, legs out-stretched;
his drink, known as Hangman’s Blood…
he wore exhaustion…

“I’m a Jar-head, Babycakes…”
blue diamond eyes, a match strikes;
“Of course I still smoke…”

sports bright twinkly stars,
eyes: adorned by shrapnel scars…
lives for deployment…

he carries no clue;
beyond decorative brass…
of how deeply he is adored…

A career Sand-Tank Gunner;
my first Love, look at you now…
I still see so much fire in you.

Min Ven.

night horse

A Toast
from one dead soldier,
to another –
cheers
from one dawning sun,
to the moonlight –
let’s get fucked up tonight;
this life’s been hard,
hard as fuck to survive,
skål
let the tears fall,
my friend –
we’ve been
through it all;
fighting back to back,
through the fires
of living Hell…
seën
to all of our times alive,
to our many defeated
victories stacked up high;
velsigne dig
a key that we found
in the enemy’s pocket,
a while back –
we both knew what it unlocked,
and so it was tossed
into a well as we passed;
min ven:
Moenie bang wees nie,
this too, shall pass us by –
like the many storms weathered
between you and I,
you will keep walking,
right here at my side,
and I shall abide.

day horse

Hangman’s Blood.

He sat, legs out-stretched;
his drink, known as Hangman’s Blood…
he wore exhaustion…

“I’m a Jarhead, Babe…”
blue diamond eyes, a match strikes;
“Of course I still smoke…”

sports bright twinkly stars,
eyes: adorned by shrapnel scars…
lives for deployment…

he carries no clue;
beyond decorative brass…
that he is adored…

A career Tank-Gun;
my first Love, look at you now…
I see fire in you.

Delivered.

I had been complaining about how long it has taken her package to arrive via snail mail just the other day; it had been just about one month…she made the comment that it was okay, that I’d see…the mail would arrive at just the right time – when we were each more in need of the said packages than we knew. As usual, she is right.
Today is Mother’s Day in the U.S.
I have a rough day on Mother’s Day every year because…well, for obvious reasons…
I opened her mail this morning amidst the sadness that I typically wake up to on Mother’s Day…and it made me smile and reminded me of important things that aren’t always so easy to recall during the rough patches in my life: to breathe…inhale and exhale…and everything else falls in line somewhere.
Throughout my lifetime thus far, I have seen many movies and read endless storybooks detailing friendships that seem to be able to surpass the confines of space and time; even life and death through the invisible bonds associated; I never fully comprehended such subject matter until now, more recently in my own life.
There are, indeed, some friendships – bonds – ties – sutures – webs, which are so intricately wound throughout the human elements of the Universe, that even those bound inside the weave do not fully appreciate the depths and heights made available through such cosmic humanity. Those of us who are woven into this fabric know the power and strength to which I refer; those who do not know, can only believe.

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.

Things of Importance.

There are things of importance in this world;
things that only come to us one time, at all –
things that we don’t see for what they are,
while we hold them in our sweaty palms,
we look past the beauty at the spaces beyond;
we don’t send them trinkets in the mail,
as we really, really should,
we don’t send them letters describing to them:
a worth that can’t be mirrored or matched,
it’s too easy to get caught in the nets of –
“tomorrow’s tasks” and “today’s necessities”,
we take for granted: what these things mean to us,
what these things are for us – the work that has been,
back-breakingly and unfailingly – out of loyalty;
A loyalty that doesn’t bend or give with pressure,
doesn’t burn under the heat of a torch’s flame,
these things of importance, take heed of them –
they are a gift from a God or Goddess to you,
sent to our lives for specific purposes and reasons,
we too often, become easily aware of their presence;
yet, we come to fool our human minds of the permanence,
of those who stand most staunchly at our sides in battle,
those who bleed with us in the trenches, who deliver us salvation,
we abuse them and deny them of their precious worth –
a worth measured thousands of times higher than the purest gold,
a resource more necessary than water to drink or food to eat,
these things of importance go unseen beneath our feet;
There is one thing of importance, that I have recently seen –
a bear and its trainer have thoroughly shown this to me,
the wondrous ties that bind, and connect some of us,
to a much bigger, much broader and profound destiny,
things of importance that were long ago, handed to me,
things that I’ve lived this long unable to see.

Min Ven.

A Toast
from one dead soldier,
to another –
cheers
from one dawning sun,
to the moonlight –
let’s get fucked up tonight;
this life’s been hard,
hard as fuck to survive,
skål
let the tears fall,
my friend –
we’ve been
through it all;
fighting back to back,
through the fires
of living Hell…
seën
to all of our times alive,
to our many defeated
victories stacked up high;
velsigne dig
a key that we found
in the enemy’s pocket,
a while back –
we both knew what it unlocked,
and so it was tossed
into a well as we passed;
min ven:
Moenie bang wees nie,
this too, shall pass us by –
like the many storms weathered
between you and I,
you will keep walking,
right here at my side,
and I shall abide.

A Full Moon Howl to Marcus.

NOT YOU!Tonight is the year’s one and only “Wolf Full Moon” that occurs each January sometime.

I have planned on beginning a new trend here on my blog in ongoing remembrance of Marcus, WordPress’ recently lost, ever-beloved Pack Leader: A collective “howl” in his name on each full moon of the year. But tonight’s will be special because it is not only the first of my attempts at collecting howls for Marcus on a full moon, but it is also the Wolf Full Moon, coincidentally.

I hope all of Marcus’ pack (as well as anyone else who has the energies to send a howl out into the Universe in remembrance of truly GOOD soul) will join me in this effort to remember someone so special and worthy…someone who will never be forgotten for his true kindness and laughter…someone any of us knew will mourn perpetually.

So here it goes, Marcus…in your name:

Aw Aw Awhooooooooo!

Howling at the Fucking Moon!

You are missed more than words can convey, Marcus.

For What It’s Worth.

When the Bear Trainer rips open an article in describing the nickname she’s been given by “someone whom [she] loves and trusts”, please understand firstly and fore mostly – that these words do not come easily for her; she likes to keep a well-drawn line in between herself and others…she feels safest that way. The Bear Trainer sees herself as “Grotesque”…a mangled and patched together version of what might have been, had she not been physically tortured, and in turn – changed on a genetic level by a man (thing) whose cruelty and sadism matched The Ripper’s in nature and severity. I see something so much more than what might have been when I look at her, when I connect with her…when I listen to her.
Upon knowing the Bear Trainer, my beliefs have been deepened; my fears validated and soothed by a voice of reason; my hand has been taken for the first time in a long, long time…maybe even forcefully, but it was needed. It was crucial, in fact. I do not typically jive so well with females for what I’m sure must be obvious reasons; and so you can know that any women that I am close to are gonna be THE BEE’S KNEES – no stupid beezies ride in my car, truth. So when strange and unfamiliar women send me questions about my passed experience with my ex-husband or, even the current shit with Boo – I typically don’t pay much mind to it; because I typically don’t give a fuck what some dingbat from Upstate New York or Laguna Beach has to snort about my business, to be honest.
Yet, through the bustle and noise of technology and meaningless lines across a screen – there was a fearsome bear standing up inside of a fire to get my attention – to ensure that I listened to its trainer. I wanted to share with anyone who has recently been exposed to the Bear Trainer and her blog; she is fierce and chain-bearing, outspoken and raw – she can make someone disappear with a simple line written in truth, make them obsolete in the Universe…she is larger than life and full of colors richer than the most eye-bending hues…she is the epitome of strength and endurance and courage. She stabilizes “stable”.
But know this:
She is the Bear and the Bear Trainer, aye – but she is a beautiful, delicate and fragile creature that’s been burning white hot forever – and to touch her the wrong way might one day, affect the cooled ashes of an ember…she does not openly accept everyone and let them near her life as I do – she guards her armor well, and rightfully so.
I do not need to ask m y readers to understand this about my beloved Bear Trainer, if any of you should come to know her also…but I’m asking you to try.
Amalija is a VERY RARE FIND…to be treasured and celebrated with a roar.

Notes to Self – Note #99

REPEATED CHALKBOARD SCRIBBLING OF THE DAY:

I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.
I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.
I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.

 

 Dear Self,

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

We’ve gone over this before, Self – you need to master self-control a little – No, a lot – better in the days to come.

Your lack of any “Holiday Spirit” DOES NOT entitle you to destroy public (or private) property and get yourself arrested for a brief time, afterward.

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

Just because you have some mutant-esque allergy to alcohol (rendering you 110% unable to physically stomach the shit) doesn’t automatically slap you on top of some tall horse that stands over anyone else; telling one of your Mom’s sloppy, drunken, bartender ex-boyfriends that he “missed his calling in life” was probably a little much.

Yes, you’re still a mouthy bitch.

Creep.

So…as most of my (both engaged and NON-engaged) readers might know, I am an EA by “trade” – a total paradox in and of itself, being first, and foremost: a half-bred Native American…but here I am.
Generally speaking, the disposition of an EA can be easily interchanged with that of a CPA, MBA, tax preparer from the Old School, and most notoriously – the internal auditor. An EA wears the face of the proverbial “Bookkeeper”: a math brain, with little sense of social awareness or functionality; the average Enrolled Agent is the absolute opposite of the artistic writer…but here I am.
I have always been a walking contradiction, I guess…going all the way back to pre-school, where I was regularly in trouble for beating up various little boys (wearing a tie-shoulder sundress, might I add) that I had witnessed bullying someone smaller than they were…and, here I am.
With these things being said first, it’s no surprise then that my brain automatically creates math equations out of my statistics page here at my blog, is it? Of course it isn’t.
Now, I most certainly understand, and can also relate to the notion of being shy or timid, bashful or even just plain anti-social when it comes to interactions with others – especially strangers – that’s truly not my issue with the deductions that I continue to draw from these basic equations regarding my blog’s traffic. My issue is with TROLLS who feel some disturbing need to “watch” me without ever bothering to engage one time with the Human who writes the shit they can’t seem to unglue themselves from…that’s creepy as fuck, I’m sorry…no, I’m not. YOU should be sorry, if YOU are one of these silent and creepy trolls that make up the 5.0424194815/ 6 viewers who lurk around (and have since day 1 almost a year ago, now) without even a “fuck you – you suck!”
I’m just saying….that’s some fuckin’ BAD MATH if I ever saw it…ya fuckin’ creeps.

The Last Time.

Almost Like Me...Kinda(ish).

Almost Like Me…Kinda(ish).

It was almost a full year ago – the last time that I laid my eyes on my only child, my daughter…Boo.

I struggled not to fall apart the entire time that I was blessed by her physical presence that night; the circumstances were, as they tend to be when it comes to my daughter, next to unbearable for me…but I remember how grateful I strangely felt the whole time that she lay unconscious in my lap at the Emergency Room. I was quite dissociated during the entire holiday season last year (every year for the past six years); and when I found out that Boo had finagled her way into a “home pass” from the facility in which she is court-ordered to remain, out of state, high security and with no socializing included – I became even more detached as a means of cushioning myself emotionally from the inevitable train-wreck that I associated with the “home pass”. I somehow remember the last two times that I saw Boo so vividly and clearly, it stabs my belly to reflect upon either instance, though.

The last 10+ “home passes” that Boo has been given ended in catastrophe, and I am not exaggerating. It began even before they moved her out of state and out into the sticks (when she was still somewhat socialized from her former life with me in a family unit): the disappearing act; she has it down to a science, and always pretty much did. Boo can POOF! Be gone within the blink of an eye, before you even know what hit you, she’s off on another death-wish driven expedition that she may never return alive from. Boo has always been uncontrollable by nature, I don’t know how else to describe her – she’s explosive and impatient as Hell – she’s a chameleon, and has her mother’s total lack of attention span – she has no sense of Self at all, she just goes with the flow that will lead her to the most trouble and danger – unfortunately, that’s just Boo.

Last year’s “home pass” was no different: I picked her up at the airport on the 28th of December (close enough to Christmas for me to have actually been okay through the day without her on the 25th), she was gone by the 31st. She remained missing that time for nearly two full weeks with no word of her whereabouts or well-being…it was sheer Hell, fucking Hell. I wouldn’t wish that shit on my worst enemy, I swear. When they found her that time, she was in bad shape…bad, bad shape…wow. She ended up being involved in a serious sex trafficking bust and returned to the county where I live by the police to the hospital, from which she left again almost immediately – before I could even get there. Boo knows how to betray me better than any living soul that I know, even when she’s not trying to. This happened three consecutive times over the duration of the following month and a half: Boo missing for unreal amounts of time – my not knowing whether she was alive or dead – HELL.

The final time that they picked her up on a highway in the desert somewhere, half-naked and so fucked up on drugs that she didn’t know who or where she was, beaten and burned with cigarettes, two busted ankles – unconscious and dehydrated – was the last time that I saw her face. I went to the hospital at around 10pm and held her until the morning, at which time she had been deemed stable enough for transport out of state, back to the locked facility that the courts leave to her in to rot. She was hardly coherent for any of the time that I spent with her that night…in and out of delirium and on heavy duty painkillers…ankles both freshly plaster-cast, eyes both swollen closed. I saw cigarette burns all over her arms and shoulders and hands. My heart broke the rest of its way into two separate pieces that night; I know that much to be true. As much as the whole thing was terribly painful and trying on me to endure – I could only imagine what her process of endurance for these things must be; I remember thinking: “Just rub her hair and don’t let her be alone…”, so I did.

Postcards from Freedom #6 – From Persia, With Love.

With Love, Bitches!

With Love, Bitches!

Postcards from Freedom #5 – Mommy’s Little Maximus.

He'll NEVER turn out like YOU.

He’ll NEVER turn out like YOU.

This postcard is one of a two part series – Persia will be sending her own out soon. The importance behind this particular postcard should be obvious – Persia has ensured her son Max’s freedom as well as her own. He will never grow up to be like his scary father. Much love from Freedom!!!

Peace and Justice Award

Image

The Peace and Justice Award:
I have been awarded by the lovely “Die Trying”, a fellow Cut-Throat Club Survivor and resident clubhouse writer, with the Peace and Justice Award for my blog.
I must admit, I am not Batman; the driving force beneath this blog was not consciously fueled by such topics…however, it has come to my own attention through blogging here that the concepts of Justice and Peace are two that live very near to my heart from one moment to the next. This realization has shaken me a little – as I am a very simple creature: just trying to be and let be, just struggling to survive. I suppose my piece of Peace comes in the form of the void that is defined with nearly every post I make to my blog; the sense of injustice and robbery and stolen futures is undeniable and quite strong here. I guess I just find it difficult to get my head around the true concept of justice anymore, as what it’s meant to mean and stand for, at least. The injustice that has come to accompany every day’s sunrise weighs so heavily on my heart and mind that it’s hard to breathe around the anchor’s mass sometimes.
In regard to this award, I am just glad to know that, at least if nothing else – my perpetual search for justice has been noticed by someone. To me, such an award signifies a renewed hope of being heard by the people who hold authority over my existence as a mother – this award symbolizes a chance left for justice to be seen by Boo’s very own eyes. This award re-inspires me to carry on with my grueling task at hand.
What a surprisingly priceless side-effect of a very spirited blogger’s kind gesture! Again, thank you “Die Trying” for being such an inspiration from afar – you truly shine like the brightest star! ❤

 

My Nominees Are:

My Ace-Deuce of WordPress, of course – Miss Teela Hart

http://teelahart.com/a-very-special-thank-you/

 

My Co-Pilot in the mosh pit, Miss Sunny Sunshine

http://avictimsjournal.wordpress.com/

 

My “Kid Sister” of WordPress, Miss Inconsistently Yours

http://inconsistentlyyours.wordpress.com/

 

My one and only kindred, Miss Triple S

http://avalancheofthesoul.wordpress.com/

 

My “Fuel-Tanker” Army of Angels

http://armyofangels2013.wordpress.com/

 

Pass it on, girls! 🙂

Happy (maybe a day or two early) Birthday Cut Throat #3!

May your 23rd birthday bring a year that you see:

the things your heart hasn’t yet, quite let you believe;

may the future ahead of such a striking “inconsistency” –

hold nothing, besides everything that YOU want it to be.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A BEAUTIFUL CUT THROAT ❤

Happy Birthday, Inconsistently Yours!

Welcome to the Seventh Official Cut Throat Member

avalanche

The seventh official Cut Throat is someone who likely thinks she’s been overlooked, but hasn’t. After Tee brought her to my attention, I’ve been reading her blog and relating to so many things she endured at the hands of the man who fathered her child. I love the power in her strength, her fearlessness to be fearless, “anonymous” but so far from that to the people who read her stuff. She must share in my allergy to stupid shit because she tells it like it is. No sugar added.

She is a true inspiration to me; to my ongoing struggle and journey through the aftermath of surviving and escaping Hell. Welcome Cut Throat #7

Miss Avalanche at:

http://avalancheofthesoul.wordpress.com/

Cut Throat #6 – Another Beautiful Discovery

 

TS

The sixth official member and the youngest Cut-Throat online so far, a teenaged survivor of domestic abuse and terrorism; a sweet and loving young woman with her whole life ahead of her: Please welcome another survivor of the good fight!

Miss Teen Survivor at:

http://teensurvivorofdomesticviolence.wordpress.com/

 

Beautiful Discovery of the Day

3/10/2014

Today’s Beautiful Discovery

My Fifth Official Cut-Throat Club Award/Member is:

Miss Teela Hart at:

http://teelahart.com/

teela

Teela is also a survivor of domestic violence (and survived a much more drawn-out period of trauma and battering than I had), she is a veteran Cut-Throat: a living testament to the long-term ‘Light at the End of The Tunnel’ for each one of us, she is a kindred spirit to mine, and I would like to welcome her to our little corner of Continuous Survival here on my blog; the strength she can lend will be much appreciated by me and other Cut-Throats, alike.

Here’s to one more Cut-Throat – acknowledged!

Today’s Beautiful Discovery – My 4th Official Cut-Throat Award/Member Acknowledgment

cut throat badge

4th Official Cut-Throat Award – 3/9/2014

Today’s Beautiful Discovery

My fourth Cut Throat Award:

Knows who she is. Was. Won’t Be Anymore.

Her blog gave me the chills because some of the sentences she writes mirror my own from the former life that she and I share in common. She is much newer in her recovery from terroristic, physical trauma, and she is so much stronger than I was at that point of my own journey – her strength is inspiring – the grip she has on her situation is amazing I’m proud to know of the progress she continues to make in her recovery from the awful circumstances she left behind her. Welcome to the Cut-Throats

Sunshine at http://avictimsjournal.wordpress.com/about/

Here, you will read why she’s being acknowledged here;

Below is something from her blog:

“Now how the hell am I supposed to tell a Judge how it has really impacted my life if I have to be fucking politically correct about it? Was that bastard being “considerate” towards me when he terrorized and abused me?  So why the hell should I watch my words? Maybe I should draw a picture…”
 Untitled

“The red is my ANGER, the black is my HEART and the grey is my BRAIN. How’s that for an impact?  Hmm, not bad, I think I should put more RED. 🙂

The emphasis that I would like to place on the above excerpt is on the very end of the quoted statement above…

“:-)”

that – my friends (and enemies, alike); is the heart of a Cut-Throat Survivor.

Hat’s off to a new-found ray of Sunshine…

Welcome. 🙂

Today’s Beautiful Discovery

3rd member announcementI’d like to drag an index finger across my fully recovered throat for the most recently discovered Diamond in the Rough, and very celebrated newest member of the growing Cut-Throat Club Online – a place where the spirit of the struggling Survivor is acknowledged in full.

The following is an excerpt is from her blog; in my opinion, this small piece of her written thoughts – this snapshot of her brave struggle – bleeds the essence of the survivor for whom I hold the utmost appreciation and respect. This excerpt is a testament to her status of what I consider to be the epitome of a truly “cut-throat” soldier of the survivor clan – and I’m proud to welcome her talented presence into the club.

The first thing that caught my eye on her blog:

“I have borderline personality disorder, but I am not my diagnosis. I am a loving, sweet and kind person. I want to help others, I want to explore the world and make people happy.”

The piece that sealed her fate as a “Cut-Throat”:

 

“….The few months following her death were a blur, I guess I went to classes, I have the degree to prove I did. My heart wasn’t in it, my head wasn’t in it. I isolated myself, angry at every one. What’s the point of even leaving this bed if every one I love will leave me? I longed to lay down in the dirt where she was left, for two weeks, I longed to somehow drift away into a peaceful death where I could be with her. 

It’s been a little over six months and it’s not easier, but it is different. I ache for her every morning when I wake up. I dream she’s still with me, before my rational brain screams “she’s dead” in my ear and I’m woken up with a jolt. The abandonment is real, there is only loss, but I’m learning to love and cherish the good. I’m learning to use my grief to motivate my own life….”

 

I’m so very glad to welcome:

Miss “Inconsistently Yours”

Surviving like a Soldier over at:

http://inconsistentlyyours.wordpress.com/

The First Official Public Cut Throat Club Award!

cut throat badgeThe newest member of the Cut-Throat Club and Today’s Award Recipient:

http://happinessseriously.wordpress.com/

“Penny Lane Seriously”, a gifted writer, who shares some eerily similar histories to my own; as well as being an unsung genius in literary symbolism and prose – is the Official Second Cut-Throat online! You can  always go visit her blog, read her stuff and see why I I have recognized the cut-throat in her. Congratulations on being an extraordinary Survivor, PLS. Here’s lookin’ at YOU!

Feel free to sport your badge on your blog, too…hugs!

The Cut-Throat Club

cut throat badge

The (All-New) Cut-Throat Club Award

This is a brand new award created by me, given away by me and, hopefully passed along to other bloggers who belong to this club.

This is an award for the SURVIVOR of life and living.

This is in celebration of someone who is currently surviving a traumatic experience and pushing on, renewing an almost lost existence among us.

This award is intended to be given in recognition of the struggle that is all-too-often silently involved in making that survival a continuing reality.

This is an award meant to acknowledge those of us here who have displayed the ability, desire and strength to get back up and fight, despite the anticipation of the worst possible outcome and effect.

Survivors appear at all ages and in all forms and descriptions – you do not have to be the literal survivor of a sliced throat, such as Yours Truly… you just have to foster the essence of a surviving human being up against tough odds.

I would like to acknowledge more cut-throat members publicly and am soon adding a page to my blog strictly for our stories; I believe it is a piece of our survival to connect and heal. I strongly encourage the support of my readers in this award and its distribution around WordPress and abroad.

Food for thought:

Being a survivor of traumatic or violent injury isn’t a happily-ended “wrap”; in fact, the survived incident is the easy part of becoming a true survivor. The aftermath of physically surviving is the harrowing and daunting part of the survivor’s status. Nothing is as it was prior to becoming a “survivor” in a former life that seems obscure and often wastefully spent. The regular trials and tribulations of everyday life are still there, born anew each day for each of us – everyone, even those who aren’t cut-throats – and these trivial elements of living can weigh heavily atop a pyramid of questionable concepts to the cut-throat mind. As most of you know, I am a survivor myself, one who tastes gratefulness with each inhaled breath of oxygen that I get since my own survived, very near-fatal assault, sometimes I have days when surviving feels like it was a mistake on my part, even now. It’s impossible to convey with clarity – the way I sometimes find myself resentful for having been made into a Freak of Nature for two years out of my survivor life, unrecognizable to family and friends and the reflection in the mirror, the way I used to just lie there and wish with all my might that the morning just wouldn’t come once the meds TKO’d me. There were times that my appearance literally instilled the fear of God in children at a convenience store or the gas station, and I would be overcome with some strange form of jealousy of them, because they had a mommy to run and hide behind to block out my maimed face from view. How could they have known my gig though? That I had once been Homecoming Princess AND Queen consecutively; they couldn’t be aware of the fact that I used to have “the most infectious smile humanly possible!” according to a news anchor who interviewed the non-maimed childhood Me on the local news. Back then during the reconstruction phase of my cut-throat membership, there were honestly more days than not that I spent wishing for death, wishing to be done with this torturous aftermath of surviving the injury of having my throat violently sliced open…wishing NOT to survive after all.

It is because of these reasons, that this “award” and its acknowledgements are so meaningful to me; because I am fully aware of the anchor to the ankle – the second thoughts, the macabre curiosities associated with the other possible outcome of that life-altering day when I became a cut-throat, the day my survivor was born. If I hadn’t survived, what would that make me?

Most certainly NOT who I am.

My Liebster Amendment

 

 

Let me begin this by saying that this award thing has been a new experience for me and I am not a natural at this kind of thing: interacting with others (especially online because it’s like pulling a name from a hat essentially) – in real life, I suffer from PTSD-borne Agoraphobia; in real time, I’ve been consciously harboring a violent fantasy infused by an insatiable revenge against a vast, organized, politically endorsed national outfit; in the real world, I have difficulty interacting with people for the most part, because I can’t relate to 9 out of 10 of them…

 In the presumptuousness that consumed my award-nominating frenzy yesterday, I apparently forgot about the fact that not all bloggers are receptive to the idea of being awarded for their blog; and nominated at least person who graciously declined to accept my nomination, as the blog I nominated is an “Award-Free Blog”.  (Again, to the blogger to which I refer:  please forgive my presumptuousness in putting you on blast)

So this morning, I thought I’d nominate another blog in place of the one that won’t be participating; and then I realized what a dumb ass I’d be if I did it again to someone else who didn’t want to be put on blast by some strange reader of the blogosphere. Then I was back to being convinced that I should nominate a fifth blogger for the award.

I chewed.

I chewed.

SIDE NOTE: There is ONE in particular in whom my innate impulse to nominate (because this blogger is an amazing example of what I consider modern-day chivalry and righteousness in ways that are so rare and unique) was immediately over-shadowed by the flashbacks that shot into my cerebral awareness of the loud and proud badges of his being an “Award-Free Blog”.

And even though this is NOT a NOMINATION for any kind of blog award, this link is still completely worthy of visiting, if my readers may be so inclined to check it out, it’s one of my favorite AWARD FREE SITES around. http://wanderinggypsyspirit.wordpress.com/

 

The final nomination for the Liebster Award is going to someone I completely overlooked yesterday when I posted; and so I am glad it worked out this way because this woman has so many profoundly insightful tidbits that drop into my lap through reading her blog; she’s young mom and wife with a an amazing resilience that shines through all the way over here to the West Coast beaches…Please visit her site at http://onesahmscrazylife.wordpress.com/

And with that, I conclude my Liebster Procedure Amendment (besides my final post with the 11 random questions to the nominees later today).

Blue Skies… 

– J

Awarded, I am.

liebster

So…I’ve been nominated for the Liebster Award by one of my favorite readers/bloggers Jodi over at

http://jodileasplace.wordpress.com/

THANKS JODI!!! 🙂

(Apparently, this award is a virally transmitted blog version of the old-school and long-forgotten postal chain letter – to be perpetually passed along from current “winners” to future nominees)

Nobody really wins any trophy or fluffy, starched-ribbon badges to pin up anywhere; the celebration attached to this award sings the praises of discovering others within the blogging community, and in turn – helping those with whom you can relate and appreciate to be discovered by additional readers as well. This is an award about recognition for the little things that add up to a big thing, given the right material and efforts.

As a warning of possible confusion, FYI: the next few posts will be my responses to specific questions posed by the reader who’s awarded my blog, as well as my own handful of nominations for this award. My purpose for participating in this gig is borne in the spirit of writing and reading, and being human with other humans who can appreciate the worth of these crafted gifts. I don’t know about anyone else, but my blog keeps me sane; shit, the practice of writing my words keeps me the sanest I can be, truly. So, yeah – go my blog!

Check back for my list of nominee bloggers to discovery!