You’re A Worm.

I wonder if you realize how disgusting you are for what you are doing; no need for me to go into detail…you’re fucking gross, dude.

Two things I have learned in recent history that 110% do it in terms of TOTALLY TURNING ME THE FUCK OFF:

  • Being talked to like I am an idiot.
  • Trying to be taken home by a guy (that I used to fuck, a chunk of time ago – like years) who is now sporting a 22 year old girlfriend.

Like I would EVER sleep with you again after knowing this condemning fact about you, dude?… get real. That’s like, my daughter’s age, you sick fuck…you are supposed to be a grown ass man, and I am deeply disappointed to know that you went astray down the road bordering pedophilia, it’s sordid.

Tar and Feather Suit.

These days the praise is so long-gone:

the desire once harbored for you to belong,

you’ve gone ahead and just moved right on,

into my nest with your reach – over-long…

I can’t help but to see through the “friendly”:

the poorly fabricated façade is now crumbly,

ignored chances to walk away from it humbly,

and now, the blood in veins courses numbly…

no differences to work out between:

two people from long opposing teams,

while one keeps the other second-guessing,

behind intentions growing into forces unseen…

the equation you’ve laid out is rather easy to deduce:

you think that you’re exempt from any need for gratitude,

an explosion of the magma from my own home-made brew,

that’s seething at the threshold of my door opened up to you…

if you had any sense, you’d be driving fast and far:

as my eyes have tired of looking at your parked car,

and I feel like I know nothing of who you truly are,

beneath your suit of feathers glued onto hardened tar.


The biggest dilemma surrounding me,
is that which defines my own failed dealings,
throughout my life, it’s become a disease,
to be broken, in comparison to everybody;
and in turn, this difference that stands between,
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see,
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me,
rendering it impossible to know such human beings;
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene,
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between,
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns,
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity;
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory,
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me,
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”,
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.


“Nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.”
— Marcus Aurelius

Knock knock knock
The constant tap at my bones
Phone and doorbell ringing
Can’t you see there’s no one home?
I don’t care to talk
See me drag my feet along
inbox and voicemail overflow
Don’t you see that I’m withdrawn?
My own voice brings a shock
I hate its dead and hollow tone
I wish you could recognize
My need to suffer this alone
Buzz Ring buzz ring
a constantly vibrating phone
Each day it rings more clearly
how peace will never come
A steam kettle whistling
The sound of my nerves boiling
I need some space to retreat
Before I blow, and cease to be
Why is it that everybody
takes my status personally?
I’m just tending to my wounds
I am not in your shoes
and you don’t stand in these
Don’t sit there feeling high
and please don’t minimize
the extent of my suffering
There’s no other way to say it
its best to let me be
no magic trick can change it
or what it does to me
But in the interim between
the pressure from it
becomes maddening
I know myself well enough
I know where this can lead
and it won’t end up anywhere
if I’m not there, respectively
because I have no space
Keep on acting this way
ignore what I convey
don’t take me seriously
just continue to call anyway
and forcing your ways
over whatever I try to say
only pushes me further away.



I don’t care
to see you waste
another moment
in this place
as anybody
like in kind
of that twisted
hateful mind
glued into
its own confines
tries in vain
to usurp again
won’t you learn
You’ll never win?
Carry on then
along with all
of your own
drone brethren
dust trail
straight to Hell
in a pre-defined
dramatic beeline
to the next
corner of
the box
you call a mind.

Shame on Me and the Cursed Empathy.

I guess at this stage of the situation in which I blindly bound myself about a year and a half ago now, the question that burns the biggest hole in my soul would be this:

Why in the Hell would anyone INTENTIONALLY remain to annoy and disrespect; in a living situation that has become obviously regrettable and problematic with the very same person who originally allowed that person in to a home to begin with?

I mean, for me in my own personal experiences with things like this, I tend to lean towards the old saying that goes,

“Nobody likes to be somewhere when they are not wanted.”

Apparently, not everyone is made uncomfortable by being an imposition and a nuisance to the life of someone who’s only mistake had been trying to help that person in the past; someone who has been more than patient during the long period of time that a former welcoming gesture has been overstayed and taken wildly advantage of; someone who just wants her own life and routine back, finally. Apparently, some people have no issue whatsoever with becoming a thoroughly hated and resented element from one day to the next, simply based on the fact that they are here – and unwanted. For a long while, I had certainty of this person’s oblivion, in regard to my displeasure with his continued residence, but after finally blowing up and releasing the seething wrath he has sown within my being over time, there is no longer any excuse for his refusal to just leave already. Since my overdue explosion, I know with certainty that he is aware of my readiness for him to move out and move on in his own life – anywhere besides my house. I know that he is aware of how I feel about and perceive him also – because I told him those things too during my blow-up. I have become paranoid of him because he is not trustworthy, and has proven such time and again – which makes me question everything about him and anything he says or does. That is no way to live in the same space with someone else; and I am getting to the point where I might have to talk to Dice (my other roommate and the homeowner where I live) about it, whether I like it or don’t. I have been avoiding involving him for obvious reasons; but he is the one who can make it happen without any drama…kinda paradoxal, isn’t it all? Fuck me and the cursed empathy…it gets me every fucking time in the end to be a “human being” to another carbon-based life form.


The biggest dilemma surrounding me
is that which defines my own failed dealings
throughout my life, it’s become a disease
to be broken, in comparison to anybody
and in turn, this difference that stands between
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me
rendering it impossible to know such human beings
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.


Today’s mega-extra-jumbo scoop of unnecessary bullshit in my corner of the currently wretched Universe might have been a doozy…had I not had my catcher’s mitt up on the air, with my eye on the ball. It has nothing to do with my specific characteristic traits or preferences, that once a person burns me, although I may very well come to genuinely understand and excuse that person’s indiscretion in burning me, such things never stray far from mind in future close-quarter (metaphoric for emotional closeness in this instance) dealings with that person. It is just a natural response in a procession of inter-actions between two creatures to (even subconsciously) be on your guard after suffering an inflicted wound once before – even if you want with all of your heart to wipe the slate clean, it’s in there somewhere: the experience of being burned, the one who burned you, included.

So recently, during the present state of absolute tragedy that I am under-going on an emotional level, a friend who pulled the ol’ Light Switch Maneuver on me a few months ago contacted me and apologized. I accepted the apology without hesitation, as I have truly missed this person’s presence since he blinked out from my life. And I harbored no grudge against him as I understand his abandonment issues all too well; I can relate to his insecurities with others and becoming close or emotionally attached, trust me. For these reasons, I had hoped he would re-surface eventually and we could be friends again. His timing was well-intended, I’m sure…however – –  – I am currently experiencing a spell of total apathy and disinterest in anything and everything I see or think or feel. I am numb in order to survive emotionally at this very point in time; and that is the reality of reality for me right now.

So, after various times of reaching out and prompting conversation with me (whereas before, I would typically carry on to no end with this person and have plenty to say about anything he talked about), and my not being very responsive because I have very little to say about ANYTHING at the moment, causes this person to deconstruct my character once again in his own mind, for whatever reasons….uhhhhhhhh……okay.

So in turn for my being in emotional shock, and being currently unresponsive to this person’s recent attempts at conversation, I became the effect to the cause behind this person’s own insecurities;

it went from:


“I’m here for you anytime…”


“Take care…I’ll do you the favor of deleting contact info…”

I’m not arguing with it this time, not a word…I’m too fucking UNSURPRISED by it to even thank this person for doing me the favor of inflicting the second burn so soon. WTF Ever. Nothing I can do about things I’ve not done.



You annoy me
beyond description;
your feigned oblivion,
to a situation…
I don’t buy it;
I don’t like it,
I can’t stand it.
The nerve –
you have postured,
the monster –
I’ve fostered…
The one I wish,
I’d never known…
the days pass by,
with your thorn,
stuck in my side;
you have come,
to epitomize…
all things patronized,
all things I don’t like,
by no means will I abide;
you’re a grown ass man,
not a fucking child,
pick your trash up,
and do not expect,
for someone else,
to do that shit;
it makes me sick,
the nonchalant…
the attitude of:
a fucking blue blood…
perhaps you should,
what’s what –
and be on your way.
pull your stick,
and be quick
from my mud.

Hint, hint.

So tired have I grown…

my eyes finding your trash piles;

this ain’t a hotel…

Never have I known…

such a snake behind a smile;

you don’t fit here well.

Just a One-Page-Entry.

you and me…
it turned out –
not quite so,
meant to be.

carry me…
right on by –
the desire,
for familiarity.

I’m angry…
at the truth –
and the lies,
so eye-opening.

the humanity…
finally drain –
of these veins,
I stand empty.

my history…
more vague –
with each day,
a memory.

Vividly Shone.

Practice what SHE preached,

you’ve got some nerve calling me…

lose my number, please.

The arrow has flown,

your colors vividly shone…

take your lies back home.

Truths smeared in cement,

hieroglyphic discontent…

broken testaments.

I’m busy burning,

piles of lies that I’m learning…

not table turning.


I feel sick to my stomach since I woke up today,
drizzling outside despite triple digits on Monday;

a new thorn stuck into my freshly healed side,
a truth to replace the waste left behind the falsified;

indeed, that as ugly as it is, this new reality standing-off with me,
it is always worse to be on Bang End of the gun barrel, undoubtedly;

You know pretty well: that I’m “OK to Corral”,
I count to ten pretty Gods damned well;

I’ve got little to fear as the long moments linger,
Chambered a round and I’m dead-steady fingered;

I have been recently reminded again,
so let me clarify it for you, Little Man;

the “shooter” always gets the last laughed upper hand,
and here and now – that would be ME holding the butt-end.


If I added up all,
of the loads of days,
that have landed you,
steadfastly in my way…
by now, I’m pretty certain,
that you’d somehow downplay,
the fact that such welcome,
has been long-overstayed…
with so much of my privacy,
handed over to you in trade,
went so much of my sanity,
yes – you’re driving me insane…
when I see the overall expenditure,
tolling on my over-adrenalized brain,
and I sense any lack of true humility,
the elephant enters the room once again…
but I must re-emphasize a point to you,
that’s been over-shadowed by,
such an ugly, pompous attitude…
when the sun is once again: gone,
and another day is through,
it’s unfailingly – the ones like me,
that sustain the likes of you.

Forget What I Said.

I take back anything and everything that I ever said about the Orphan; he is a user and a fake person just like the rest of you are. I wish I had never asked him in to my home and/or life. And since, I stupidly did – – – I wish that he would disappear now. He is cramping my life and annoying my lifestyle beyond belief, and needs to just get the fuck away from me. I am tired of pretend people, and even more tired of the bullshit small talk he uses to try and constantly sway the flow of any conversation. I hate his presence here – how he only pops up the instant the other roommate leaves, as if to defy my very privacy and alone time. I hate that I once cared enough about his stupid life that I actually worried myself into letting him live where I live…and now, he won’t stop snagging my sheets. I want him to go and be gone, for good.


Mr. Grim Reaper:

how well can you recall,
our last meeting?
Me?…quite vividly…
as with most things,
I’ve come to harbor –
oh so very,
and so,
I compartmentalize –
my fuzzy thoughts,
and fading feelings…
it is most certainly,
no secret at all,
between them and me –
after all this time,
I’m just still not ready,
to meet you on time,
for our next meeting…
I know, I know –
I have said this before,
took a mile from an inch,
and became a no-show,
but I’ve caught myself,
a new wind to blow,
I’m sorry to do this,
but you’re on your own…
maybe next time,
that we’ve scheduled to meet –
I’ll surprise both of us,
and finally die on my feet,
the gift will be yours,
we both know this,
so stop sweatin’ me.


I can’t –
I could never,
the clever and,
conniving hand,
I refuse –
to lose,
my final stand,
not well-planned,
I suppose –
that I cut off,
your nose,
to spite your face,
oh damn!
here I am,
you can’t out-pace,
my winged friends;
I emptied –
my lungs to you,
words only true,
but silly man,
you’ve gone and,
yourself through,
the dirty blood,
I bleed too –
I can show you,
but my blood,
thick as glue,
rubber cement,
bent true,
we’re good,
stay back,
and I won’t,
cut ribbons through,
the very likes of you,
the face I’d like to –
grind my crumbling,
jagged molars into,
until the image,
of its pond-scum,
contaminated brew,
burns it’s way,
right into something,
anything –
other than you.

My Cheerios.

Today marks a day that I have been abandoned for the last time by somebody who I have let close to me; well, I’m sure it’s not the last time I will be abandoned in life – but it is the last time I will allow myself to feel that way over any individual who strikes me down as a result of his or her own completely unrelated issues.

This will be the last time someone builds anything with me, just to plow over everything we’ve constructed in one, discrediting sweep of the hand; the last time someone who claimed to care about me and mine pisses all over the banquet table and in my cheerios.

I am absolutely disgusted by the way that people tend to martyr off those closest to their shit, the way that people say one thing and do something totally different – especially at random – in some twisted show of power or control.

Today marks the very last time that some totally self-absorbed outsider slips under my radar and gets in to feed off of my life and energies until their belly is near bursting and they’ve had their fill.

Take the Hint or Take the Hit.

My tolerance for rude and annoying bitches is dwindling by the moment, I swear to the Gods…

Yes, I was once a grade school mini-van mom, too – however, I can safely say that I wasn’t the kind that stands outside the bedroom window of a perfect stranger’s home at 7:30am along with the mothers belonging to my child’s friends, bellowing cookie recipes or whatever at the top of my lungs.

THIS is a perfect example of the way human beings tend to give two shits outside of their own bullshit, individual existences…bitch, if you don’t find you and your coffee-cake click somewhere new to stand around and act like a bunch of field cows on the graze, I will find one for you.

The worst part about my struggles with my fellow species is the part that defines the oblivion and cluelessness attached to the ongoing behaviors of those who act like they live on Earth alone; it is enraging at times for someone like me: a remeberer, an empath, a red-blood.

It’s been a long, long stream of consecutive sunrises, that I have been awakened by the lack of consideration put forth by this particular group of rude women outside my window; I have swallowed down my own issues over the fact that I suffer from somewhat debilitating night terrors and CPTSD that typically cause me to struggle with the aspect of waking up each day, as it is. Mornings are unfailingly ugly for me anyway; 9 times out of 10 I wake up in a panic – cold sweat jello covering my body – afraid beyond words or reason – confused – angry and irritable…so, when I am awakened by a gaggle of Chicken Ladies and the associated noise, it’s fucking ugly. Fucking ugly.

Last Friday, I threw a little fit upon being woken again by the auditory pollution – and rolled over, still half asleep, to slam my window closed as hard and loud as possible…to make a point that the average brain damaged crackhead would be able to accurately read. Today, they were out there again – cackling and hollering and speaking in Elementary School Tongues, once again right outside my window. I am not a very patient person; okay, okay – fine – I harbor ZERO patience in my genetic makeup…

And so, as you might imagine…this morning turned out to be quite the action-packed content for the next Home-Maker Mommy Huddle – which I assure will be anywhere other than within the vicinity of my bedroom window, or my home for that matter, ever again.


He is angry with me,
he buzzes past my face,
a flutter for a pace,
he suspends himself, it seems,
right in front of me,
we make eye contact –
two little black,
sweet and innocent b.b.’s,
it’s like he’s yelling at me:
“Why don’t you leave?”
through angry buzzing,
of his lightning-fast wings,
he is little, indeed,
for a bird of his breed,
but I am taken by,
the look in his little, black eyes,
and such a show of bravery.
he is not afraid of me,
not today, anyway…
he just wants to drink,
and his fearlessness,
the buzzing messages –
that he communicates to me,
leave me no other choice,
but to respect,
the hum of his voice.

We Went to Unsecret, Different Schools Together.


NOTE: Even at a post-wedding-ceremony party, S is snapped crying while J just wants to get down and cut a rug

Beginning as far back into life as either of us can remember, we have somehow genuinely been: thick as thieves. At one time, she had longer hair and seemed much taller than me, even donned dress flats to make her Mama happy once in a while…although it was I that sucked my thumb until I was five, she cried often and was sensitive – surprise, surprise. Her skin thickened later on in life, but during childhood, she was kind of a sissy.

Bruce Springsteen – CHECK.

Handcuffed together inside of a high security paddy wagon – CHECK.

1980’s eye crystal blue eye shadow and feather bangs – CHECK.

Teddy Ruxpin (and cassette tapes) – CHECK.

Piercings in unspeakable places – CHECK.

Ever-Revolving door of chaotic Life-Phases ranging in severity – CHECK.

Direct Tissue/Organ Donation – CHECK. CHECK.

Secret Matching Tattoos – CHECK.

Disturbing and vague shared recollections involving a drunken exotic bird and many, many bottles of Tequila – CHECK.

(CIRCA 19–)
Here, you can easily see the perfect demonstration of our days together in childhood.
(We are at either end: I am the blonde piglet and she is the snickering shithead)
Directly after this was snapped, I was nearly beaten to death by my playmates (S included) for “eating on the clock”.

(CIRCA 19–)    S had a traumatic jellyfish experience at the beach early in life, rendering her perpetually in malcontent on any shoreline, anywhere. This photo was taken only a matter of hours prior to her attack, and clearly captured my evil fatmouth full of lies and false assurances to her of her safety.

Our days as friends had no beginning, and will never end.

We've been solid since back when your "bikini" left tan lines that made no sense at all.

We’ve been solid since back when your “bikini” left tan lines that made no sense at all.

(CIRCA 19–) One time, the two of us agreed that we’d made a trivial mistake…soon afterward however – we realized we’d been wrong.

When we became bored with finger painting in preschool, we whisked ourselves away to religiously shrouded monasteries of truth and light, barely visible off the Eastern coast of…some place that was very far away;

we learned to write in Latin… to shoot like the archers from times long dead to history books and chainmaille legends…we gladly taught them to eat with their hands like savages – a few steps back towards their pastel colored roots.

We always eventually overstayed our welcome, wherever we went – and were either escorted beyond the perimeter or politely asked to be on our way.

Drunken Sailorettes – CHECK.

Military AirSupport Dropouts – CHECK.

Shitty Low-Budget Horror Movie Extras – CHECK.

I could go on, but need to save something for future volumes of the Unsecret Chrons…

More of the fictitious story of “us” to come…maybe.

(CIRCA 19–) NOTE: We are seated on the far left end of bench (I am holding a net wtf?) Immediately after this one was snapped, we made history by leaping up from the bench and affecting a medieval style catapult, launching the three remaining girls as well as the creepy, freeze-dried cat well over the internationally recorded current best of 59.05 m into the air.


The noise has grown unbearable atop a fortress’ ramparts –
ten thousand swooping pterodactyls amidst the horizon,
the bantering of all the world’s inebriated sailors setting sail –
the bellies of every monster growling in a symphony of hunger,
the swarming of every dead and gone spirit’s uprising to the heat –
a chaotic explosion from nothing at all into everything there is,
the drowning out of young giggles within meaningless adult words –
complete destruction of the calm isles veiled by smoky-blue waters,
the solitude of confinement washed out by a high pressure firehose –
the noise grows and grows like an ornery, bad weed strain,
it’s rumble and tumble tectonically taking steps towards world war –
plates shifting, funnels twisting, levees failing, babies adapting,
a species evolving to become accustomed to its deafening noise –
a breed unlike the original roots to a better humanity,
the fields became buildings, the tractors drove themselves away –
malfunctioned smart electronics that will throttle our truths,
skies changing into backdrops to a new storyline –
a scripted game played by something or things much greater,
much wiser, much more antiquated than the pawns moved around –
this is the noise, this is what it must sound like to be swallowed,
by an invisible ocean giant sperm whale, inside of space’s vacuum.

“The Apologetic Puckerface”.

Dr. Quackenfuck has coined a new term for my “I’m Sorry” face; since he says he sees it appear so often;

“You know…? For someone who’d always be the very last one to go out of your way to hurt anybody, you sure do say ‘I’m sorry’ a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah – I know…it’s some fucked up default mechanism I have apparently acquired in more recent years; thanks for the highlight though, dude.”

2015-02-18_14.03.01-1(1)I say “I’m sorry” more than any other phrase or statement – by a landslide. It’s similar to the way we, as human beings (especially the more mutated versions of the species), have cultivated the habit of robotically responding to questions such as, “How are you?” with “Good” or “Fine”, or any other variation of such meaningless syllables. We have evolved within our spoken and written languages worldwide in this way: to carry less and less meaning on the wings of our words.
My tendency to spit out the phrase “I’m sorry” has only become annoyingly predominant within the past decade, yes – it was born into the “Post Ripper Era” with the current-day ‘me’. It seems to be a reflexive response that I execute most commonly, as a knee-jerk response to the things that are going on around me – with particular emphasis on things that I feel like I have no control over. For instance, 1) when my girlfriend tells me she lost her purse and everything in it: I tell her that I’m sorry; 2) when a client mentions the hardship that he or she is having financially: I respond my saying that I’m sorry; 3) when the clerk at the grocery store dumps a handful of coins as she hurriedly tries to punch them into my palm at the register: my reaction is to apologize to her for her lack of grace. It is something that comes up time and again between me and my family/friends, also; everybody always seems to be asking me what I am sorry about.
Most of the time, as soon as I say it, I think to myself:

‘What the fuck are YOU even sorry for, Bambi?’

– only to come up empty once again, in regard to an acceptable answer as to why the hell I am so fucking sorry all the time, about everything.
The over-caffeinated tree-squirrel (my shrink) says that this likely stems from my “Survivor’s Guilt”; that lovely term some moron psychiatrist coined to describe that emotional/mental anchor that I drag from my ankles, when it comes to any guilt I continue to harbor from my previous existence before that last, major injury. He seems to think that I subconsciously believe that apologizing to others about totally unrelated events will bring me comfort and closure somehow…I seem to think that he is a full-blown crackhead if he honestly believes that I am so fucking dense. I mean – c’mon…I think I deserve a little more cred on the self-awareness front than to actually have my shrink entertaining such miserably pathetic ideas about where my head is at. Damn!
I’m not sure, as there are admittedly many aspects surrounding my do-over life that I do not fully comprehend at this point of things, but I would venture to say that I say I’m sorry so often because I feel like I am sorry pretty often…duh. When my cousin totals her car on the interstate and gets arrested for DUI and tries to call me for bail money: I am sorry when I tell her I’m sorry; same goes for most of the various instances in which I can be found spitting out apologies for things that I did not necessarily have any hand in causing or creating – I can feel sorry that bad things to other people, I can offer apologies for how fucked up the world is becoming in general. I am truly sorry for the things that many of us are forced to endure throughout life and death and everything in between.
And, it turns out, upon closer introspection on this topic – the root trigger to my compelling need to say that I am sorry is exactly what I am constantly apologizing for: IT IS THE COLLECTIVE UGLINESS OF MY FELLOW HUMAN SPECIES. Most of the times that I say “I’m sorry” to somebody when I have done nothing to warrant a personal apology, it is due to my own disgust with the things that people unfailingly do to others – no more, no less.


Whoever it was;
that made you believe,
that you are born of,
the same skin as me –
served you such glory;
built by so many lies,
bought you into the stories,
sold the truth to your eyes.
Whatever they said;
to convince your heart,
to confuse your head,
to control all that you are –
it was nothing more than words;
carefully chosen, interwoven sound,
yours is the only voice you ever heard,
and you turned blind to all else around.
No matter the reasons;
behind your self-servient ooze,
this veteran’s been seasoned,
by the likes of you and your brood –
I already knew you;
before you even walked inside,
a desperate need for a blowjob,
that you so unsuccessfully hide.
It might’ve been your Mama;
who told such ugly lies to you,
maybe your wife, or her sister,
or the folks at the church you pay to –
it makes about as much of a difference;
as it makes your self-absorption cool,
stuff this pipe for future reference,
and smoke away like an ignorant fool.


evidenceSome people have too much drama in their’ hearts…not necessarily too much time on their’ hands, but definitely too much interest in wasting the time and energies of others with the absolute bullshit that they consider noteworthy, somehow. I have several key people in my life who are made from this stock of human characteristics:
lonely but unaware of this fact, indulgent in a handicapping superiority complex that is totally unwarranted, absolutely clueless as to the ways of human loyalties, and without a caring thought of anyone else’s needs or desires against their’ own.
In turn, these people have a very poisonous effect on me, in almost any context – regardless of the relationship I share with them or its importance in my life. For example, I have a roommate who is a pompous ass sometimes; he is the one that I refer to as the “good Bunkie” in my blog, a label based on a comparison between he and a former housemate, who was very un-good. This guy is one of my oldest friends and I love him dearly in spite of himself, I really do…however, the older we get, the more impossible he is for me to deal with. Granted, I have my own issues and that’s no secret; but I can say this about myself and my own issues with certainty: I DO NOT CONSCIOUSLY ALLOW MYSELF MISDIRECT MY ISSUES AT UNDESERVING BYSTANDERS.
The Good Bunkie has this super horribly annoying tendency to come home from work with some Gods damned chip on his shoulder about some random ass political or religious bullshit that he listened to on talk radio during his commute home; worse still – he wants to debate and argue over the meaningless garbage with his housemates – whichever one he happens upon first. When he does this to me, at the end of my own workday, I am overcome by an inclination to just fucking bite his face off. I mean, come on! There are people who barely know me that would be able to do that much of my fucking math, for fuck sake; I have REAL PROBLEMS in the REAL WORLD and PRESENT MOMENT…I could give a shit about whatever political or religious horseshit from Talk Radio Republic.That shit is all made up bullshit anyway, duh! Show me some solid evidence behind of the long horse shit that you’re bringing home to my ear, and we’ll debate about it maybe…fuck!

Let’s review just for fun:

1) Do I seem like a fucking church-goer to any of you? NO.
2) Do I put off the vibe that I am a fucking Republican? NO.
(Sorry, to any of my Republican readers)
3) Do I send out a message of being partial to the Rich White Folk? NO.
4) Do I seem like someone any of you would even WANT to argue politics with? FUCK NO.

So, yes…it drains me emotionally when this person who I share hearth and home with repeatedly comes home and tries to start in with his completely disinteresting, circus freak, political garbage debate with ME, of all people! The end result every time is the same: as soon as I recognize his shit, I say something like,
“C’mon seriously? Spare me, okay? I have no interest or desire in even having this conversation; I don’t need this bullshit on ANY day of ANY week, dude…fuck off!”, before shutting the door to my bedroom behind me as I go back in. Now I realize that anytime you have multiple people sharing a living space, things get a little edgy sometimes; that’s not lost on me by any means; I also try my damndest to stay out of everyone else’s way as often as possible for this reason – as to avoid unnecessary tension. That’s just how I roll: I mind my own business.
I am most often closed up in my room with earbuds in; I am typically the “house mouse”– this behavior of mine is nothing new or groundbreaking in my household, either…it’s always been this way. The Good Bunkie knows the cause of my PTSD, and has been more than “understanding” and “supportive”, for lack of more fitting descriptions – he has no appreciation behind the psychological mechanisms involved that have a physiological reaction attached to them – but he pities me because of the drastic changes he openly recognizes when he compares the ME of my youth to the ME that is now his housemate. For someone in my personal circumstances, having a roommate who is also a friend that I have so much water under the bridge with – is priceless; I am aware on a subconscious level that he poses no physical threat to me at any time. This is an element that I do not fool myself into thinking that I could find or cultivate with 9.5 out of 10 males in existence. I share it with my other roommate, The Orphan, as well – though for very different reasons and not as solidly; our friendship is young, in comparison. Point here is that I am for the most part happy as hell with my situation, but when this type of shit happens, it literally drains me of energy which isn’t healthy for me to be exposed to, especially so fucking unnecessarily and regularly.
I mean, I would NEVER go out of my way to instigate an unnecessary argument with him, or The Orphan for that matter…and it bothers me that he, especially given our longtime friendship and his knowledge of my current status in the fucking world I live in , DOES.

Try Little.


Herfra til her, beskidte dearhas
endnu ikke modtaget en værdig ord
se den måde at Ican
producere vinger og flylike
det allermindste, poetisk fugl.
Once in a while, you flash me a smile
and I’m smitten all over again
but most of the time
your impatient, closed-mind
tries little to rein that ego of yours in.
You seem to forget, that I’m no Juliet
never claimed to be a butterfly
your face is so fine
with a heart, so unkind
tries little to learn the reasons why.
You aren’t alone, many have come and gone
with languages that I can’t understand
you’ve chalked yourself up
to that shiny, trophy cup
tried little, to know who I actually am.
Once in lifetime, comes a heart like mine
the likes of you struggles to recognize
so like a camera flash
just a ghost in your past
here and gone before you opened your eyes.

Ummmm, Maybe You’re Just a Self-Absorbed Bitch…

ANYONE who reads my stuff knows good and well that I’m not, and NEVER HAVE BEEN on the “Trigger Train”, and don’t apologize for my lack of the huge billboard at the front of each post that warns potential readers about “triggers” inside…so,shoot me. I’ve always felt like we’re all adults here – if you read something you feel uncomfortable about…gtfo…it really is that simple. It works in my case, also. SIMPLE.

But nothing can EVER just be simple, I guess…

Today, I have been bombarded with private reactions and responses surrounding the piece called ‘Over’ that I posted on my blog.

Wink Wink to my girls who would’ve, naturally, instantly feel the energies that I conveyed through this particular ink of mine (and did).


Domestic Violence is a topic that hits me right in the safe haven of “Home”; even so long since the last time I had any part of it. I know firsthand how very REAL it is, and how widespread and socially enabled it’s murderous and terroristic stronghold has remained, while our species makes such huge strides in every other area, it seems. Domestic Captivity, Bullying, Terroristic Behaviors, Financial & Psychological Manipulation techniques such as ‘Gaslighting’ are all different elements of Abuse that define my own traumatic experience as a Survivor of near-fatal violence

My intention behind this ink had been to make a written post along with it, in the spirit of the general message I was trying to express (I am not an artist, and I only create images as a means of therapeutic relief – so they often do not necessarily depict a real circumstance: they are 80% visually or verbally metaphoric. My inks are embedded with symbols and words that harbor meaning to me at the time that I made them; and some are as old as the gold where my lower-right bicuspid once was…pretty damned old).

It was late; and I was doing the “high speed wobbles” in front of my keyboard, and eventually knocked out – sitting up… once again. FML

Anyway – – – The second half of the ink’s message was the driving force behind any emphasis that I was meaning to put out there into the blogosphere, if any at all: Domestic Captivity is OVER for ME…but JUST me, and that’s NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

WTF did it take for my captivity to be “over, anyway? It’s not as if I literally just woke up morning, wrapped a blanket around my broken body, busted out of my chains, and walked slowly away – even stopping to look back, ponderously… come on!!! I am sorry that upset some of the people who read my blog or happened to see my artwork (of MYSELF, by the way: the blonde, boy hair gives it away every time!)…I was by no means rubbing my freedom and survival in anyone’s face, especially if they are still unable to claim this freedom from Domestic Abuse and Captivity…THAT IS NOT MY STYLE AT ALL. If that is what you perceived somehow, all I can do is tell you that perception is inaccurate and apologize for any confusion surrounding the intentions of, and/or meaning behind – the piece of artwork that I posted last night called “Over.”

In real-time, I’m not a talker – I’m a doer; I’m not going to go on and on about this topic but I will close this up by reminding anyone who happens to be reading this of something crucial to any type of understanding between the writer and reader:

I’m NOT here to hurt anyone or play fucked up sociopathic online Blogger head games; that said, I am also NOT here to gain approval or head nods from a single one of you – – – (admittedly though, the comradery that I have here with a handful of kindred spirits DOES carry a certain level of weight with me, but oddly not a single ONE of those people had any kind of issue with “Over.”)