Deal Re-Breaker.

There’s this threshold inside of my brain that others either cross in a grain cut painfully against me, or never cross at all. It is a horrid barrier that I’m sure I have created myself; but it is a sound and solid barrier, all the same – an impenetrable construct by my own mind, immovable in my own mind. This is a threshold that grants closeness and kinship or falseness and nothingness between me and other people who come into my Life.


It’s hard to explain, but I’ve been trying my best when it gets brought up by (a) certain (male) people (person) whom I struggle to maintain “healthy relations” with:


  1. the way that my ability to even experience anything good or positive with an individual diminishes completely once I feel the slightest bit of vulnerability to him, because I am fucked up and my brain doesn’t work normally.
  2. the way that after I experience any vulnerability on a conscious level on his behalf, I seem to automatically try to sabotage everything.
  3. the way that if sabotage fails, I will resort to some innate mechanism of my emotions to execute the process of shutting down to him.
  4. the way that I spend the entire time this hideous process plays out in hating myself and constantly having to re-focus myself on what’s right, as opposed to what feels right.




Not Me.


a familiar thing,

that trails behind me like a string;

that same ol’ gnawing,

sense of drowning,


pressure building,

beneath a surface’s sheen;

steadily weighing,

heavily displaying,


a full timepiece,

that’s already bending my knees;

feelings release,

freedoms decrease,

second guessing…

constantly testing,

the tolerance of my abilities;



there’s no controlling me.



I see it slithering its way to the spot where I stand,

from a distance, with persistence it knows where I am;


I know it’s after any remaining peace of mind,

a new disaster if I fall for its lullaby this time;


it has this way of coiling tightly about my feet,

ratcheting and squeezing the life out of me;


it whispers the things I dream someone might say,

it tickles the most secret parts of my brain;


I see it slithering its way back onto my scene,

from whence I sent it packing for behaving cruelly;


trying to maneuver a snake-like body in ways,

that go by unnoticed, without causing any waves;


I keep trying to run but I can’t claim any real ground,

like a clown-house with warped mirrored walls all around;


like the jingling of bells – that sweet tinkling noise,

the rushing of wind and the river’s raging voice;


I see it slithering through sand, grass and snow,

it’s on my heels wherever I think to cleverly go;


I don’t want it near me, to touch me or hear me,

this snake they call “Love” lives too venomously.


Eyes, locked that never leave my thighs, as I pass by –

parade-rested – ideas nested deeply in your mind;

let stand: up your man, hands down, at your sides;

don’t feel shy – or try to hide –

let those savage instincts over-ride;

Hold, molten to your soul in solid gold, the coveted prize –

cradled tightly – carried brightly by the iris of your eye;

follow me: into Ecstasy, and let your body be satisfied;

don’t act blind – let me ease your mind –

just undress and find your way inside;

Sweat, drips salty-wet, drop erotic tears, in my eyes –

legs shaking – an undertaking of the most pleasant type;

climax; then relax, let your wind fill the skies;

you can unwind – this suits us both fine –

forget the details you’ve been scratching to find;

Time, passes along before I am gone into the dark of night –

softly scented and slightly resented for loving your body so right;

let be: the naked memory, lit up golden in the firelight;

don’t think me unkind – it’s a bad habit of mine –

to leave before it becomes Me to be left behind.


Eyes, locked that never leave my thighs, as I pass by –

parade-rested – ideas nested deeply in your mind;

let stand: up your man, hands down, at your sides;

now, don’t be shy – don’t try to hide –

just let your savage instincts override;

Hold, molten to your soul in solid gold, the coveted prize –

cradled tightly – carried brightly by the iris of your eye;

follow me: into Ecstasy, and let your body be satisfied;

so, don’t act blind – let me ease your mind –

just undress and find your way inside;

Sweat, drips salty-wet, drop erotic tears, in my eyes –

legs shaking – an undertaking of the most pleasant type;

climax; then relax, let your wind fill the skies;

you can just unwind – this suits us just fine –

forget the devilish detail you’ve been searching to find;

Time, passes along before I am gone into the dark of night –

softly scented – slightly resented for loving your body so right;

let be: the naked memory, fire-lit and golden in the throes tight;

oh, don’t think me unkind – it’s a habit of mine –

to promptly leave before I get left behind.


I guess I just have it in my blood to trust the wrong people throughout my time on Earth amongst other human beings –or whatever you’d call those carbon-based, sets of bones with a thin layer of skin stretched tightly (or loosely) around each one, with seemingly emptied out, bobbling heads attached – I sure as Hell hate to call those things “people”.
I have mastered the unrewarding, often self-masochistic, pseudo-“art” of choosing the most shallow and self-absorbed individuals on whom to place importance and on whom to martyr my dwindling ability to trust. At some point in my life, I got to where I can no longer blame the vernacular beasts that I choose to surround myself with for such miserable incompatibility; sooner or later, I had to swallow the realities that I find consistently staring back at me through the eyes of my own reflection.
I eventually began to accept the fact that if I am incompatible with so “very, very many” of my own species, the likelihood of that incompatibility being born of the “shortcomings” of that group of “very many people” is low, if even in existence. I have truly realized and began to accept that I am the faulty common denominator in the countless equations of social arithmetic that I pathetically fail to wrap my thick head around – the continual negative sum in the mathematics of human behaviors and relationships – worthy or otherwise, I am the common denominator. PERIOD.

1421876244430-1Naturally, the majority of “relationships” that I can stake any claim to throughout my scarce and, undoubtedly warped experiences within the realm of human intimacy have each been notably unhealthy in at least one major aspect. I do not know what it looks or feels like to be in a healthy relationship with anyone in a romantic context. In spite of the insatiable hunger and longstanding desire I remember always harboring to have this elusive, healthy thing. At the end of the day when all’s said and done – I wouldn’t recognize a healthy relationship if it came up and bit me in the face…how could I recognize something I’ve never seen before? I have only misidentified the chances that I might have had in the past at healthiness in a committed relationship with someone; I have only mistreated the good standings I’ve had with men who may have been exceptional if I had given them a fighting chance. I just can’t trust the words that people choose to waste on me anymore, at all – not women, not men – not anyone – ever, in any circumstance. My issues behind the inability to foster commitment run so deeply entrenched at this stage of “the game” that I have truly started to question whether or not any amount of therapy, strenuous physical exercise, or exhausting mental stimulation by the opposite sex could ever actually change my perceptions back to what I think that they once must have been.
I do not know if I find this revelation a good one or a horribly life-altering one, either. I have been behaving so ambiguously the past few years in general, in all honesty. It’s been very strange to feel so indifferently over everything – another HUGE shift from the person that I used always like to think I was; Life’s formerly Technicolor scenery has been replaced by a drabber, grey-scale version of it. The white noise of my existence resembles the constant, bellowing rolls of thunder that accompany the bolts of constant lightning that crack like live wires of energy gone awry: a chaotic soundtrack that perfectly mirrors my psyche and syncs naturally with my soul. During nighttime the soundtrack only shifts into the noise of a low-volume baseball game’s announcers and noise.
I have not lived a perfect life by any means; I don’t claim to have, and I am also much too self-aware to dare try. I know that I have let many people down along the way to where I stand now in life, and death. I know that my combative spirit is NOT the ONLY reason why I have survived as long as I have; I realize that I hold no special title to the world’s shallow, robotic inhabitants, nor would I like to if given the chance to hold one:
…a bunch of fuck-heads…
People disgust me with their’ all-consuming need to rise in rank – to “ever-aim-higher” – to continuously yearn for what ISN’T in a given existence…bigger, stronger, faster – better and worth more money…
Me: I don’t have this parasitic social handicap I suppose; because I could honestly care less about having bullshit possessions that I can carry around and flaunt – to show off to my heartless “friends”. I do not count the monetary value of my possessions against my own cha-cha in the Universe; I don’t ever let my head fill entirely up with the environmentally poisonous, bullshit hot air.



I’d trade anything I own in a nano-second in exchange for some sort of true comfort that Boo could eternally call hers – that nobody and nothing could ever steal from her. The rest of the world and the bullshit happening in it just seem so insignificant and muted to me – while my daughter spirals downward into what should have been her future. Her eighteenth birthday quickly approaches now – in May…and I carry so much fear and dread as well as excitement and relief over her coming of age and being set free. I’ve only recently opened my fucking eyes and seen the striking similarities between Boo and I in regard to commitment issues, somehow…not sure what the fuck I have been paying attention to, but it’s like a metric fuck-ton of bricks from the top of the Empire Reality Building have crumbled and landed on my head, in terms of Boo’s shiftiness.
Basically, somehow I have managed to totally overlook the FACT that despite my painstaking efforts when she was a baby and her father and I were together still – to protect her from seeing things that he’d done to me, in a wide and creative array of ways, trust me – she still KNEW. She always knew. Even before she knew that she knew, or what it was that she knew – she knew. I’ve always known this deep down in my heart, for obvious reasons…but as with my former drug addiction during the same era of her life, there’s nothing I can do un-do any of it, so other than to simply try and persevere onward and upward from those past mistakes of mine – there’s little I’ve ever been able to process surrounding any of it. Of course, she and I have always had issues over her father’s sudden and permanent absence from her toddler-hood; she remembers him being there always and then one day just not ever being there again. In her perceptions however, she does not recollect the FACT that I also disappeared from her life at the same exact time as he did – only temporarily. All these years later as a full grown woman, I see the unacknowledged trauma that must have created for Boo, in itself. She doesn’t deal with it properly because she has somehow warped her perceptions into something other than what they actually were. She would tell you that her father “just up and left me and my mom one day…”, which anyone who knows anything about our story knows wasn’t even close to how shit went down. She hardly ever even talks about my absence/injury/hospitalization period at all – never has.
These thoughts of mine have me wondering things about why it seems to be so much more difficult to really get through to her about ANYTHING. I’m realizing that her entire perception of all things shared between our life experiences, together or separately, is contrasting to my own.

math_friends…which brings me back to my original point with this:

Who then, in these instances between Boo and me, is the common denominator?

Let Me.

Let me write of the way that my very genetics seem to yearn,
Blood pumping so quickly, so fiercely; my skin begins to burn.
Tingles of sweat drops on hot spots – oceans, the tides turn;
Now it’s my turn on top, and I won’t stop until you learn.

Let me illustrate a circumstance, in which your eyes are locked to mine,
Let me orchestrate the Rain Dance that stops the pace of time.
Swirled inside of ecstasy, next to me – everything is fine;
Everything else is frozen besides the warmth on my insides.

Let me warn you of the influence that my surrender tends to hold,
My face is shy, my body is small; but this spirit is fierce and bold.
For it’s been said that if I get in your head, your legs will surely fold;
And for a tongue that’s made of silver, so goes a heart of solid gold.

Let me remind of a time that was just yours and mine,
The snow fell lightly through beams of warm sunshine.
I lay wrapped tightly around your chisels like a serpentine;
While your lips insistently sipped on that nasty Moonshine.

Let me try to forget of the sounds of my heart’s tattering ,
Never you – never me, never was or will be.
Just sit in the warmth of a thought, sitting so far from me;
Come closer now, I don’t care how…I need this fire put out in me.

DUH, Bambi…

How bad of a thing is it that the most therapeutic thing I can think of whenever I am in the company of my “therapist” is head-butting him until he’s totally unconscious?…like, unconscious for a long time?
I mean, I guess I know by now that he’s NOT necessarily holding a recording device behind his back with every greeting (my own paranoia), or staging a bust with the local psychiatric ward upon my arrival to his office (my own paranoia), or that he is going to “dump me” out of nowhere (my own abandonment issues), or that he is going to force me to sign a contract that holds me liable to see him every other day (my own commitment issues), or that his tiny, too-high-off-the-ground office is eventually gonna swallow me whole (my own agoraphobia and anxiety in enclosed spaces, especially with men). Lastly, I know by now that he poses no physical threat to me whatsoever, but it’s been eight years off and on with him already.
None of these things seem to be able to keep me from wanting to take a chunk out his face with my teeth upon him pointing something that should’ve been plainly obvious to me, in retrospect…I hate when he does that!
Any of my readers know about my longstanding Mommy issues, well – you know as much about them as I do, I should say…my Mom has been acting passive-aggressive again lately to me, and it hurts me when she does that, even still, somehow. Despite all I’ve learned and admitted and accepted – she still has the keen ability to just trample my heart in a very unique manner.
This morning, “Dr. Cluckenquack” said to me in a disgusted tone, “Why do you even allow her close enough to you to hurt you this way?”, as if he were asking me why I hadn’t worn rain boots to his office today (in the rain). I wanted to chop him in his throat right then and there for stating the apparent reality of the circumstance so plainly like that, but didn’t even respond in a snotty way when I stated: “She is my mother, she gave birth to me…she’s my Mom…”
I was spacing out already from the session’s emotionally painful content, so I don’t know why I was so passive in the moment but maybe that’s why…because when I got to work afterwards, I was fuming and super pissed for at least a good hour…wtf??? Therapy???

Grab My Hand!

Hollow Eve


I don’t know what triggered you last night; I don’t know what it was that finally broke you…or actually, made you feel broken, finally…whatever it was lied to you. The lies that you bought into last night made you feel insecure and worthless; the things those lies forced you to revisit in your mind only solidified your insecurities – you were weakened by the forces of your own psychological exceptionalism last night. You were in a bad place, I know…I visit it often too, it’s comfortable there somehow for people like you and I, that’s okay.

What ISN’T okay is that you were especially suggestible last night for whatever reasons…you shouldn’t have been alone, my friend…you shouldn’t have been alone. It wasn’t okay that you wound up that way – alone – and in the grips of such hateful self-resentment and such meaningful death wishes –

It isn’t okay that I am too far in distance to have REALLY been your friend when you needed me last night, it wasn’t because I don’t care…my heart feels as if it’s literally struggling to pump blood as a result of my being the “captive audience” to your deeply entrenched misery.

Today, do I have another friend who has gone away; who has left this painful existence and been snuffed out by its poisonous content? I am your friend; I’ve always meant it when I told you that…genuinely. I know you meant it, too. You are special and rare; you are an exception to so many “rules” in the world…have you forgotten that? If you’re gone, it will never be okay no matter how much I respect your ability to decide things for yourself. My heart is running out of room for new hollow spots.


These Guys…

Somebody's Got To...

Somebody’s Got To…

Farewell to my Umpteenth Meaningless Relationship

And so the story goes:

I am unable to emotionally attach myself in a romantic way to any male creature alive, despite how hard I may try and how badly I may long for that connectedness that I only experience in the form of a giant void of greyness. I am honest and open about my shortcomings in the realm of romance and relationships – I am truthful up front about my short attention span and lack of co-dependency (and often times this very up-frontedness winds up being a “deal breaker” so we can both cut our losses early on and be don with it). I am honest about my inability to truly trust and harmonize with a counter-part, I am open about my consuming fear of abandonment and about my lack of commitment.

Sometimes, he’s willing to go for the ride and sometimes, he runs as fast as he can in the other direction…

but every time, regardless of what he decides after he learns of my many handicaps in the arenas of “relationships and commitment”, the trip will be short-lived and disappointing to both of us in the end.

Disappointing to me because I always hold out this stupid ass hope that I might actually have a male counter-part out there floating around, and might still be lucky enough to bump into him…and no; once again – WRONG.

Disappointing to him because, well….who’d want to sign up for a go at a relationship with somebody who basically disclosed up front that any relationship you may have been thinking about cultivating with her is NULL?

I’ve known this latest “go” has all but reached his wit’s end with my indifference towards him and what he does, and I could care less. I know that I would not appreciate my behavior if I were in his shoes, and I also know that I wouldn’t want to be lied to on top of several months of wasted time – so I don’t act like I give a shit about what he’s doing either.

He started packing his shit yesterday…

I started helping him this morning…

that wasn’t well received and he was burned by my assistance…

his stuff is loaded into his truck now, and I gave him a hug and said, “Thank you for not being a dick about this…”

He’s gone now.