Beautiful, gorgeous, happy glow…
Your Sweetest Nothing’s
put into syllables, for show.
Fiery, wanting…
glued to your face
your mouth’s curves
a daunting place…
I’ve been before
But tell me how – I bow down
into the splinters and cinders
that litter the floors
like your long line of whores
I see them all,
I choose to ignore…
You never answer questions
your many Life Lessons
have taught you little of
the snap inside my rubber glove
We are meant to Own our possessions.
Are we not?
You have seen quite a lot
Of my flesh,
Camera flash;
digitalized dash
in red LED text;
what now?
Onto the next…
Or am I wrong?
Am I dumb
To play along?
See here’s the thing:
I see the strings
Attached to each one
Of your crispy clean
I see the line of
Space and time,
wrapped inside
Of that tattoo –
You were too pure
to follow through…
this hurts miserably;
Yes you , yes me.
Look away if you must
Your face is too much
to see, anyway.
Just go on about your
fashionable way.
You were fine before
I came along
In my string bikini thong
to knock upon your door;
You’ll be fine now,
and I guess…
so will I, somehow –
Just forget it all,
my cries and calls,
forget me
don’t see me…
don’t see me fall.
You won’t believe me,
Your ears don’t hear
a word I say.
Go fucking play
As you have,
each and every day
as it’s passed.
What was that?
What did you say?
“Score?…Because of…?”
And you’re talking about
How I showed
my bare ass to you –
For that,
I counter you:
Mr. Fashionably True,
I hope this finds you well;
I hope it reaches you;
And hits you
makes you hurt
as you’re looking up my skirt…
What’s the score again?
Mr. Hockey Man –
dead red battery
flashing in your corner screen,
you don’t know the bones
that construct Lil’ Ol’ Me,
nothing taken seriously…
so fuck yourself,
good and hard –
multiplied by twelve.
I am a star,
And I will shine in Hell –
Quit kidding yourself.


a tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen; a lack of hope or confidence in the future.

a belief that this world is as bad as it could be or that evil will ultimately prevail over good.


“Maybe if you started being more optimistic…”

If I had been given a nickel for every time someone uttered such mindless words to me, I’d undoubtedly be a very wealthy woman by now; as pessimism is not an element of my persona that has come on recently in life – it is part of who I am and how I operate. As you may have noticed, the above definitions attached to the word ‘pessimism’ are different based on the context the word is used in. There are people (like Friedrich Nietzsche or Arthur Schopenhauer) who are one type of pessimist: like political and/or economic analysts who only apply the term to a social or cultural scenario, on a much more global scale that encompasses the world in its entirety. There are also people who only apply a pessimistic outlook to their own personal experiences in life, in an individualized scenario of day to day life. This type of pessimism is a psychological coping mechanism subconsciously adapted to manage the disappointments and failures in Life. Additionally, there are those people like me, who are dual pessimists that both definitions completely apply to.

I get so fucking sick and tired of people saying to me things like:

“Why don’t you just look at life with more joy and happiness?” or

“You get back whatever you sent out into the Universe, you know?” or

“You’re never gonna feel good if you’re so busy feeling bad.”


To the people who survive under such perceptions as those that entertain the idea of pessimism as a consciously made lifestyle choice:
The generalization of a fucked up society and the accepted norms within its strict confines are a huge problem with this truth; as the blindly happy people of the world are all too often comfortable in labeling people like me as being “negative” or “down”. And perhaps I am, in comparison to some women my age that I know; but the purposes behind my own pessimistic attributes can be directly traced to certain repetitive things (a pattern of negative affectations and/or experience). To go a little further down, the ongoing execution of such pessimism is now hard-wired into my very personality and outlook.
Put plainly: truly pessimistic people did NOT wake up the day after losing a beauty pageant and decide to become a pessimist because of a minor bruise to the ego.
In the psychological context of a pessimist’s profile, the perpetuation of negative expectations becomes a form of self-preservation; and it also provides ongoing management of deep emotional disappointments and failures in the mind’s eye. Freud got it; and tried to explain best he could. Similar to the Pavlov’s Dog experiment, a certain physical response is the natural reaction to specifically targeted anticipation.
During my teenage years, I was all over the map and intermingled with fuck-tons of people in all kinds of various circumstances, eventually forming the general opinion that I continue to harbor about social interaction. I went to one too many movies or concerts that were ruined by the total strangers in close quarters with my person, and never having had even known they had. I live in a densely populated area where “rush hour” never ends, and if you want to get to your destination – you better be ready to force your way in. To sum it up, I have been shown time and again over my lifespan so far, how the easy majority of the people in the world are just inconsiderate fucks who don’t have a clue about anything beneath the surface areas in Life. As an empath, I am naturally a thoughtful individual; without effort or work at being so. This causes my stupid brain to expect such considerations as well in return – a very dumb thing to do. I guess the point I’d really like to make here is that when people say things such as those I have emphasized above to me, I wonder if they are purposely trying paint themselves as shallow and dense for whatever reason; or if they have cause to intentionally offer me offense. I do not like being in constant expectation of the bad things; I wish I could wake up every morning with a smile and feel like the possibilities in Life were everywhere around me, trust me.
But my own reality is not such; and never could or will be. It is statements like this that unfailingly prompt the shiny happy ‘judges’ around me to start in with the “If I were you…” bullshit.
To which, I have this to say every time:

“If you were me, then I’d be you…and I would use your body to kick the shit out of you for saying such ignorant things.”

If you are shiny and/or happy, next time you feel like vocalizing your peanut-brain opinions on things that you don’t know a fucking thing about, why not try just shutting the fuck up, instead?

Clutch of STFU.

I never found
The time to read
Hitchcock’s ‘BIRDS’
and now
I’m wondering
Was the story-line
About being driven
Bat-shit crazy?
Or bird-shit crazy
More accurately
Because that’s the kind
That pertains to me
And the state of mind
That I find lately
The chirping
The clucking
The fucking audacity
I’ve had enough
Of the finch clutch
Known as the Society.

clutch of stfu2

Countdown to Nothing.

Everyone’s asking

What I plan to do

To ring in the bring

Of another year, new

Can’t seem to communicate

Clearly to you

Can’t seem to articulate

The words I mean to

The parades on the street

Leave me wanting to puke

the commercials on TV  

And the anchors on the News

Another year gone

Another comes right on queue

Three hundred sixty five

And I’ve got nothing to show to you

Just another day and night

The New Year offers nothing new

Just another song and dance

For a crowd that blows darts at you.


Throughout so much of the apparent bullshit that goes on with each new sunrise of my cursed life, I’d like to share the fact that there are NOTHING but vastly reaching tentacles of even more bullshit that belong to the variants attached to that same fucking existence.
For even when things are on the “upswing” for me (which never consists of anything more than a few not-so-bad things happening), my heart is ever struggling to simply remain above the ring of that proverbial drain; I am not throwing a pity party – anyone who really knows me at all will have no choice but to agree with my longtime proclamation of purely bad karma…it IS NOT “perception” or a matter of any “law of attraction”; it is TRUTH.
1) When my health gets to a point in which I have any room to move freely, my car breaks down with some fucking random, yet very expensive issue, and I get stuck until I become ill again;
2) When I become ill – nothing else matters besides getting better and it is always a fight that exhausts me to the point of near-submission;
3) By the time I “feel better”, I am so tired of fighting to feel better that I am at my own wit’s end with everything;
4) When I finally get my car repaired (a solution that attaches itself directly to MONEY), I run out of money and am again stuck until I get more income;
5) When I am sickly, it becomes all-too-often impossible to work for income;
6) When I get some income, it is already spent because I have been stagnant at home and have had to borrow from someone;
7) When I finally get back to feeling like I can possibly conquer even the simplest of steps in this horribly vicious cycle – my car breaks down again.

Granted, I am lucky to have people who help me, and my step dad loaned me his “spare” car; my own car is very close to being “repaired” once more (with the exception of brakes, which I was set out to pick up this morning in order for my nephew to change them today) – and of course there is no way in Hell that the Gods would allow things to go so smoothly for me, in my own fucking hell-hole life…my step dad’s spare won’t start this morning.

“Don’t freak out, I’ll pick you up and take you to the auto store to get your brakes…”

And nobody gets it…I don’t want a fucking ride to the fucking auto store to get the fucking brakes that I don’t even have the finances to buy right now!!! I don’t want anything from anyone who finds it funny when I can’t start the loaner car I’m forced to borrow because my own bread and butter has failed me once again!!! I am sick and fucking tired of the heavy weight I am dragging around by my ankle over the dread and anxiety of vehicular failure – and I cannot deal with AGAIN it today (with the car that I’m using while I have no car)!!!
I just want a single, fucking break!!! It never comes….NEVER.
The cycle of my existence is what is going to kill me eventually, not anything or anyone else. It will be the long-lived and suffered anxiousness and worry and dread that will finally stop my blackened heart. And to be honest, I can’t wait.


I think Rita Sue said it best when she said (in response to being threatened with “Well, maybe I should just come over – pay your whore ass a visit“):

rita sue 1…couldn’t have said it better myself.

Ancient Proverbs: 24 – Judaism.

“What you don’t see with your eyes, don’t invent with your tongue.”

~ Yiddish Proverb


I have written in the past about my strange affinity to Jews…I am still somewhat unclear where it came from or how it got inside of my heart and soul so deeply when I was still so young: this painful understanding and relativity I feel for them all throughout time. The Jews have been the “kicking post” for our entire species since there was such a concept; they have endured struggles and strife that few other cultures can appreciate, and in ways – still do, sadly. Several of the best friends that the Gods have blessed my existence with are Jewish, and as a result, I have had the ongoing opportunity to learn the essence of Judaism fairly up close and personally. The world would be lost without this particular ancient string of goodness.

Thinking and Speaking.

In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;

Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?

And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.

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.


Everyone was standing around in a blinding light –

still trying to find a flow that would naturally go right –

most were only there out of a desire to simply write –

unfortunately, there will always also be:

those present with other, unseen things in mind –

with a hard-wired flaw deep down, inside –

with a hatred built into the circuitry –

that overtakes, sabotages everything –

the entire company so suddenly divides;

like a set of shiny, black-dotted-white –

dominos tumbling down a foreseen line –

all glossy and saucy with a high-lacquer sheen –

flat-lined on a card table next to a cup of free coffee –

pouting in the desert somewhere under a palm tree –

laying on the railroad ties while eating cake and ice cream –

and the point is that:

none of us even wanted or needed to know –

about the dramatics playing out on the side-lines –

and still everyone was forced to have to let the shade slip by –

fuck that, and fuck you for winding up so tight –

for thinking that the sun must have only you within its light –

when I said that I was your friend –

I admittedly, had spoken prematurely –

as you’d mislead my heart and mind –

as well of those of others who had stupidly –

decidedly, in blinded light –

let such parasitic drama in.


If the rising “end-of-‘Ochama’-term” political tension is this obvious and real (nearly tangible) to me: a half-bred Native stoner who will NEVER gang bang either the Donkey Drone or Elitist Elephant; I can only imagine the prescriptions that all of the associated psychiatrists have been, and will continue to be writing throughout the Republican Ramp Up Rally that’s come out of a fitful hibernation.


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.”)