Wake-up Call.

I am plagued by “night terrors” in a bad way sometimes; and seemingly at random. Of course, nothing is at random when it comes to the intricacies of the human psyche, however…this, I know. This morning, I awoke with the layer of jello-like sweat from head to toe, the image still singed freshly into my mind, my heart pounding as if it will come right through my aching rib-cage. I look around me in complete confusion and disarray, unsure at first which direction to swing my fists in – so I just swing wildly around me in frustration.

The strange man whom I had just watched slide a knife into my daughter’s head as she screamed bloody murder was nowhere to be found in my room; nor was my daughter of course.

This was at 5:49am and my skin stills crawls; my heart still hurts itself as it thumps against my chest; my mind still searches for someone to receive my wrath and vengeance, someone to protect or rescue.

I fucking hate it.


If you could somehow –
only get a look at me now,
alive, with a surprise kick –
to my birthday number thirty-six;
bet you’d been sure you’d outlast –
the years of mine still slipping passed,
who could’ve known how it’d look –
at the final chapter of your big, bad book;
I don’t mean to convey this fact maliciously –
but, after all, you tried to steal the life from me,
so, you’ll excuse me – for recognizing the irony –
of one more birthday under this belt on me;
so many days filled with bad memories –
nights too afraid to close my eyes to sleep,
at last now, slowly but surely-you’re fading away –
while I trudge through towards next year’s birthday;
I’m not always happy by how my existence is defined –
but I never forget getting a second chance to be alive,
despite the trivial bullshit that keeps me up at night –
life is love – love is truth – and truth burns eternally bright.


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.

Postcards from Freedom – Smile Again Someday.

Smile Again.

Handled Badly

handled badlyDear Heart,

Please just do your job and pump my blood – that’s all you’re supposed to be getting involved with; thank you very much!


Your Host



Life often throws curve-balls at me when it comes to the stupid choices I make in regard to ‘trust’ and ‘the wrong people’; and so the story goes.

The older I get, the more able I am to take responsibility for my own parts in the bullshit that goes down between myself and others – and the older I get, the less willing I become to even involve the others at all in my existence.

Being online with so many diverse personalities has helped me to learn a lot about the unwillingness I have cultivated over the years; and it has also been my experiences with people online that have helped reaffirm a longstanding sentiment I’ve held when it comes to the people around me:

  1. I do not have to love them.
  2. I do not have to understand them.
  3. I do not even have to give a shit about them.

But my not giving a shit about somebody in whom I foster no love or understanding for should not impede my own sense of morality and/or humanity as a result; and I should never allow it to.