Sunday, December 25, 2005

Ok the boots have been purchased.

Here they are.



They should be on the way by Tuesday.

They were way more expensive than anything I've purchased that isn't a bill (do those even count?) and I was nervous but it's done now.

They are on the way.

I will have warm dry feet for the rest of the winter.

If your feet get wet and cold every single day I'm sure you understand.

Goodnight Frank.


And now I want to go to Europe too. Among other things.

More tomorrow I'm fucking tired.
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Friday, December 23, 2005

I realized not too long ago I've been forgetting to update this. So here's todays entry and I'll be posting some that are backdated.~ Edited to add taht I've put up posts from the 14th on if anyone cares to read them.

There are things I do not need to make my holiday better. On the top
of that list is a drunk jackass following me from the bus to the ferry
dock begging me to go home with him.

I also do not need people staring at me. It's fucking annoying.

Yes, there is a pierced black girl on the ferry reading a book.

Thank you move along please fucko.

I am very cranky and tired today. So nothing too amusing.

Except that I'm almost at the end of Battle Royale and I'll be writing
up a review on it. It's an excellent book that I recommend if you
don't have a weak stomach and can/are willing to examine more than the
violence.

Ok that's it I have to pee and I ran out of steam

Later a rant (written for a message board I belong to) about so called
'street/urban literature'.

But that's it for now.

Goodnight Frank.
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Tuesday, December 20, 2005

I'm having a dilemma. With my Chrismakwanzika money there is enough
for us to get a place.

Now the problem.

We all know by now I am an absolute boot whore. I have two pairs of
boots neither of which fit properly because my feet are so small. The
Demonia boots are fucking hot but big enough that even when I wear two
pairs of socks they aren't very comfortable.

My Nana boots are more comfortable but again a bit too big and they
tend to hurt my feet after a lot of walking. And since we don't have
a car I do a lot of that.

I've been researching online and found a pair of Docs that I LOVE and
think it might be good to sell the Demonia boots and buy the Docs.

Now given how my year has gone I'm seriously considering just biting
the bullet and stock piling my cash. I've got a list of other things
that have been put off because I'm terrified there will be some other
emergency and I'll find myself with no money to cover it.

I know I should get glasses, I should pay more on my
collections account, I should start paying off the money my
former landlords say I owe them because there is no way I would win a
court case. I should start saving up to get our things from
Michigan or barring that getting a contract for storage so it won't be
a monthly bill.

So the big question is comfort or paranoia.

Honestly I do not have a lot of faith that this bit of good luck is
going to stretch into a streak of good luck. I'm afraid to be hopeful
because I can't really take more disappointment.

At the same time I'm more than tired of living in fear like this.

I've been evaluating my priorities and the things I want out of life.
I went years thinking that maybe I just expected too much.

As BoyVenus has pointed out time and again (gently and not so gently)
my expectations of life are low. I don't expect anything more than
what I work for. And even my vision of what that is, is skewed.

Needless to say I have fucking issues.

So back to my original point I'm stuck. As usual I'm having a problem
trying to be nice to myself. Do I treat myself (not to mention keep
my feet warm and dry and comfortable) or ready myself for (what feels
like an inevitable) bank account draining disaster?

I really hate that I have such an iron clad sense of personal responsibility.

It's summed up like this:

I am the only person who will dig me out. If I can't take care of
something that pertains to my life it is my own fault. I HAVE
to work it out, deal with it, take care of it.

It's not healthy. It's not sane. It's not beneficial to my emotional health.

But it is all I know.

So yeah.

Fuck this is exhausting.

Boot decision will be forthcoming. I have to make some calls now to
see if any of the applications I faxed made it to the couple of
buildings who said they'd consider renting to us pending the
applications.

Goodnight Frank.

PS..
.
.
.
I hate wearing panties.
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Monday, December 19, 2005

So something really good happened today. And I almost cried. I don't
really want to go into a bunch of details but suffice it to say half
of the problem with moving is solved.

Now to find a place and do a move over a couple of days since I'm
working straight through Xmas weekend until New years.

I am not quite optimistic. I'm holding that in reserve because I
don't want to get crushed.

In other news a coworker gave me a book to read. href"http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/156931778X/qid=1135046781/sr=8-2/ref=pd_bbs_2/103-9437328-6233428?n=507846&s=books&v=glance"
target="_blank">Battle Royale by Koushun Takami . It's a good
hefty book. A little over 600 pages. It looks fairly easy to read
from the bits I gleaned while flipping through it.

I also picked up a 1$ copy of href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140449302/qid=1135047257/sr=8-2/ref=pd_bbs_2/103-9437328-6233428?n=507846&s=books&v=glance"
target="_blank">The Decameron. The cute salesgirl (who I have a
sight 'I wanna kiss her' kind of girly crush on) she said it is "sexy
stuff for the 14th century" so I was sold. Plus it was getting rained
on a little and I'm a sucker for homeless paperbacks.

Um what else.

I got some candles/coasters/cute shaped ice tray for giftmas.

I'm feeling a little twitchy and whatnot. Cause yeah even a little
good luck makes me very suspicious that hell is around the corner.

I'm done now.

And because it amuses Boy Venus.

Goodnight Sally..

Ps...send prunes.
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Thursday, December 15, 2005

I slept badly last night. Even my Safeway Sedative just tipped me
into sleep rather than knocked me out. I had patches of sketchy
dreams including the following.

I am in a room sitting at a table, and (as the title implies)I'm
sitting across from Henry Rollins. We are staring at each other. Not
quite a staring contest but almost.

Neither of us says anything for awhile just scowl then he points at me,

"you need to calm the fuck down."

Deadpan.

He nods and hands me a pair of headphones. When I put them on it's
Etta James. After one song I take off the headphons and nod to him.

That's pretty much all I remember.

I also dreamt at some point that I was

I've been reading Ovid's love poetry still. My god. It's gorgeous.

Nothing else to say at the moment aside from my contacts are cloudy
and I forgot my drops at home.

Go figure.
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Wednesday, December 14, 2005

I feel about as important to the grand scheme of things as a smear of
shit on the bottom of a shoe.

What absolutely did it for me was speaking to a gentleman who was
eager to tell me all about how wonderful the building he manages is,
then after telling me they only want "good" people that there is no
way they would even consider us. Then he laughed and said,

"The best you can hope for is a dump and hope there's a lazy slumlord
behind it."

He said that cheerfully.

Keeping the idea that having bad credit/rental history issues doesn't
make me a piece of shit is really really hard.

I almost threw up.

I am so upset right now I can't begin to explain it in other than
strictly physical terms.

The back of my neck is growing a tight lump that feels like someone
has a screwdriver jammed between my vertebrae and is working it like
there's a stuck board in there.,

My stomach hurts.

I'm nauseated.

My right eye is twitching.

My head is starting to hurt.

Had a roll of belly cramps.

I think when I get home after some sparkly fruit flavored water from
Safeway I'm going to take a sleeping pill, take a bath, and hopefully
be able to get some sleep.

I am probably going to stop talking about it here. I'll probably post
more music nattering, notebook crap but no more of this. Talking
about it only makes me feel worse.

And probably not much in the way of emails either. I just don't have
the energy.
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Tuesday, December 13, 2005

I was cleaning out my backpack the other day and found buried at the bottom my old (circa 1964) copy of the Love Poems of Ovid.

I really wish I could read and speak Latin fluently enough to read the originals and understand them. I want to read Marcus Aurealius. I think that would be amazing.

In other news as is my habit I went into Twice sold Tales to do some looking like I always do. While I was browsing one of their kitties (a very cute fatty with a white belly and grey and black stripes) decided she absolutely needed my total attention. When I stood by a small ladder she hauled cat ass up it and decided to ride on my shoulders while I looked.

Nothing like having a large cat make herself at home across the back of your neck to start your day. She's cute. A very talky 'HEY PET ME NOW' kind of kitty. If there is a such thing as reincarnation I want to come back as a book store kitty.

Shelves to climb in, people think that if you're squat and round you're the cutest thing ever, treats. Is there a better existance?

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Nas? I have a weakness for very smart lyricists and he's very smart. I enjoy his music quite a bit.

His album Stillmatic is absolutely one of my favorite albums ever. His dis of Jay Z entitled Ether is a heavy hitter.

For those who aren't hip hop fans I will explain something.

Beef. (Look up the definition keep up with me here.)

To put it in a different context the idea of men having beefs with each other is not new. Not exclusive to hip hop. Take a long look back at history. Greek scholars did it, Roman scholars did it, poets have done it. Essentially the concept of beefs in hip hop has roots in language.

It breaks down to this- My skills are better than yours.

Historically beefs in hip hop have launched careers. Before the money, women and cars there's battles.

Follow along.

You are an aspiring MC. You write your lyrics. You are looking for a chance. You go to a battle. You don't win strictly by how hot your beats are, when it comes down to it you have to be smart, quick on your feet and understand how words work and how to use them.

What I love about hip hop now and when I first heard it was the power of words and when a good MC has it (some magical combination of smarts, flow and charisma) it adds up to a shiver up my spine.

I highly recommend Beef to anyone who's curious about the culture. Byootiful got this for me to watch and it's really fascinating to see people who are passionate and good at what they do break it down.

There are sad parts. The sorrow in the community over the needless deaths.

If you didn't know now you learned something new.

Maybe I'll talk about some of the negatives in and around the culture of Hip hop tomorrow.
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Monday, December 12, 2005

The weekend was a non thing. I missed the work holiday party but
having 3 days off was refreshing. Got 2 rejections from apartment
buildings, no response from some other ones I'm trying to contact
again today.

There's nothing like the magical combination of not having much
money/having bad credit. Nothing like it to make you feel like a big
lump o shit.

Rationally I know the below not to be true but, emotionally it still stings.

As I'm dealing with people trying to find an apartment I get the
distinct 'You are a deadbeat dirtbag and we don't want you here' kind
of vibe. It's the tone. The 'oh you don't have x amount of dollars
you don't get a chance.'


Basically it's the cosmic screw you if you are a have not.

I know that there's ~something~ out there that will work out. Just
finding it is hurting my heart something fierce.

So my head understands from a business perspective but my heart is
aching for a chance.

When it comes right down to it that's all I really want is a chance.
I haven't reached out beyond a few friends for real help.

Actually I lie I did. This story is amusing in a 'go figure' kind of way.

So I call this supposed hotline for help. Supposedly they can refer
people like me to various places for help. I get the run around.
Albeit a polite run around.

First issue is that I don't live in King County currently, then I call
the Kitsap county equivalent and get told that since I'm leaving
Kitsap county they can't help. I get told by a supposed low income
organization who "Specializes in giving people a chance" and
"providing safe affordable housing" tells me that because I have bad
credit they won't even consider me.

Now call me jaded but, if you are low income you probably don't have
great credit. And when they said affordable for someone with my
income they meant somewhere in the neighborhood of 750-850.

Right. Whatever.

Fucking liars is all I could think of.

I'm feeling a little more than crazed over all of it.

I don't need to live somewhere fancy.

At this point the only thing in the world I want is a fucking chance.
That's it.

I just want a chance to make my life better because I sure as hell
can't do it by myself much as it pains me to admit that.

So yeah.

Not to mention how emotionally triggering money issues are for me
anyway. Suffice it to say that my emotional stability (which isn't
all that stable to start with) has taken a direct hit.

The tide is turning. I'm not going to cry. Or sit in bewildered
sadness. Fuck that.

I've survived worse.

One way or another I"ll get through this and go on with my life.

If you're wondering this is me hardening up. This is the fury I run
on. As I told Boy Venus in conversation awhile back I don't know how
long I can run on pure fury.

But I'm willing to find out.

With that in mind feel free to picture me in one of my pairs of ass
stomping boots, middle finger extended, and a grim smile on my face.

That's just how it is.

To quote a Snoop Dog song (probably badly)

Fuck what you're about and fuck what you stand for.

That sums up how I'm feeling towards fate/Gods/etc.

Goodnight Frank.
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Thursday, December 08, 2005

Not enough coffee in the fucking world is enough to quell my craving for an authentic Cubano. Or barring that some Turkish coffee.

I am working on a story rewrite as I troll for apartments. Classified ads can be so tedious. Not to mention alarmingly stupid. Do I really want to give my money to someone who can't put an ad through a spell check real quick?
I'd rather not.

In other news a dress I entirely forgot about buying on the auctions some weeks ago arrived today. So now I have something to wear to the office holiday party tomorrow. I will post photos if I feel like it.
I just checked my email and have been promised a perfect erection.
I imagine for me that'd be a 9x4 black pierced tattooed cock. Emblazoned of course with the words, 'Cock of Doom' in some sort of arty sparkly purple ink.

Could I be any gayer? Really?

No I didn't think so either.

The title to this entry is in reference to something I wrote in the near recent history. I've been pretty diligent obsessive about writing in my paper journal. As I'm writing more I find I'm envisioning a very Rollins-esque anthology. Lots of words, few titles, some sort of little symbol or line to demonstrate where one thing ends and the next starts.
So no the anthology is not cancelled simply moved up. I will have to wait until we are moved so I can design everything myself.

Yes I want to do it all by myself. I can't help it.
I think that's all for the moment. I'm going to take a stroll up the block so I can go have a smoke.

Goodnight Frank.

PS..
I want to be watching that movie about Tupac right now.

Pps..
I want to go see Kanye West at the Everett center thing.
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Wednesday, December 07, 2005

I'm listening to a hip hop station on Live 365 one of my favorite online radio communities and the song 'Ghetto Bird' by Ice Cube is playing.

I find it amusing that a lot of older hip hop (Ice Cube, Ice T, Dr. Dre circa The Chronic, Snoop Dog etc) brings back a lot of memories. I can remember some of my baby goth and baby punks friends and I just rocking out to The Chronic. An entire summer of us all dressed in our finest freakery running around. The looks people would give us were priceless. They'd see this little group of kids dressed mostly in black. Boys and girls powedered and eye linered to beat the bad, all walking and rapping en masse.

People are easily confused and it's amusing.

I don't remember if I mentioned it but as is my habit I did some super bargain book shopping and got myself some very good each under 4 dollar books.

Real Conversations, No.1 (Henry Rollins Jello Biafra Lawrence Ferlinghetti Billy Childish) hasn't arrived yet.

Turned On arrived first. It is an unauthorized biography about Henry Rollins that while telling his story tells a good story about early punk/hardcore in DC and then across the country. At times it comes off a little fanboy ish, and some of the British-isms in it seem out of place but overall it is pretty good. What I'm enjoying more than the biographical data is the sense of how it was to be young punk and suddenly thrust into a life changing enviornment. If you are into Henry Rollins or curious about punk, hardcore and the history of the scene it's a good book to check out.

Today brought Writing Past Dark : Envy, Fear, Distraction and Other Dilemmas in the Writer's Life. It's a nice slim thing. I actually really love the texture of the paper my edition is printed on. Slightly pulpy, enough texture to be a pleasure under the fingertips.

And today a man on the ferry gave me a copy of the New Yorker. I've actually never read it so I'm looking forward to digging into it.

I'm still suffering some emotional fallout that I won't go into here. Mainly because I don't feel particularly safe being that kind of naked right now save for a few very close friends.

So the filthy masses get fluff and some book nattering. Be happy anybody gets that much.
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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

A shortlist since I'm very tired and in dire need of more coffee. Enjoy.

My Giftmas list consider this my letter to Santa.

-desert eagle

-black and purple new rocks

- leather sweetheart corset

l- billy club

- marine combat knife

- massage chair

l- dread extentions from hair police

- air raid skirt

- torture gown

- bettie bruiser skirt

- Demonia Jungle boots

-great dane and food and giant pooper scooper

- Isis Dagger

- skull flail

Any well dressed cranky little beasty (yours truly) must be well dressed and well armed. Those are the rules people. Know them, love them, follow them.

In other news I slept for shit as per usual. Got another rejection for an apartment building. See what you get for being honest. Uh.

No news yet from the submissions I sent out a few weeks ago. I still haven't written a new author bio. And I think I'm going to blow something up. I should've put c-4 on my giftmas list.

And yeah. So....

That's it for now I'm going to drink my coffee and read some journals until I feel a little more coherent.

Goodnight Frank.

Ps...
I think I'm going to pee on the floor.
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Thursday, December 01, 2005

A lot has been said about how to prevent rape.

Women should learn self-defence. Women should lock themselves in their houses after dark. Women shouldn't have long hair and women shouldn't wear short skirts. Women shouldn't leave drinks unattended. Fuck, they shouldn't dare to get drunk at all.



if a woman is drunk, don't rape her.
if a woman is walking alone at night, don't rape her.
if a women is drugged and unconscious, don't rape her.
if a woman is wearing a short skirt, don't rape her.
if a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don't rape her.
if a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend you're still hung up on, don't rape her.
if a woman is asleep in her bed, don't rape her.
if a woman is asleep in your bed, don't rape her.
if a woman is doing her laundry, don't rape her.
if a woman is in a coma, don't rape her.
if a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don't rape her.
if a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don't rape her.
if a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don't rape her.
if your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don't rape her.
if your step-daughter is watching tv, don't rape her.
if you break into a house and find a woman there, don't rape her.
if your friend thinks it's okay to rape someone, tell him it's not, and that he's not your friend.
if your "friend" tells you he raped someone, report him to the police.
if your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there's an unconscious woman upstairs and it's your turn, don't rape her, call the police and tell the guy he's a rapist.

tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, sons of friends it's not okay to rape someone.

don't tell your women friends how to be safe and avoid rape.
don't imply that she could have avoided it if she'd only done/not done x.
don't imply that it's in any way her fault.
don't let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he "got some" with the drunk girl.
don't perpetuate a culture that tells you that you have no control over or responsibility for your actions. You can, too, help yourself.


If you agree, repost it. It's that important.

And, goddamn it, acknowledge that it happens to men, too.
~

I didn't write that but pass it along.
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It's snowing. It was snowing at home when I left, started snowing
downtown while I was getting coffee. And no I am not excited about
it.

Goddamn.

I just about had a big froth over capital punishment, justice,
injustice and general penal system fuckery but I don't feel like it.

So nevermind.

And I don't feel like talking about how fucked up I'm feeling on a few fronts.

Nor do I want to discuss the fact that I am having a craving for Thai
chicken soup that might make me piss on the floor in protest.

What I will talk about is that due to my nature of liking fucked up
things I've just started scribbling a story..you get the first taste.

~

"Oh Jesus Christ baby slow down, please you're gonna split me in half."

It's two in the morning and she's horny, I never understood or
realized what kind of libido she has until she grew herself a cock.
It's amazing what you can learn when your girlfriend spends most of
her time either jerking off or trying to fuck you in the ass.
~

There will be ass fucking, and a happy romantic ending. Unless you
think girls growing cocks and screwing their boyfriends blind prevents
that. In that case it will end in sodomy and one happy couple
skipping down the yellow brick road to hell.

Goodnight Frank.

Ps...My left nipple itches really bad but I'm wearing four layers of
clothes and can't get to it. So I'm going to have to go to the
bathroom and stick my hand up my shirt.
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Wednesday, November 30, 2005

I am actually not a very happy beasty right now.

I fell down last night on my way home and my shit hurts. Knees and
back. And I did something to the area between my left shoulder blade
and neck. It fucking hurts.

I didn't skin anything or bleed (miraculously) but I fucking hurt today. Bad.

I got sedated type sleep last night but I don't feel at all rested. I
am a cranky little bastard today.

And I'm having writing issues (issues in general) that I don't even
know how to start into nor do I think I have time or space to do so
right now.

So.

On with the plan.

Get moved.

Resurrect my hardcore budget.

Find some kind of at home(ish) part time work of some sort.

Not kill anyone.

Goodnight Frank.

PS...I hate the smell of leaf blower exhaust.

PPS... The next person to ask me how excited I am about the holidays
gets a pen jammed in their eye. Die overly perky people kthnks.
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Friday, November 25, 2005

Anthony made me do it.
Bloody Glitter's NEW Survey
You...
Name & nickname(s):Shannon, Beasty, Nudemuse, Lil Fucka,
Age, Birthday & Zodiac sign:28, 03/16/1977, Pisces
Hair & Eye color:Black, almost black
Contacts or hairdye?:Contacts, hairdye often but not lately.
What you like to wear most often:Um...bum covers
What you wear when you go out:LIttle as weather allows
What do 'they' like to call you?:Um...bob?
Do you agree or disagree?:NO!
Blood or Glitter?:Bloody glitter
Favorites...
Types of music:All of it
Bands:(always subject to change: currently) Etta James, Sevendust, Nina Simone, Coltrane, Johnny Cash
Albums or songs:Yeah lots of em
Music videos:Lapdance (Uncensored)
Actors & Actresses:
Types of Movies:Ones that don't put me to sleep
Movie Titles:Ask me later
Foods:Sushi, gummy bears
Beverages:Tea, good coffee, Jack, Grey Goose
Jewelry:Labret none other currently.
Perfume:African Love, Rain (oils)
Other scents:Attar of Rose, Nag champa,
Website:http://nudemuse.org/blogger.html
Colors:Purple, Silver, Black
Politics & religion
What is/will be your chosen political party?:Mine
What religion were you brought up into?:None
What is your religion/belief now?:Varies
What political issue is most important to you?:People getting a fucking clue.
What environmental issue is most important to you?:Water
What religious issue is most imporant to you?:Freedom of it
If you could change, remove or create five laws what would they be?
a.:Beat your kids or spouse? Get gang raped by the Aryan nation.
b.:Rapist? Lose your balls.
c.:fatally stupid? Die.
d.:Smoke pot? Go home and don't eat all my twinkies.
e.:Like to touch kids? Lose your frontal lobe.
Sexual orientation?:Lots of it please..thank you.
How do you feel about Gay marriage?:Get married if it works.
Drinking?:Yes vodka martini now.
Drugs?:Sometimes.
Legalization of marijuanna?:Sure
The Patriot Act (and other invasions of privacy/freedom):Fuck you Bush.
Abortion?:Not up to me. Discuss it with your god.
Friendship/Social life/other activities
What do you look for in a friend?:Mutual respect, humour, loving heart, good laugh,
What is your favorite thing to do with friends?:Talk, sing, cuddle
If you could go anywhere in the world, where & why?:Right now I'd go to New Zealand and enjoy the weather.
Which 3 friends would you bring with you?:Mike, Adam and Cookie
Do you have a significant other?:Yes
Is it love or lust?:Both
Do you have a crush?:Quite a few
Who is the sexiest famous person you can think of?:Right now I'm pretty hot for
Do you like to hang out at home or go out more?:Home unless it's nice out.
Bars or Bookstores?:Both..
Favorite places to shop for clothing/fashion?:Um...yeah where it's cheap
Favorite places to shop for odds & ends?:Dusty dim places
Are you shy or outgoing?:Both
Are you more outgoing on the internet than in real life?:Not really
Now...
What are you wearing?:Low rise DKNY jeans(my first and only designer jeans) black bell sleeved tshirt, black hoody, labret, no socks..no shoes.
What time is it/What's your time zone?:5:37 PM PST
Are you with friends or alone?:Alone
What's your mood like?:Amused
Who (or what) are you thinking of?:My friends
What are you eating or drinking?:Genmaicha tea
What's on your computer desk?:Tea, cd's, mug, tea bags, spoon, two phones, stack of papers, clipboard, sugar packet, four ink pens, lip gloss
What's the coolest thing in your room?:My feet usually
What have you recieved as a gift lately?:Money
What have you given as a gift recently?:Tea
What song are you listening to (or other sound)?:Rammstein something I can't pronounce or spell
If you could add or subtract 3 questions from this survey....:Um...
a:What is your favorite kind of pie?
b:If you don't like pie what the hell is wrong with you?
c:And are you for puppies?
Why do you think you joined this community?:
Have you made any friends here so far?:No....are you watching me?
What do you think of the community in general?:Um..it's not Bob.
What sorts of things (creative, or whatever) would you like to share?:How about my creative use of my middle finger?
And what did you think of this survey in general?:It was pretty fancy.
Take this survey | Find more surveys
You've been totally Bzoink*d

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Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Is it just me or is using flashy animated graphics on a site designed for migraine sufferers just fucking rude?

So yeah I have yet another migraine. I've been doing some research and if it's anything like what I've been reading well shit.

I decided that since I'm going to start going back to the doc since our insurance has changed I should probably list some of my symptoms.

Lately it's as follows:
Serious pain from about the nape of my neck down through my shoulders. My neck feels like rebar to the touch. I get uh...hot stabby type pain. Also added to the fun is pre-migraine mania. Jitters. Nausea. Sometimes my speech is a little fuzzy or slow. My right eye twitches. I have a hard time concentrating on anything.

During said migraine I alternately want to scream, bash my head against my desk, cry and puke.

Cute no?

According to MIDAS I have quite the disability.

Although if I actually called in as much as I felt like with the banging head, I'd have gotten fired awhile ago I think.

Anyhow.

My fucking head hurts.

My fucking head hurts really bad and I am sorely tempted to stab myself in the eye. Or get something pierced and/or tattoed.
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Monday, November 21, 2005

I don't know if I mentioned it before but I really love poetry.
Lately I've been very into buying more poetry.

So today before work I stopped to peruse the .50 cent and 2 dollar
books racks at Twice Sold Tales and what did I find? A very good copy
of target="_blank">The American Night: The Writings of Jim Morrison.
One of my favorite collections. It was two dollars but since I am a
regular face at that store the cute girl (who I have a lil bit of a
crush on) gave it to me for 50 cents.

I've loved poetry since I was a really little kid. The first poem I
remembered really loving was href="http://www.ketzle.com/frost/snowyeve.htm" target="_blank">
"Stopping by Woods On a Snowy Evening." by Rober Frost. I
memorized it (which came in handy a few years later because I had to
do it for school) and just loved it.

I remember being on a bus to an away basketball game while I was a
cheerleader and spending most of it reading poetry to one of the other
girls. I think one of them was called 'To Hope' (because that was her
name) but I can't quite remember. Fucksake.

Anyhow. Yes I love poetry. All kinds of poetry. Classics such as
Ovid and Sappho, Allen Ginsberg, Nikki Giovanni, Pablo Neruda, Rumi,
on and on. I love picking up poets I've never heard of and being
moved.

I love it.

In writing news I'm getting a submission ready but I'm trying (read
struggling with and whining about) to write an author bio. I hate
writing those things. I always want to say something ridiculous but
then I'm afraid I won't be taken seriously. I know my sense of humour
can be off so I try not to be too strange but GAH.

The only bio I have isn't really suitable for non-porno so yeah.
Doing that. Going down my list of links to send other things off to
be dissected. Submitting work is fucking nerve wracking.

Not as nerve wracking however as actually writing.

Work on my anthology continues rather slowly. I'll have to wait until
after we move so I can start designing the cover and whatnot.

And Collette your comment sparked a thought and I'll get to it when I can think semi straight.

And uh....yeah that's it.

At least for now.

Homo Out.
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Thursday, November 17, 2005

I am very very tired and my jaw hurts so I don't feel like talking about my emotions. So instead I'm going to talk about sex and gender. If anything genderqueer freaks you out go read somewhere else.

I was thinking this morning about gender because as I was sitting on the ferry on my way to work, I saw a very cute boy walk by and I had quite a moment of lechery. I thought almost immediately about dragging him into the unisex single stall loo and buggering him until he begged for mercy or creamed all over the sink.

I am not entirely female. Biologically yes I am all girl but, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually I am part all man. Big nasty butt fucking faggoty man.

There are a lot of people who don't understand how I can say that when at a look, and upon closer inspection I am very much woman. Little nasty fucking faggoty woman.

I have never felt any issue with it. I am not gender confused. No one ever planted the idea in my head. It's just there. Always has been.

It's a hard thing to explain to most people. And right now I just don't feel like it. If you absolutely must know more go to the library and/or go buy a book. I don't feel the need to play instructor and/or homo diplomat.

Back to my original thought.

After I entertained the little mental porno of screwing the boy I realized much to my amusement that God in Her infinite wisdom (or whatever) made a good choice in not making me a biological man. I don't think I'd be a nice man.

External genetalia would probably give me that last little excuse to try and hump everyone I find attractive. Not to mention the whole peeing thing. I would piss on things and probably get arrested for it. Spiteful, vengeful peeing is far easier when all you have to do is unzip and not squat.

Further more. I would probably have a bad habit of tea bagging people out of spite. And for recreation.

So people thank your Gods that I do not have a cock. Just think of all the buttholes and mostly straight boys who are safe from being violated by me.

That's not to say I don't feel like I have a cock. I frequently talk about my cock and balls. I have been heard to threated to stick my dick in someone's ear, nose, butt, or mouth. Told people to lick my sweaty balls, that they make my balls hurt etc.

Some people are a little traumatized and very confused by that. I don't really care.

And really the illusion that all boy butts and girl parts are safe from some Nudiemuse brand Deep Dicking (tm). Don't think for a minute I will not bend you over and fuck you until you can't see.

Why?

Because I would.

And I'd enjoy it.

And let's not even discuss getting kinky. Just say Yes Sir and mean it and we won't have any problems.

Ok I think I've spent my load on the subject for now. And probably frightened a few people but that's ok. It's good for you.

In other news I have the worst kind of craving for Chinese food right now.

It's so bad my balls hurt.

Homo Out.
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Wednesday, November 16, 2005

The stabby/bitey vibe continues with a nice intermission thanks to my Boy Venus.

Books are to be purchased. And I am going to sit and have some Dragon
Well tomorrow before work.

I was on my way to work today trying to concentrate and jot down the
beginning of a story when what sat behind me? Spoiled squealy teen
aged girls.

I heard everything from, "I don't see why they won't just buy me the
new one I mean it's only 20 grand."

To

"My Mom is being such a bitch she won't let me drive her Lexus and I
have to drive a used car."

It took every ounce of self control I posessed not to turn around and
screech like a twink on a fashion rampage,

"WILL YOU BITCHES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND WORK IT OUT!"

My inner faggy boi is feeling bitchy and put upon by the nattering and
whining of over priveliged people.

I recall being a teenager sucked but complaining about Mumsy and Daddy
not dropping twenty grand for a girl who admittedly "crashed her old
car three times" is target="_blank"> ricockulous.

It took me the better half of getting my make up on to stop twitching.

And if I hear one more girl/boi/whatever squeal "HOLLA" I am going to
tie their target="_blank">beef curtains in a knot around their ears. Mmkay?

So where was I?

Oh yes, because of strict instructions from Boy Venus I am going to
get myself some books.

target="_blank">Roomanitarian by Henry Rollins this one is new
and I really want it. So into my cart it goes.

I'm considering target="_blank">The Demon by Hubert Selby Jr.. I really loved href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0802131379/ref=pd_sim_b_2/104-1086145-6472700?%5Fencoding=UTF8&v=glance"
target="_blank">Last Exit To Brooklyn and from what I hear The
Demon is even better.

What I have left goes into my Paypal mad money. I have a Paypal debit
card that I've found very handy to keep a little mad money in. For
trinkets, things on Ebay or other auction sites I might want.

Who knows.

Jesus TAPDANCING Christ I fucking hate it when people look over my
shoulder while I'm typing. More in a moment.

What was I going to say?

I actually don't remember.

So I'll say something else.

As I keep writing I have been seeing some writing related things I'd
love to go to however given that I work swing shift most of them I
just can't go to and it sucks.

For instance target="_blank">No Safe Word a local erotica writers group. I've
seen and read ads for them and I can't help but have a little pang of
'goddamn work-ness' because I think going to something like that might
be enjoyable.

But it's all right.

I do belong to a couple of writers message boards and I have learned
to enjoy those quite a bit.

Oh goodness. Time for tea I'm freezing because someone thought it was
a bright idea to have the a/c on all day.

Sometimes I do not like...boys.

I think that's it for right now. My fingers are cold and stiff and I
need some tea.

Homo Out.
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Tuesday, November 15, 2005

I am in fact feeling both stabby and bitey thus, I don't suggest
rattling my cage. Nothing like having to explain how you managed to
get stabbed with a pen and get bitten by a short angry black woman.

Not how you want to spend your evening.

Why am I so stabby and bitey?

Because I am working up a cluster headache in my right eye that has me
on edge and crankier than usual. Add to that the general charm of
where I work, lots of computers, lots of white noise, lots of
atmosphere unconducive to keeping a hurting head happy and ther eyou
go.

Stabby.

Bitey.

Where was I? I saved this an hour ago.

Right. Stabby bitey...right ok.

3.5 hours later I'm not feeling much better.

So yeah.

Uh...

Nevermind I guess.
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Friday, November 11, 2005

I'm working on yet another tech manual thing and decided to take a
break while my eyes decide to readjust.

During some of my many talks about life and my life in particular with
Boy Venus I've come to realize that often the big picture and the
future tend to come in dead last for me.

It's a strange thing. In one respect when it comes to work and
business I'm very well able to grasp the long term and put it into the
context of right now. No problem.

But when it comes to my life, for so long now I've had to worry about
right now that I just can't process the long term.

The reasons are usually the same. Keeping a roof over my head, food
in the fridge, etc are my usual immediate concerns and tend to be more
pressing than the big projected the future.

It reminds me of this girl I used to be friends with. The friendship
ended mainly because our lives were gulfs apart but that's neither
here nor there. I remember being awed by the fact that she seemed to
have things so easy.

When she couldn't pay her rent her parents paid it. She didn't like
her job, she quit and her parents paid her bills. She wanted a new
car her parents bought one. She got married and gets the same sort of
treatment from both her husband and her parents.

At the same age I was still living with my parents and paying $575 in
rent along with household chores, babysitting whenever asked. I was
making 6.50 an hour and struggling. I paid all my own bills. Cell
phone (I didn't use my parents phone), food, transportation, other
expenses. When I lost my job in a lay off I pawned the only two very
important possessions I had and was screamed at for doing so by my
parents. But they made it clear I would be kicked out if I didn't pay
my rent.

My life revolved at that point around finding a job, going without and
getting out. I did find a job. I moved out of my parents house and
to Tacoma with the woman I worked graveyard shift at a phone sex
company billing office with. We made 7.50 an hour and supported two
kids, the house, a car. We weren't lovers but told the state we were
so the kids would have medical coverage. When our car broke down we
hustled (and by hustled I mean hustled in the pulled a fast one sense)
to get it running and drove it illegally.

We floated checks, lied occasionally to the landlord etc just to make
sure those kids had food, clothes, good birthdays and Christmas.

As I have done for a long time I did what I had to do.

Including lie, cheat and steal in a sense.

The friend I referred to above threatened to report us to the state
for fraud and I remember being so angry. How could this spoiled
provided for womanchild judge me for just trying to get by? Thus the
friendship ended.

Once upon a time I still had a bright sense of hope. Even when I was
loved and praised by an employer only to get screwed out of my job, a
chance to own a house (that fucked up my entire existence) I thought
that if I just did things right and tried hard enough the big picture,
the future would turn out ok.

I am not an optimist. As I've told Boy Venus I'm simply hard headed.

That's not to say that there haven't been (many) times in my life
where everything bad that can happen did. When I was down and out
enough that the only real option seemed like suicide or laying in the
gutter to die or let whatever happen. There have been times where I
might not have been suicidal consciously but I lived recklessly enough
that it's a miracle that I've made it to 28.

Yes. Yes I've been there. Sometimes I still have half a foot in it.
Sometimes both feet in it.

So then of course the question is why am I still here?

What keeps me going?

I am still here because there is one thing I've held in my heart for
my whole life.

Fuck that.

Fuck (insert Deity/fate/whatever idea here).

Fuck you (God or whomever) if you think you can fuck me up that badly.

Fuck you if you think I can't take it.

Fuck you because I am no body's fucking pawn.

Fuck you because I will not be ground down into nothing.

I am not joyful in this. I am not hopeful in it. I am pissed off. I
am past pissed off. I am enraged.

I will not give into the blackness and the sadness.

Why?

Because I've been through too fucking much. I've lost too many
friends, I've lost too much of what matters to me. Fuck that.

People familiar with bikers, gangsters etc will know the creed.

Fuck the World.

Loco Por Vida.

Thug Life.

Hard core.

(If you don't understand these terms look em up.)

People have asked me how I survived. That's all.

It's not that I've been saved by anyone or anything.

The plain fact is I am balls out crazy.

I'm not out to prove myself to other people. The only persons
standards I have to live up to are my own. The only person that can
save me is me. No man is an island is true, but I am my own fucking
fortress.

I'm not saying it doesn't hurt. I'm not saying I get beat down and
broken. What I'm saying is fuck that. Fuck it.

Say it to yourself. Fuck it.

Even if you don't curse.

Say it.

Fuck it.

Look all the bad shit right in the eye and say fuck you.

I say it because it's the only thing I know. This is the only way I
know how to survive. And no. Sometimes the future and the big
picture aren't right there. I used to feel bad about that. But right
at this minute I don't.

I learned very young that the future doesn't always exist and tomorrow
might not come (add your own cliche here) so I do what I can to
survive the days.

Someday when I'm old and maybe not so crazy I can look back at myself
today and smile. Nod a little and raise my glass.

That is my big hope. Not just for long life but at the midnight of my
existence I want to look back and laugh.

I'm done.

If you made it through all of this congratulate yourself.
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Monday, November 07, 2005

Ok it's Monday. And thus far I've managed to put on a full face of make up on a moving vessel. About trip and fall on my ass and forgot to take my antihistemine before I got a cup of coffee so now I have the swelly scary feeling in my throat.

It's not that I can't or am having a hard time getting breath but, it's still not the greatest feeling ever. It reminds me in a very bad way of having an allergic reaction to a medication as a kid and having my throat about swell shut.

Medivac-Childrens hospital-heart about stopped-yeah bad fucking memory.

Anyhow. In other less childhood trauma type news I've been thinking about my issues around self care. I took a good look at myself in the mirror last night and my outsides are suffering the turmoil of my insides.

My skin looks almost haggard. The stress feels like it's coming out of my pores. So in order to stem the inevitable flow of "I don't give a fuck I have other things I have to take care of." Which translates roughly to I come last.

I've done a few nice things for myself. Including buying myself this lipstain off of ebay that I've been lusting after. I bought new hair, and a wholesale lot (For a dollar!!) of eyeshadows. The ones I don't like I'll probably sell.

I've also been making a conscious effort not to feel so bad when I look in the mirror.

As I get older and more "grown up" I find more and more reasons that self care comes last. There are bills to pay, other people to take care of, work to do and at the end of the day there's (at least it doesn't feel like) not enough left of me to take care of me.

That in and of itself is a complete 360 from how I was even five years ago. I don't know what happened exactly but here I am.

So I'm taking steps and making myself (even when I feel guilty about it) take care of myself. I have to face it. I'm not 20 anymore and I can't just bounce back in a few days.

So yeah.

In other news for those of you who think rottweilers are evil vicious dogs I have to share something from my walk to the ferry this morning.

As I'm walking down the street coming towards me is a lady with a stroller and baby inside, then just behind her a guy with a very big rotty. The "big bad" rotty stopped and refused to walk anymore until she got a good sniff of the baby.

What followed was nothing short of dog/baby CUTENESS. The baby squeals, makes one of those slobbery burbles and gets herself a handfull of doggy ears, the dog snuffed and licked the baby from chin to forehead, baby laughed, Mom laughed, I laughed, guy who's dog it was-was very adorably flustered.

He said:

"I don't know what it is she just loves babies. Everytime we pass babies she has to kiss them."

He blushed. Dog and baby communed as dogs and baby do in slobber and strange noises. Dog was satisfied, everybody had a giggle and went on about their day.

Not all rotties are vicious beasts just as not all humans are vicious beast s.

Some just need a chance, and to get baby slobbered on sometimes.

And Tommie the email address I have for you bounced I think it's broken.

And I'm spent. I'm going to eat my rice pudding and cruise Ebay for more uber deals.

Homo out.
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Friday, November 04, 2005

Notes to self:

Sitting muttering about male genital piercings will get you weird looks from coworkers.

Wow that's fucked up. Is a good compliment from someone who likes fucked up things.

Oh before I forget. The Odin thing.

I had a friend who while trying to describe some boy he'd seen at Goth night at one of the local clubs said,

"He looked like a Viking in Drag."

Then really fast,

"Odin don't smite me kthanks."

I thought it was funny. And it pops into my head from time to time.

On writing: I'm working on something new. It has to do with what some boys will put up with in order to get laid regularly. In this case getting perforated by needles and being expected to learn how to skin a woman on command.

And I'm -still- working on the other thing I started about psychic and the psycho. The middle of the story is really hard, I have no idea what's happening there. I know the end, I had the start. I'm tempted to start myself a new genre. Start-end no filler.

It'll be a revolution.

And as for that Dollbaby.v.2 it can lick my balls. I cannot get it straight. Fuck it, it can die.

The original Doll Baby story however I think I might submit around. That one has an entirely different feel.

And instead of Nanowrimo I think there should be Nanohomo.

As in you sign up and have to be as gay as you possibly can. Which in my case wouldn't be hard since I'm half a fag anyway.

That by the way is my favorite phrase from the book Motherless Brooklyn. An apt moniker for me.

What was I saying?

I got distracted by some violent pornographic thoughts.

Mainly that I haven't written any porno in awhile. mmm gay porn.

Best compliment I've recieved from my porn:

"You write that as if you had a cock."

Priceless.

Ok I'm done. I have things to do.

Homo Out
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Thursday, November 03, 2005

Earlier today I recieved a rejection letter from some magazine I submitted to months ago. And while they "liked the theme" of the poetry I submitted they don't want to publish it.

That is ok.

What is not ok is to send a rejection letter that hasn't been spell checked.

And don't question my use of indentation when you can't spell the word mmkay?

And yes Mike P you dirty bastard, I think I agree with you about Nanowrimo. It's just not happening for me this year.

Last year went reasonably well. I wrote a novelette that's been stuck in my head for ages. I had fun with it. But not so much this year.

In other news I'm still plugging away getting my poetry book together. I think I'm going to go for about 50-80 pages or so. I think I have enough material for that. On second thought maybe I won't make it all poetry. Include some of my other stuff. Rants, other assorted nonsense that might go in well.

And I still want to rewrite that Dollbaby v.2 story. I have an idea to change the ending quite a bit. And I have to get to submitting a few other things here and there.

Not to mention a promised album review, email to a friend and quite possibly a blurb for someones website.

Gods.

Watch me go.

Odin don't smite me kthnks.

(I'll explain the above some other time. Inside joke with a dead friend.)
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Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Ok it's officially fall in Seattle. I walked to the ferry today in steady rain and I'm freezing. My lack of waterproof coat or anything like that was made highly apparant. Yes I know I should carry an umbrella but I have a terrible track record with leaving them on the bus and such.

And I am going to have to start wearing one of my pairs of boots. While my new sneakers are comfy they are not very water resistant and my toes are wet and cold as we speak.

What fun what joy.

I was thinking last night while I was ever so busy not sleeping that I am actually feeling cautiously optimistic. It feels sort of strange actually. There's some little pocket of something in my heart that's just in ther eflickering away.
I'm still overwhelmed with the amount of work there is to do in making Mike and my home together but I think it will be ok.

Baby steps towards the goal.

And I'm spent.

Goodnight Frank.

PS...A Perfect Circle's cover of the Marvin Gaye song 'What's going On' makes me moist.

PPS Anthony you have mail coming soon as I can stop being stupid and can type correctly.
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Thursday, October 27, 2005

I'm sitting here freezing, listening to old soul music. Two dollars at the record store. Two dollars for an hour of nostalgia. Most of this music was made before I was born but, it feels like it was born with me.

The book I was so excited about ordering yesterday is Holler If You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur by Michael Eric Dyson. I got quite the look when I was talking about it with someone here at work. Yes I'm a metal loving head banging chick however I do enjoy Hip hop as well. Always have.

I'm interested in reading this book mainly because I think Tupac Shakur was an interesting person. Very very intelligent, loved books and lived rough. Died rough. I want to read about what made him who he was. And I've read good reviews about the author.

I'm feeling somber today. Partly because I didn't sleep very well (surprise surprise) and partly because that's just how I am. I've got my eyes turned inward as always.

Again it's been an hour that this entry has been sitting.
And I should note here that what's going around in my brain isn't necessarily bad it's just there. I'm unable to articulate it. I don't know why.
No that there is a lie. I do know why I just don't want to talk about it right now.

So yeah.

In other non related news I'm currently looking at dresses because I think I want to go to the company holiday party and I want to dress up. The dress I've been lusting after for goddamn ever is apparantly not available. It never even went on sale. Now I'm going to pout.

I think that's it. I'm not in the mood for journalling right at the moment.
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Monday, October 24, 2005

I think I have a migraine brewing in my skull. Mainly because even though I slept for about an hour and a half last night/this morning I'm feeling all colors of manic. Usually I get this way before a big 'splody type migraine.

If you look here at my scrobbler user page you'll see my latest musical wanderings. If you follow along probably today you'll find the latest Sevendust album is going to go back into heavy rotation today. And/or some Manson, Tool and what I really have a hankering for is some Black Label Society, Soil and I'm seriously wanting some Killswitch Engage. Mmm say it with me...angry negro music.

And if you don't look at any of the other links look at the Killswitch Engage one because I have a serious hard on for The Howard Jones the luscious big brown bald headed man who is the lead singer.

I want to slap his bald head and then maybe see if I can make him scream.

Repeatedly.

Cause yeah...big hottie like that I have a feeling he likes it rough. Even if he doesn't I would bet money I could convince him too.

While we're on the subject of fine black men in metal.



OMFG Can I get an Amen?

A hell yeah?

That is Lajon Witherspoon the lead singer of the band Sevendust.

He is the HOT motherfucking sex.

Ok enough said. He's hot, listen to his music. Enjoy his beauty.

And where was I?

Music, mania, headache right-O. I think I'll stop for right now.

More later possibly. Possibly not I have the attention span of a flea.

Goodnight.

PS...

I have to pee.

And it will be in your shoes.
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It's very early Sunday morning and I'm not asleep. Rather I'm listening to comedy in the background and stewing in my growing discontent.

I'm restless. Squirming inside for some sort of change that I just can't quite touch or get to. There's dissatisfaction boiling in my brain. I'm dissatisfied with the rate of change I'm going at.

As a side note I just heard some stupid bint on television say and I fucking quote, "Europe is the safest country in the world."

Jesus tap dancing Christ.

And this stupid bitch is a millionaire.

And I can barely make ends meet.

What the fuck is wrong with the world?

I had to change the channel.

What was I saying?

Right. Dissatisfied with how effective I've been at changing my life.

For a long time now I've held the assumption that, the only way things will change for me is if I work my ass off to change them. As time has gone by I'm starting to come to the conclusion that is in fact a lie.

I don't think my ideals are too lofty. When I was younger yes. Fifteen years ago I thought by this age I'd be getting a masters degree or doctorate. Perhaps settled down somewhere writing novels by night and teaching or some such during the day. I'd have traveled to many of the places I used to read about in books. I'd have gotten over some of my childhood issues.

Maybe done some political work. Adopted a child or two. If not married at least found myself a few steady lovers. My own home. A car or motorcycle of my own. You get the idea.

I have none of that. I am not college educated. I have no trade. The most valuable thing I own is a computer that is sitting in storage that I can hardly afford.

In the last few years my dreams have come down a few notches.

All I really want out of life right now is to not have to decide between paying the rent late and having groceries. I want to not have to plan three paychecks ahead to spend forty dollars on necessary items. I don't want to have to wear things until they fall apart. I'd like once in awhile to feel the freedom to have the option of going out to dinner or out dancing without going without other things.

I want to get my teeth fixed without going into debt for three years. I want to be out of my six thousand dollar debt that I can only afford to pay a little at a time. I want to maybe in ten years be able to have a house. I want to be able to afford 25 bucks out of each paycheck to start a 401k without being afraid that 50 dollars a month will mean I go without food for a week.

Really at the bottom of it all I just don't want to struggle constantly.

It amazes me really. I'm not a lazy person. I work hard for what I have. It's come to a point that I just don't know what else I can do. My options are limited enough that for the most part I've learned that a lot of my dreams are just out of reach.

And I'm ok with that.

So now the question is what am I going to do?

After we have a King County address I've found a non profit that does career education. I can learn a trade of some sort. At this point I'm not too picky I'll do whatever they have available. As long as I make more money than I am now because another few years of making shit money is going to put me under and I'm afraid I won't be able to dig out.

I don't want pity or charity. Part of me even hates that I'm writing about this because I have a strong aversion to feeling that I'm making a spectacle of myself. I hate to think of the who knows who that might read this and think, 'What a fucking train wreck'. But yeah. Here I am doing it anyway.

Mostly because I don't really have any other outlets for this kind of thing. Especially not at four o'clock in the morning.

Admittedly there's a lot of other stuff going on with me right now but I don't want to talk about it here. Mainly because I'm embarassed and I don't think feeling that vulnerable with it just out there in the big blue nowhere would make me feel any better.

So that's it.

Goodnight.
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Friday, October 21, 2005

These are fragments written on my way home last night. That's all thank you and goodnight.

Bright dawn comes yet relieves no fears.
I want the darkening of this light so that I might remain unseen.
Only another seething shadow amongst shadows.
Simple the shade of a thing gone to secrets.
~
Bring the battle in from the fields.
Return it to my soul.
Create in me the scourging flame.
Give me truth.
Bring the battle to me.
~
Another world that I cannot grasp.
My fingers scrape at a steel wool sky.
Dig until it bleeds.
And still I am no closer to God.
~
Tears.
Sweet elixer.
Unknown-unremembered balm.
Once it was.
Now it is not.
~
My blood is no ample sacrifice.
There is no alchemy inside me.
~
Lost between spaces.
Dislocated spirit. Hear
the sound of tears.
~
All these unshed tears have dried and hardened. Become a salty crust around my tender heart. Chip away the rime of years and still no tears. These eyes are dry and yet I wail. Screams locked behind open opaque eyes. Numb stupid smiling mouth. Gnashed teeth and still no tears.
~
Sometimes I can feel the need to break. Thickness in my throat, eyes swollen as wet sponges. And then I take a breath. I am steel. Still myself until I am cool as marble on the surface and molten rock in my heart.
~
I am afraid to show the red embers beneath the ashes of what I once was.
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Thursday, October 13, 2005

Fuck sake. There is actually a battle going on inside my head right now. Coldebola versus sinusysupersnot. I'm not sure who's winning. All I know is my throat hurts from the constant flow of nastiness, my head is alternately stuffed full or dry as a bone and I'm fucking exhausted.

I am alternately manic and then I'm pooped out. Last night I had a weird few moments. I ate too early I think and while I was waiting for the ferry I had this frisson of 'ughsotiredwannafallout' followed (or maybe caused by) a sugar crash of Twinkie Junkie proportions. I had to buy a semi stale bag of Famous Amos cookies and a cup of cocoa before I felt right. And I still didn't feel right when I got home. Byootiful fed me fried rice and very yummy baked in the can tuna with garlic and lots of lemon pepper.

That was nice but I still didn't sleep really well.

I've had this story idea knocking around in my head for the past few days. And because I'm smart I keep forgetting to bring the blank notepad I have left. Watch me go I'm super smart.

Wow it's hard to be cranky and pissed off listening to Blues Traveler. I was just about to rant about something but I lost it singing along with Blues Traveler.

Note to self: learn to not sing along when your throat is sore you silly bitch.

Where was I? Ranting, sickly, annoyed yes yes and yes.

I lost my train of thought again. Fuck it nevermind. I'm going to work on a submission to a local zine and listen to launch cast until it starts to suck.

Goodnight Frank.
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Wednesday, October 12, 2005

I stopped at Cafe Appasionato (I just fucked that spelling) for a cup of coffee on my way to work today. There's something wonderful and elegant about a good cup of drip coffee. I love espresso but, good drip coffee is an art to me. The cup I purchased had a good scent. Rich and velvety with a hint of sweetness pre-fixings adding. I added half and half and two raw sugars. And the first sip was disappointingly bitter but after a good swirl and stir it mellowed considerably.

Midway through the cup there was a distinct lovely swish of a chocolatey flavor. Pleasantly warm on the tongue without being oversweet. That particular coffee I'd like to have with a croissant and a bit of a nice creamy cheese. I had a madeline cookie with it but the pairing of that and the coffee was a bit too sweet for me.

Overall an excellent cup of coffee for a good price. 1.60$ for a 16 ounce cup.

But I'm sad to report I think I have to go off of the coffee. I've noticed the last few times I've purchased coffee I've had a slight swelling at the back of my throat. Nothing huge that makes it hard to breathe but just enough to be noticeable. It goes away after an antihistimine or a lot of water. I'm not sure if it's the caffiene or the coffee itself. That makes me really sad. I absolutely love coffee. Not just for the jolt but I love the taste of coffee.

However it's only been since I've been sick that I've had it so hopefully it's only more immune system fuckery rather than an actual budding allergy. That would really suck.

I still am feeling sickly. Overtired and very cranky.

I called a snotty elbow throwing yuppie on the ferry princess and told him that he's not the only person getting off the ferry and to watch his elbows and briefcase. As he was trying to wrestle his way up the ramp he about hit a baby in a stroller upside the head with his ugly briefcase.

I'm having one of those days. People depress me. For my melanin challenged friends here's some tips in case you don't already know.

When talking to someone black (like me for instance) do not say anything that resembles the following:

"Oh you speak so well."

Now because most people won't take the time let me explain. When you say something like that it implies that you are expecting ghetto speak, ebonics and/or some other mangling of English and it's fucking offensive. Look at it this way. If you look Slavic and we met and mid conversation I beam at you and say:

"Oh your English is so good."

Now assume in this fictional conversation you are not from Eastern Europe and English is your mother tongue. It'd be offensive and I'd hope it'd piss you off.

Just don't do it.

If you really feel like you must comment say something else. For instance:

"You have a beautiful speaking voice."

Much better.

Other no-no's perhaps specific to me. And yes all of these things have happened to me.

Do not in the middle of what might be a good conversation mention vagina dentata to me and leer. That is not cute. I am not impressed with your knowledge of vaginal lore and you will not get laid.

Do not touch my hair and marvel at how soft it is. Nappy does not equal steel wool. Screw you.

Do not tell me the color of my skin is in any way exotic. It's brown. There are lots of brown people in the world. Piss off.

Just because I'm brown and you're brown doesn't mean I want to talk to you. If I don't look open to conversation don't fucking start one. Headphones+book= Back the fuck up.

Do not think that because I nod in response to a nod that I want to screw you. No I don't kthnks.

I am not impressed by leering from a slow rolling car. I'm not a hooker.

That said. There are ways that will not get you a fuck off and die look.

Tell me I look nice. Thanks.

When I say I have someone be polite.

The best rule:

Don't be a dick.

If you're to be an asshole go eat a dick. It'll shut you up for awhile.

Wow that was long. And I'm spent now. I need some more tea and I think I'm going to finish the other half of my madeline.

Goodnight Frank.

PS...Immune system fuckery fucking sucks.

PPS..I couldn't be arsed to spell check. Suffer the shitty spelling fuckers.
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Friday, October 07, 2005

I'm still sick. And unhappy about it. However, I don't have a fever anymore which is good.

I'm exhausted. What I really want to do is curl up in bed for a few days with a book and doze off when I feel like it.

Beyond that I'm not really in the mood for anything. Whenever I don't feel good I always feel emotionally wibbly and I want to either snap at, stab or otherwise maim people. I am broody and prone to fits of anger of sorts.

So I tend to keep quiet.

And I wrote some poetry:

We are screaming.
Broken ridiculous dreamers.
Fragments of illumination-
shards of light.
Don't give us your sad story
we have enough of our own.
~
Broken Dreamer- Don't scream
We see you in your solitary confinements.
Don't Scream - Broken Dreamer
We will know you in your absurd decay.
~

I am tired of
you and your absurd dreamings.
Sleep now in silence.

Take me inside. Deep
beneath your reckless waking.
Know quiet once more.

Why can't you see me?
I stand naked in your eyes.
Don't see. Please see me.
~

That's it.

Haikus at the bottom. Call them the nameless drivel of a sick cranky little beasty.

Goodnight Frank

PS...Stop looking at my boobs.
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Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I'm sick. Haven't felt right since Sunday ish and yesterday I actually called in sick to work. (I know I know how your applause).

So today while I am feeling marginally better I'm so cranky I just want to kick almost everyone I see who isn't sick. Go figure.

Listening to Beethoven radio is helping. As is the giant cup of mint tea I just got at Tully's.

Nothing much else new at present. I forgot about this entry entirely for about an hour. Just goes to show you how easily I can be distracted. For the record I was reading the Ny Times book section.

I am entirely catastrophed out. So I avoid the news. I can't take any more death and destruction just now. I'm more than over saturated and I've had enough.

Enough Doom Grandma I have to poop.

Ok I think I'm done I can't concentrate on this right now. And I'm probably gonna be incommunicado for a couple of days until I can think straight without my train of thought going to wanting to stab someone.

Goodnight Frank.

PS...I want a taco.
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Monday, October 03, 2005

Now for the current.

Actually after getting some sleep and rereading the story linked below I don't really like it.

I'm also having one of those days where trying to write to fit a genre just isn't working for me. I'm not sure about other authors but sometimes I find it amazingly difficult to keep myself within certain parameters when writing.

For instance the story I was just talking about. On reading some of the other Bizarro I don't think my story particularly fits. I have trouble with that. It's a good part of the reason I don't submit a hell of a lot more because I'm really tired of hearing things like, "good story but just doesn't fit with us".

I'm not exactly sure what-if anything to do about it.

Certainly there's things in my writing I'm struggling with that are way more major than trying to fit in. My shitty grammar to start with being the big one. But this genre thing has been stuck in my craw for quite awhile. Fucksake. Sometimes I get on my own damn nerves with this circular mastubatory thought.

Doesn't help I feel sick and that makes me testy and cranky.

Ok I'm done.
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I forgot to post this the other day and figured I should so the follow up will make some kind of sense.

The story for the Bizarro contest is finished and posted here.
For the delectation of whomever. I'm actually pretty pleased with
that one. It's a different take on having a doll as the central
thing of uh..focus.



A few of my friends who read it (half of which I believe to be pure
flattery) said they were alternately amused and repulsed. Sweet
talk me, I like it.



It's a little longer than I'd initially wanted but that's ok.



I"m feeling pretty prolific. Now if I could get myself to doing
some serious editing I'd be further on my way towards getting back into
the music of writing the way I like.



I'm a little cranky, I was outbid almost simultaneously (I did not
spell that right) on a pair of shoes and on a laptop. That makes
me cranky and annoyed.



I think I'm going to start a little something new. I've got some sort of other thing brewing in my head.



Earlier today I was thinking about part of my reticence about sending
off submissions. I think a lot of it has to do with most of my
writing isn't easily categorized. It doesn't fit neatly into
whatever genre I think I might be writing for.



Wow I totally forgot about this so nevermind about the rest.
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Friday, September 30, 2005

This is the best description of me EVER:

They don't know the true You...the 5 feet of wrathful spite, wrapped up in cute and boobage that wants nothing more then to fuck Your ocular socket with a 20 inch jelly dildo.


I fucking love my friends.

I'm going home I'm fucking tired.
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Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Silly quizzes bitches.

I am Charles Manson.
Which Evil Criminal are You?
A Rum and Monkey crime.

Angry Drunk
What Kind of Drunk Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

A repressed gay blockbuster star. Don't get many of those these days, do we, Tom?
Which Famous Homosexual Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
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Since I keep crashing my Outlook while trying to clean it out I'm going to stop doing that now.

In a fit of adventure seeking I just got a different coffee drink from what I usually get. I got something called a caramel machiatto. Yeah no. It's a fucking vanilla latte with a spritz of caramel on top.=20 Fuck that.

I'll stick to my vente americano with half and half and two sugars thank you. If I want to get fancy instead of sugar I get a spritz of vanilla or almond syrup.

For the last few months I've taken to reading the NYTimes online and as I was reading in the arts section the other day I had an attack of 'what the FUCK is going on here?' Apparently Oprah is backing a Broadway rendition of "The Color Purple".

Granted I'm not a huge Broadway buff but, the trend in the past few years has been over the top type comedy. 'Hairspray' 'Spamalot' etc.=20 The Color Purple is serious subject matter. I find it disturbing to see it turned into an all singing all dancing thing.

I don't know what it is but, it just bugs the hell out of me. Leave it alo ne.

I feel the same way when books are turned into movies for the most part. 'American Psycho' is a very good example.

The book is a terrible mix of violence, sex, greed and a good indictment of the society it takes place in. 1980's corporate America. However for all of it's startling violence it's a beautifully written book. The violence and sex is interspersed with moments of lucidity and in depth musical reviews. One of my favorite books.

The movie was ok. They had the ubiquitous ratings battle (more over the amount of sex rather than the violence- Go America) but, it didn't really capture the book to me. The film did not leave me with the same 'What the FUCK just happened?' feeling that the book did.

I resist seeing the movie versions of books I've already read. And tend to be disappointed when I see the read the books movies are based on. There's a richness in the written word that movies fail again and again to find and keep in my mind.

That's probably why I'm more into books than I am movies.

I had a different point to this entry but it's gone now.

Maybe more later. I have training to do and some crappy coffee to finish.

Goodnight Sally.
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Tuesday, September 27, 2005

So yeah I'm feeling better today. Despite my lack of sleep. Maybe the walks are helping.

In other news.

I've been thinking a lot about culture (as in my own personal culture as opposed to the culture of where I live etc. Small culture not Big Culture) and I'm realizing that as I get older I'm finding it more difficult to really want to make the effort to seek out like minds.

My thoughts come mostly from the fact that I think I've developed too high hopes for some of my fellow humans.

I have to remind myself constantly that no Virgina not everyone wants to flex the big brain as frequently as I like to. And sometimes I just feel let down. Partially it's because I've had some damn good friends and cohorts in my life.

My few close friends have in common that we can talk about things and really talk about them. It's not just, 'Oh yeah that was cool.' and the conversational equivalent of a circle jerk. I'm fairly positive if someone read some of my im conversations and emails with people they'd be mystified by all the pissing references interlaced with talk about books mythology and whatever else.

I crave that kind of contact. I crave people I can talk about art and culture with, without the blank look or worse yet having it glossed over. I crave people who understand when I'm indignant that (insert book/song/etc here) has in my mind been tainted by (insert thing here).

I crave people who'll say to me, 'what the fuck are you talking about that (book/song/band) is fabulous.' I get tired of head nodding, and bumhole kissing.

Most of my frustration is online since I spend 8 hours a day in front of a computer. I get enamoured of a community and either I lurk so I don't ruin it for myself or I just stop going because I get disappointed.

I'm not the sort of person who'll sit and bitch and piss and moan that someone else's community sucks. If I don't think I can make it better in a constructive sense I'm going to keep my trap shut. Unless someone asks me then yes I'll give my two cents but generally I am not one to piss on someone Else's parade.



I don't know what my point is exactly. Aside from I feel the need to blabb er.

I suppose I'm just a little itchy. Restless inside. I have this want to do something but nothing I come up with seems to feel satisfactory. Or it costs more money than I have. Hopefully someday I will figure out how to sate this restless hunger I have. Maybe that'll keep me occupied enough that I'm not sitting staring disconsolately at my computer screen and craving something I can't even name.

So yeah.

I'm going to go smoke and read some poetry.

Goodnight Sally..

PS...the tag in my jeans is making my butt crack itch and I should've worn underwear. And ignore the misspellings I test drove gmail's spell check and it's weird.
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Monday, September 26, 2005

I'm feeling a little random anger. Not sure why. It's just kind of there. It's a little grief over knowing now that I'll not see Liz again anytime soon and just general 'what the fuck am I doing?' sort of angst.

Some of it comes from this physical feeling of ugh. The fact that the cheap mary jane's I bought at Rite Aid are every bit as comfortable as their 7 dollar price tag would infer. No one to blame that on but me. I know for a fact I'm causing half of my own discomfort.

How's that you might ask? Glad you did here's what I'm doing.

There are some things I am in desperate need of.

My Kmart Kicks have gotten worn to the point of being uncomfortable. Granted they are 12 dollar sneakers, and I've had them for upwards of 4 years with a lot of wear and they've done well.

I need at least one pair of decent pants that fit properly. I have 2 pairs of jeans neither of which fit right or are very flattering. I have 1 pair of fuzzy-ish lounge pants and a pair of worn yoga pants.

I need one or two good bras. The one I'm wearing the wire pops out and one of the hooks is broken. I have 1 other one I've had for years and years and it's just tired, and the other one I got I have no idea when doesn't fit quite right. The cut is very uncomfortable and makes my boobs hurt after a day of wearing.

Here's my issue with all of this. For those things. I'm looking at around 150 dollars or so for quality things. Or I could go back to Kmart or Payless shoes, back to Walmart for a pair of ugly pants.

Or the other popular option I could stop thinking about it and use that 150 to pay a couple of bills. Or buy groceries. That is probably what I'll do to tell the truth.

Ok I really hate talking about this. I feel a nasty gut ruining mix of guilt, stupidity and shame. I'm ashamed because for whatever reason I've just not been able to dig myself out of the rut I call my life. I hate that I don't have the (insert whatever here) to pull myself up by the bootstraps as they say.

Yes I've been able to keep my head above water but barely. Yes, considering my situation and income level I've done mostly ok. But it's just not enough.

I shouldn't be coming back to decisions like this again and again.

I hate that my friends get so sad about my life.

I know that I clam up and don't tell anybody anything. I hate it. But I can't always make myself be open. I've been asked why and it's everything. I hate that look, tone etc that people get when I know I'm hurting them in some way and there's nothing any of us can do about it. It's because I'm embarassed that I've not done better for myself. I'm embarassed because fuck up after fuck up I'm still right here where I've been all along.

I might not post this.

I will, I changed my mind. Most people who know me that read this probably know all of this already.

It's hard for me to even write about it anymore. I get so frustrated that even journalling becomes an exercise in some stupid shame cycle I've put myself in.

I can't blame my parents and I can't blame anyone else. I do this to myself. I'm trying not to. I'm trying to know the line between doing right, and doing right by myself but it's hard. I'm struggling trying to find the middle road and find something/someway to work it out.

So there you have it. The drama of the day.

I hate feeling like that girl. Always some issue, always something to bitch about.

It's days like this I don't want to have the need to write in any journal. I feel like I should keep it to myself.

Goodnight Sally

PS...ignore my whining. Kthnks.
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Thursday, September 22, 2005

When I checked my old email address today (one I've kept mostly for old contacts, long lost friends etc) I found an email telling me an old friend of mine passed away last month.

How to start. I met her and her wife when I was 20 and had just started dating the evil ex gf. Daddy Liz and her wife. One stone butch lesbian (who I fell ass over tea kettle in instant lust/awe with) and her beautiful sweet hippy wife. They were both 40 and older than my Mom but to say I would've crawled on the floor to lick the soles of eithers feet is an understatement.

At the time they were the kind of lesbians I wanted to grow up and be.

Though my ex knew them both before I did I got very close to Daddy Liz. I lusted after her, flirted with her, made her laugh, made her cry once. She adopted me in a way and taught me things that have in the years between then and now solidified my comfort in my queer identity in a way that nobody else had been able to do.

Daddy Liz was the first person to talk to me about being gender queer. She was the first to acknowledge and understand my own inner butch/femme/dyke/fag/straightish girl self. She helped me understand that regardless of what who says whatever I feel inside I am, that's what I am. Fuck the dumb shit.

She didn't laugh when I wanted to be a hot femme packing a big dick. She never once told me that it wasn't the type of behaviour lesbians engage in. She understood my (then) new understanding of and enjoyment of power struggles and exchange. She taught me how to wear a strap on without chafing. She took me on my first long motorcycle ride. She hugged me and treated me like one of the bois when I needed it. She smacked me around a little and I liked it. She praised and adored just how femme I can be. Laughed when I refused to wash dishes after a party because I'd just had a manicure.

Daddy Liz held me and rocked me when the evil ex dumped me. She let me lay on her floor drunk for 3 days wailing and howling with her dog until I could get up. She didn't laugh when her hippie wife took me along on one of her hippy gatherings and I ran around naked with the flower children and their children.

She had one of her younger studly butch friends court me in a delicate and genteel way when I was hurt and pissed off. She yelled at me when I did stupid things. Spanked me on her 41st birthday. Let me give her a pedicure. Cried when I sat her down in her backyard and spent three hours professing my undying love and respect for her.

In the years since I've thought of her often. Remembered the value of knowing someone who helped me discover, understand and embrace the whole of my sexuality and who I am.

Her wife told me she'd been ill for some time and neither had been able to remember my last name or anything. It wasn't until her brother had gone through Daddy Liz's computer and found some very old emails from me that they decided to take a chance. She said Daddy Liz passed quietly and with her dignity intact. Her wife is going to take their life savings (they were together for over 20 years poly gay and happy) and move to Italy with her sister.

She said they still had the photo of Daddy Liz and I on her Harley. Filthy and exhausted from the trip down the Oregon coast and back. She said if she could find it she'd send it to me. I told her she didn't have to. That I have that picture and all the rest tucked safely in my heart.

Goodbye Daddy Liz.
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