 |
| you can't see them with the naked eye, but everywhere, rainbows onto my head, onto where I offered tobacco to the water, up my butt - and I will take it allllll (taking) #vortex |
.jpeg) |
| you are to stand in the feet and look up at Jesus seeing you |
 |
| Him: 😳 Me: Arizona, yessss Him: 😳 Me: 🤨 |
 |
| chapel vortex (feminine) ft turtle face |
.heic)
 |
| #throwback |
 |
| the boots |
move like jagger - maroon 5 watch and learn, I won't show you twice
Her choice for the last song she listened to on her deathbed. That's who I come from.
Me: yeup
Ears: 😳
Me: it is somethin' to see him again
Ears: he looks ... 🤔
Me: like something cuddly wearing a nazi disguise?
Ears: is he okay?
Me: good question - my guess is he would angrily respond to the suggestion that he might not be, but 🤷🏻♀️
Ears: you have a lot of practice being scary af when you're not okay
Me: I'm doing it right now
Ears: so we might be projecting
Me: we might be
Us: (looking at the photo again)
Ears: I can't square the cute socks with the nazi vibe
Me: hahaha ya and if that's supposed to be a Hitler mustache, um
Ears: that's 1970s porn stache
Me: I love it 🤭 - except "maybe I'll put you in a mass grave face ft I give great face rides ft toasty toes", I can't quite land the plane
Ears: what happened to him?
Me: life
Ears: when did he send that?
Me: around 1-2 a.m. from a hotel somewhere full of hockey women in a lobby 🤷🏻♀️
Ears: what does he want? I don't mean that in bad way, just (?)
Me: again I'm just guessing, but maybe a really really good laugh (?)
Ears: you are really funny ❤️
Me: ❤️
Welp (so many of my thoughts start with "welp" lately - siiiiiiiigh), can't keep mulling the nazi duckling for a spell, I am about to have to save my own ass some more.
Nebraska lands within hours to fetch me for Phoenix, and to prime that pump I laid out a few hours worth of painfully honest shit that turned him into a sobbing mess, a rocky 'can we cut the crap?' start/end.
Some things are deal breakers with me. Not being able to stop pretending everything is fine/whatever is near the top of the list. I get it, everyone wants to live happily ever after, but acting like you are doing so when I am VERY CLEARLY NOT LIVING HAPPILY EVER AFTER RIGHT NOW is intolerable.
Gaslighting me. Deal breaker.
For happily ever after to be real, you have to be real. DUH. If you were trained to be inauthentic, I dunno what to tell ya, figure out how to fix your shit like a grown ass man.
I will not perform (fake) anything for anyone for any reason any more. No phase! And while he has a keeptryingdobetter somethingsomething meltdown, I gotta work.
I have so much expertise running rooms of 100+ people while looking scary while I am not okay while at least one man is driving me fucking crazy, I should start a consulting business: how not to be full of shit in front of people who are judging you while in a man's world while your own world comes apart. I can do that backwards and in high heels (boots).
How come it seems so challenging for others to keep it real just sitting in their own living rooms?
People confuse me.
Siiiiigh.
I intend to come back with a visiting professorship appointment. I intend to get financially independent, regardless. I intend to sell this house in the spring (assessed today) and buy myself a smaller one on a park. I intend to hold steady. I am going to kick this fucking life-mess of mine in the twat like a grown ass woman.
protection - colin james (ft lucinda) for me, LOUD in my truck ❤️
Feelings are just one of the many ways the mind processes information. This day before the Venus change recalls how each person inhabits a unique experience of the world. We all feel things differently. There is no feeling more correct than another. Likewise, it is impossible for a feeling to be wrong. Your feelings, whatever they may be, are acceptable — so accept them.
🤔 I'm gonna hold off on deciding the song for that ...
heaven made the darkness - ruston kelly
I'd had a very long and, for me, good day. I cleaned, I walked several miles, I met with my grad student and landed that like I'm made for it, I listened to a friend closely and gave her what I think might help her. I shit you not, a little girl rode by us on her bike bare legged, no shoes, "All summer she rides her bike naked" says my friend. All of that was using my powers for good, good for myself and good for anyone else I touched.
I'm thinking at him the whole time. I am writing, in other words. To him or about him. All the things I did were a way of writing. House clean bills paid everyone getting what they need and nothing they don't from me - I don't know why this feels important - but I can just sense that it is. Or that it is a reply of some kind from him. Salt of earth.
Then there he is. A few words like bubbles to the surface. He comes up for air, then goes under again. This is his current pattern. Like a mammal in choppy sea.
I can't help myself, I honestly can't because I don't know how I'm doing it, but it feels to me like I can actually feel him. Those little strings, landing all over him, like a physical exam by tendril. And he doesn't feel entirely well to me. I know what he says about eating my pussy or whatever, but it feels like the last thing in the world he needs more of is a woman. (Not this woman, anyway.)
I'm not wonderfully well, let's face it. I'm seething. And starving. So I'm trying to be very careful. Deliberate.
He was married the last time I made him miserable. He said she made him unhappy. But. I was also starving. I didn't give the slightest shit about that little wife once I got a taste of him, in fact I was offended she existed. The relationship I had with that man's body was religious. In my mind, it was just obviously right. He had come out of nowhere, dropped out of the fucking sky knowing me already as if paying attention, and wanted me as-is, as known. And I knew him too, had been reading his inner monologues for years, a fixture in my peripheral vision that I had gotten used to. It was, I believed, actual magic. I absolutely believed that I was going to fuck him as a constant fact of how the Universe intended things to be. It might even solve climate change!, righting the world itself. We had figured it out, how to be Wrong together made a Right. I mean, I had us bound for life with witchcraft for christ sake. I can see the humor kinda now (slap stick always slays me lol 🤦🏻♀️).
But it is also true that I'm not less dangerous than I was then. I've grown more confident. More powerful. I've been in this body longer. If I felt that about anyone again, I would be even bolder. And I am not in a good place. Fed up as I am utterly 🔥
But 🔥 is not a risk between us, I do not believe. It feels more like he needs a bowl of soup. No (closing my eyes)...needs something sweet. He is 🤔 bitter? (Close my eyes, focus on taste).
Bile.
Why? He is leaving her, but bitter bile comes from being left. Abandonment fills you up brackish. You drown in it. It's a very painful way for a selfhood to die.
I just sit a while, smoke a joint, sink into my own body. Go over myself with the tendrils, use myself as a mirror, how it is reacting tells me something about what it is reacting to.
I don't think I believe him; I don't think he wants to get near me actually. Of course, I can't know, I am having a telepathic exchange with a sea mammal caught in a south Buffalo haboob of some kind. But. If he's getting divorced because he had an affair, he isn't telling me that part / it didn't go well / there is a missing cause for this bile. He's in there, I do feel him in there, but it's underneath something else, a shell of 🤔. I dunno. Entrapment is the word that comes to mind.
Ok, welp, with the information I have, I am tentatively concluding: Something is making him feel mean, has maybe made him mean; he doesn't want to be mean to me. Maybe he thought he did, but when it came down to it, no. Using me is not going to make him feel better.
I'm not people. I've never been people. For all my many faults and shortcomings, I am not that.
I wish it were true that the forces of darkness are lined up in opposition to the forces of light. Life would be so much easier for you. But I'm afraid it's not that simple and clear. In my view, a more accurate metaphor might be that the energies of smokey grey are squaring off with the energies of dusky beige. Each side has a touch of both wrongness and rightness, a bit of ugliness and beauty. So what is the most honorable role you can play in this showdown? My suggestion is to develop a third side, an alternate way.
Theory: Not being "in love" back makes people shitty. They can sense you want to mean it. That breaks them into multiple shitty personalities disorder. Just making you say on command over and over I love you too like a "speak!" trick, it's fucked up.
Case study: (gray) beard v beige (heart)
At Como Park, chasing kids, the place filled with men, dispatched there with children to get out from under women's feet. As the only woman there, pretty soon I'm watching all the kids - the little boys are insanely going up all slides and making girls complain about mud on their skirts, toddlers of every kind are accidentally almost killing themselves variously, girls have quickly clumped and exchanged names and are whispering plots, my little psycho is patting and talking to a tree by herself dangerously near a treeline into which I know she will disappear if given a moment's chance (as I would).
The men are all looking at their smart watches. I am texting my daughter but have my hands full, so I switch to voice and loud enough for all these men to hear me, I say (truthfully) "I am so sick of every damn thing, I'd go with with the first lumberjack who carried me off." I feel them all hear me, smartwatch guys freeze like prey. I read my daughter's response, a woodsy quiet type would be right up your alley, but are there any of those? I say out loud, laughing with purposeful volume, "good point, where have all the cowboys gone?!"
Men are everywhere, they'll send you dick pics just like "p.s." I assume if I had a penis, I'd maybe want to show it to everyone (?) (I'm not the judgey type). It is irritating, though, how everywhere men are, but try getting into one. I've long suspected authenticity is trained out of them. Trained to think/be one thing and do/say something else. To go down the slide properly and shut up about it.
I want to march up a slide, stepping over the offending boys and complaining girls, then turn around and slide down, getting all my own mud on my own ass. THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT YA LITTLE SHITS. (My urge is always to teach).
In the distance is a dog park, my people! (The dogs, I mean.) "I'm going on that naked bike ride later, so I'm taking it easy right now", I say loudly at my phone. There is no naked bike ride, I'm just idly daring anyone to have the balls to ask where to find it. A little boy stops in his tracks, "Do you ride your bike NAKED?" It might be a little cold for that today actually, what do you think? "I would!"
His father calls him back, says "sorry" in my direction. I look the man over from under my hair, I can see the outline of his dick through his tracks pants and I like the peppery stubble. He stands up straighter. I close my eyes a moment and pull it up my spine, this power that you left me with. I open my eyes and throw it at the man, like silly string made of plastic intention. He starts to walk towards me. I don't smile, I don't look directly at him, I just roll up the strings, my spine like an anchor spool on a boat winding in. "Cmon, lunch!" A woman's voice. He stops. Now I lock eyes with him. His son runs past towards his mother, "I like you!" he calls to me as goodbye. I cut the silly strings (NO ✂️) and go back to watching kids play. His father follows the boy to his wife, I presume.
See how easy this is? But it doesn't work. Even if the man responds, even if he is a fan of cunnilingus and his dick works 👍, even if everything works it still doesn't work. My magic works on them, but theirs does not work on me. If I really really try, if I let the man get close enough, then technically executed orgasms may be had, good for my pelvic floor. I even let a man get an engagement ring onto my hand in exchange. But I just make that man (all men somehow?) miserable.
This process makes me feel guilty, inevitably. I'll create a need inside someone that cannot be met, and I will let him and everyone down (again). If I can't (don't want to = cannot) explore each molecule with my tongue until all his life force has gathered and is responding to my witchy sexthew, it's just a body. And my body knows that, responds like my stomach does to wax fruit.
Nebraska will be here again soon; I will always be like this. It feels increasingly untenable to me as an oft-repeated combination of facts. I can build up some love type care, I can act loving, I can do loving things, my behavior toward him can be respectable. I can be faithful (in deed), dutiful, supportive. I could even marry him and make him very happy for a minute, until it inevitably turned him into some kind of asshole and I would want offleash from that.
So. I am guilty of all this. But I am also fed up with feeling guilty. I mean, ya think I like this? No. Barking "I love you toos" on command (I will not anymore, No). Not to mention all the yessing I've had to cough up at work (also not doing that anymore, No 🖕). Surrounded by constraining behavior demands in every direction like I'm a failing-to-be-domesticated-enough animal. Brimming with love that I cannot feel except for my kids. And the kids cannot take from me the other brimming(s) I am/have, obviously. Nobody can.
So, what is the "honorable third alternative"? Even if I knew, which I do not, the words would probably get stuck in my throat like chicken bones.
My daughter observed that Nebraska "does not seem to know you very well, even still". That really struck a nerve and stuck, cz I realized: I have done that. I have loved a LOT but/while not understanding my mate very well. And now I know how that feels.
Not being understood = my needs do not get met. And that feels a whole bunch of confusing kinds of shitty. Because they looove you, so you're the "bad" one for not being enough.
I just mean I've fucked that up before, too.
Ideally, on a long enough time horizon, exlovers become friends so that they might gain insight(s) about themselves with someone who knows them well and now that there's no reason to be full of shit with each other. (And they may still get each other's jokes, humor being vital and scarce 🙏)....
"What a night", he says, processing the space between how fucking cool the tech specs of the body are and how fragile its soul. Confusing me with the cath particulars, looking for the best metaphor for THE thing: the potential inability to save/protect what is most precious and the complexity of what/who that altogether is. Picking up there, where we left off. Leave off, repeatedly. Unable to include one another as precious enough.
So, let's amend the 'exlovers are valuable friend resources' opinion piece. I am still PRO that but include the following guideline: don't fuck each other. Especially if you've already tried that every which way - as forbidden love true love spiritual practice make up lust big spoon little spoon post-apocalypse casual passion apology compulsion ecstatic learning curve - especially if the casual category failed the most miserably ft sex too good for that.
love somebody - post malone and morgan wallen
 |
| chemistry probably unavoidable, possibly quite enjoyable, and feeling fuckable is great - but I'm going through a NO PHASE |
Boy poison - a boy's kisses were like a poison, which infected you and after you were exposed you craved more, like an addict.
Susan Minot, Rapture
Two of the world's most famous paintings are the Mona Lisa<>/i> and The Last Supper. Both were made by Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519), one of the world's most famous painters. Yet the brilliant artist left us with only 24 paintings in total, many of which were unfinished. Why? Here are two of several reasons: He worked slowly and procrastinated constantly. In the coming months, Virgo, I feel you will have resemblances to the version of da Vinci who created The Last Supper and the Mona Lisa. Some of your best, most enduring work will bloom. You will be at the peak of your unique powers. Halloween costume suggestion: Leonardo da Vinci or some great maestro.
Virgos always have horseshit horoscopes. They even leave the typos, like we're gonna clean it up ourselves. Maestro my ass, I'm going as neurotic, i.e. I seem to give a person pause 🐾 enough just as my own little self.
I hope we get to come back - jadea kelly from the reincarnation aspiration playlist |
| my tarot card advised me to be patient today |
Tonight, you can die a little and lend a little life to the dead so you can touch each other, like finger tips on glass.
How do you serve the sacrifices and suffering that all your dead took on to BE, incarnate and then dying then dead, so you can be here right now? They all had to go through this life, then be dead on top of it all. I wish they could help me sometimes. I talk to my grandma, ask her to help me hold it together when shit gets so rough. But they've already done so much. I want my dead to rest. Or listen to music. However joy looks once you're finally done, I pray for them to have it. I rolled them a joint.
I want them to know it is appreciated, all their living and dying. And that I'm sorry I'm not better, more, worth all that.
I'm sorry - Ziggy Alberts (acoustic)
.heic)
