Dear boyfriends ex wife

If you are going to read my blog and make snide remarks in emails about me, of which you have absolutely NO CLUE, why don't you just man up and talk to my face? Is it fear that I am right, and you are simply a spiteful, grumpy person.

Would that all women could spread open for a million dollor boyfriend's inheritance and drive brand new cars and live in brand new houses.

Sorry, I know I don't have as much as you do, but I EARNED everything I do have on my own terms, and I OWE NO DEBTS except to my children and GOD.

That being said, I will repeat what I stated in my email:

I hope that the spite and hatred and snottiness in your heart and spirit is lessened by the hand of God.

You are so blessed, and yet so full of hatred.

Be Blessed woman, and be glad for your blessings!

Kissed Ogre and Wept Willow --Poem

Kissed Ogre and Wept Willow

Willow, breathes cold across pale crypts

--Be, witches consume and become

--The moment; Scars the bruised cheek.

Ice and blue, blacker the eclipse

--Dragons wedding gifts for the bride

--Lithe and silent; Shield reticent

Epitome, grace from evil slips

--Slow skulls crushed by booted heels

--Raise and hold; Blades cast high and bold

Sword thrust, ghostly the ghoul's gore drips

--Nightingale has her soothsayer, too

--Trampled pace; Curse comes dawn's embrace

Breath comes, steel marble skin to strips

--Kissed Ogre and wept Willow

--Swept bare floors; Opened empty doors

Hearts tempted, loves not the wood thrips

--Nymph lust shared with consequence

--Beats the heart; A slow rhyming tart

Tongue fell, between sheeted lips

--The Ogre cries for his child bride

--Willow went far; Came morning star.

A Seperate Kind of Paradise -- Poem

A Seperate Kind of Paradise

Trapped somehow, deeper than you could imagine,

inside of myself I wait, when there is everything

except the now expected of me.

I could be that one thing separating

The earth from the sky

Or the last person to stand alone on the edge

Before the world falls into itself

And devours what has not been stolen

But I would rather be with you

In our own paradise, separate, perfect, pure.

Where less of the world comes banging on the door

And more of us is all that is left.

Here I am trapped within you, and am more than

That which I once was alone.

Does the sun sing when she kisses the moon?

I sing when your hand

Brushes slightly against mine

Even now, after so long, I still breathe you,

And feel you

Because you are more inside of me, everyday.

So Loves the Marquis

Here is a nice, dark, violent sex poem. No, its not outright whorish, but it comes fairly close.

Below the cinnamon tree

Knights with charms and bells

All the sounds of little hells

Silent waits ever so patiently

A scent, the wild sweet pea

Foul, that sex and evil swells

Rise, into those darker spells

Whips, so loves the marquis

The rack is sex tightly spread

A burnt butterfly sparks a grin

Ballerina’s are grace in a spin

Sweetness bleeds cherry red

Like so, the kiss of the dead

Snaps, frozen and broken skin

Dawn, down caresses the sin

Love, where it should behead

Below the grassy green earth

Footfalls against the red snow

Comes from dungeons below

A warming of the cold hearth

Like so, belts the pain’s worth

Flails, an addiction to her woe

Slits, pierces and rents the blow

Dusk, glimmers with his mirth.

And with that help came hope....

As many of my readers know, I am a hopeful person plagued by bad luck and the occasional depression. This last month had been particularily hard on my family and I. There have been those times where I just wanted to give up. Let it all go. Throw my hands up in the air and say SCREW IT. Of course, you already know that if you read my other posts.

Point being, I did not give up. I just don’t have it in me to give up. I’m a stubborn Irish girl. I was raised to be stubborn, I will always be stubborn. That’s just me.

And thank goodness I have that stubborn streak, because without it I would have failed long ago. Thank God for my on-line friends and my IRL family who have held me up when I would have given up. You are all a blessing.

Today, amidst all this chaos and depression and generally awful things going on in my life, I received another blessing. It was in the form of monetary help. This came as a surprise to me, though I had prayed for the help and should not really have been surprised because of our level of need. God provides, and sometimes He does so through an encouraging word from a friend (LMA and Michelle!). Other times He does so through a defining moment in your life. And other times He provides through His vessels on earth.

I know not all my readers are Christian, and I love you all the more for it because that is what Jesus says I should do. Regardless of your religious affinity or lack of, it can not be denied that I needed help and hope and it was given to me. I just had to be patient in my soul and in my faith.

What is the point of all this? Well the point is that I have never kept the dark parts of my soul a secret. I have never been anything other than what I am. I have never tried to fit into any predefined definition of what a Christian should be, I have only sought to hear the voice of God as the words of His son, Jesus. In doing so, I have learned that we must be patient. Help and hope will come, but only if you submit to the faith that there is a greater life than this, a greater purpose and a greater need. I do not attend church. I hate large groups of people, they make me nervous. I am socially inept. I get terrible anxiety in large groups of people (especially grocery shopping, I hate that.) Even though I have never attended the church, they came to help me. They did not have to do this. There was no reason for them to help me, as I am not an attending member of the congregation. Yet they came anyways.

And with that help came hope for a better future amid all the bleakness I often feel invading my spirit.

And you can’t put a price tag on hope.

Into The Land Of Never-Been

Hi, I am not going to be able to post a whole lot this week. I got some real work to do! Yay for the Internet, it makes it so very easy to have a semi-decent job from home. Not rich yet, but I'm happy with being content.

The first thing I have to do here is warn you. This is a random story. It has no depth, meaning, and the plot line is shaky. It is words strung together one night after cleaning my kitchen. I'm serious, so don't laugh. I know, see, you are laughing. Anyways, if there was a point to this, it is that people who have a tendancy towards overactive imaginations should not be cleaning thier kitchen at 4 am after a few glasses of wine, and more over, those people should not write about it. But I rather enjoyed it when I was sober and rested the next day, so mayhap you will too. I am not expecting a crituque because it is long, but if you want to, go for it, you cute cherry pie you.

So, I am going to leave you all with this wierd little tale I wrote a long time back. I know some of my endearing fans have read this and commented on it.

Before you read, be warned....some of the comments I have recieved were: "What the ---- is this lunacy?????? Second, have you ever even thought of publishing this piece of infectious brain-damaging hilarity? And where on earth would you send it? (Somebody needs to publish it, that's for sure.)" and fellow blogger LMA at http://littlemissattitude.blogspot.com/ said: "That is the most bizarre thing I've read in a good long while. And I mean that in an entirely complimentary way."

So my darlings, sit back and prepare to be wierded out.

Into The Land Of Never-Been

The Electric Chocolate was very tired today, having been thrust from one silver explosion to the next, his flimsy candy coated exterior cracking beneath the pressure. But he held, for creatures such as he always hold, though what they hold on to is a serious matter of debate. In fact, the Dead Virgin society was already debating this fact, even as Electric Chocolate filtered into the Home for Wayward Candies to refill his depleting energy source. It was getting tougher and tougher to find AA and AAA these days, since the Coalition for Non-Production ceased making batteries in favor of easier and more renewable energy sources, such as deer souls and ionic power.

All this, of course, was on Electric Chocolate's mind as he plunged hard through the soaking wet SeaTac Airport, where he would pay the Toll for a trek the hell out of here. He had just enough saved up, just enough to get one last battery powered refill and find his way to a place where old men could go and die peacefully.

"Peace?" The Obligatory Short Character said, filling in the summarily boring void. "There can be no Peace."

"Well of course their can be, Obligatory Character. There can always be Peace, but some, like my battery powered Electric Chocolate friend here, prefer Piece." Pie retorted with a wry grin, her soft arm entwined with Piece's.

Piece of course was what Electric Chocolate was after, but she would have none of him, none at all.

"If I pay thee not in gold?" Electric Chocolate had asked, his face wet with tears of the city.

"Then ye pay me not at all." Piece had retorted, laughing all the while in her lilting fairy-kin voice.

"So be it, Choco. I take credsticks." Pie rubbed her cherry covered arm in the center of his tootsie roll goodness, her crusty warmth invading him.

"Not here, not in the airport."

"Loch Ness Lockers then?"

Electric Chocolate smiled sadly, knowing that even now he should be with his own kin, fighting the Dead Virgins for their property and right to survive. Tomorrow may well be another history entirely, but for now he would follow Pie down, deeper than he should really go.

It mattered not in the Land of Decaffeinated, little mattered here.

Piece should have been happy that she would not deal with the ineffective bum, who spent his days dodging silver bullets for Mass Media in trade for a few creds and an occasional Supreme Taco shove. She should be even happier that her gold coffin was filled to the brim, and she could die easily now, perhaps even be reborn into the Caffeinated Society, away from the thrusting terror of the Dead Virgins. She was not, and as she warmed the curling iron against her broken skin, Piece wondered what else there was, if anything even existed beyond the hood rat trailers.

***

The Dead Virgins were in uproar tonight, their icy eyes and frozen fingers screaming with hypothermic pain.

"We must be rid of the battery kin, for they do nothing!" They shrieked, their superior voices ringing out across the empty hall. Empty save for one, one who would not tolerate their continuous blathering, even if he was the only one. "We must destroy them, for the old ways of the batteries have no hold on this earth, no say and no way!"

"And who are ye to speak so?" Hero Sandwich cried out, dripping in Dijon mustard. He was not of the battered, no, he was warm and toasty goodness, but the dying words of his quizzical wheat bread mother haunted him, brining him to stand against the Dead Virgins at every interval. There could be no quarry while they rule, with their boiling blood and frozen hearts. Hero shoved the thoughts aside, staying to the task at hand. "Who are ye to decide what the Goddess allows or disallows? Even she does not know until the words are at her fingertips, yet ye presume to know her ways!"

The Dead Virgins screamed again, their multiuse banshee voices erupting from a thousand rotting throats, the sound of worms falling on decay. "We presume for she speaks only to us, child of man! And not too thee!" They pointed at him with black serpentine fingernails, and the room fell ominously silent.

"Ask the Oracle of Defilement then, if ye so dare!" Hero Sandwich retorted, standing against them in a rogue's manner, brave and strong and fearless.

"We will not! Even the Goddess has deemed the Oracle of Defilement unfit and unholy!"

"How do ye know such?" Hero stared them down, his Italian bread exterior crispy with mayonnaise anger. "How can ye presume to know such?"

"She just said it! Three Sentences past, and yet ye ignore her ultimate power!" Shrieks again, falling in the millions, tires screeching as Hot Wheels crashed into one another, their ninety-nine cent price tags ripped and dying in the aisles.

To this, of course, Hero Sandwich had no reply. The Goddess had written it, and what could he do now but clench his lettuce fists into balls of anger? He spat tomato seeds on the ground. "Wretched prude creatures, your hearts are as cold and moldy as your nether regions." Hero Sandwich said, and made his way from the Grand Hall of Randominity.

"FAG!" Dead Virgin's voices trailed behind him, and Hero Sandwich cried an American cheese tear. He was that, of course, and the word, as fleeting and meaningless as it was, still stung as much as the whippings of his father did. "It is done then. Hunt every battery operated down and destroy them. None will stand against us now." The Dead Virgin voices were shivers and whispers, carried away by their manacled laughter. "So is it, so is it."

***

"Are ye leaving then, Choco?" Pie the Whore asked, lighting a cigarette and letting it hang between her dripping cherry sauce lips.

"As soon as the sun rises, I am leaving for Whatefuk. You can come, too, if'n you'd like."

"I could, me fine hearty Choco, but I will not leave Piece, and she will not leave this, and so I am at the Goddess's mercy."

"To empty com with that worthless l337, all the Goddess thinks of nowadays is her own volatile words, poisoning us and all who cross her flippant forum. She has done nothing for me of late, other than create a Decaffeinated world of work and pain. Why doesn't she make something better? Why does everyone have to die?" He raised a sweaty fist in the air, looking towards the grey cement ceiling. "She is nothing but a whore who fancies herself important. You and Piece are more than she."

Pie was aghast, her crusty face began to tremble, and flakes of Betty Crocker goodness fell off in chunks. "Take it back, oh please, take it back."

"I will not." Electric Chocolate said, and licked her sweet tears. "Not in a life, never."

"Then you are doomed." Pie said, turning from him. They had melted against one another many times, and he had always paid her. Truth be told, Pie would have done it for free. There is nothing on this earth that compares to a Chocolate covered Pie, especially a Chocolate covered Cherry Filling. When the two were together, her world was complete, perfect, and most importantly, her world was real.

"Maybe, but what can this Goddess do now? She has no face and no name and certainly no grace, she can do not but destroy me. Erase me into the land of Never-Been, and I would be thankful for it."

"You do not know her, not the way I do. She whispers to me, she whispers to all of us, you simply have to listen."

Electric Chocolate snorted, and with it the smell of Cherry Pie filled his mouth, nose and eyes. "What does she say then?"

"That she dooms me for your failure. That she dooms me for your disbelief. Most of all that she wants to see you in pain, because that is her Tragedy. Because this is her Un-Real Tragedy, and you are messing with it."

Electric Chocolate leaned over to kiss Pie's face, extending his candy coated lips towards hers, but there were none there. Even as he leaned in to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her everything he knew he should say, Cherry Filled Pie was disappearing. She floated in and out of existence, for moments only. The red girl screamed, her golden face dissolving into inedible and grotesque chunks that became nothing more than oven charred snot.

"Into the land of Never-Been." Electric Chocolate whispered, and turned from the sight. He held back his tears, for the battery powered always held, held stronger than any glue. Deep in his soul, he knew he had caused this. Turning away, Electric Chocolate wondered how he would explain this to Piece. Would he lie? He had never been good at lying, not like the Goddess. He could not lie, not to Piece. The thought of facing the fairy kin girl, with her smooth fine features and frosty skin made him tremble. Electric Chocolate turned a deaf ear to the erasing girl, never to come here again.

Behind him, Cherry Pie's screams echoed, infesting his dark goodness, infesting and rotting as dead meat in the sun. It was not a pretty smell.

***

Hero Sandwich stopped outside of the Oracle of Defilement. He could not go in there, not yet. He was not ready for this, and the alfalfa sprouts of his soul wriggled in fear. There were only hours now until sunrise, only hours until the Dead Virgin's released their death upon the battery operated, destroying the antiquated forever. Of course, the only power large enough to stop them was the Dept. of Non-Productivity. Hero Sandwich had thought of making the long walk there, but he knew his Turkey slices would rot in the sun before midday, and of course that would be too late. Even if he were able to transport himself there on the wings of a Red Bull commercial, the Dept. of Non-Productivity only heard Emergency filings on Tues., Wed. and Fri. from 9 A.M. to 10 A.M., unless the Emergency was due to a Domestic Pancake Batter dispute, in which case they would arrive immediately. Hero Sandwich could call in a fake Batter dispute, but that would only piss everyone off, especially the Domesticate Pancake Batterers.

As it was, Hero found himself sitting on his grand chariot of honey-barbeque sauce, waiting for the Oracle to open. The golden arches were together again, and beneath them the "ONE BIJILLIONTH CUSTOMERS SERVED IN LIES" sign twinkled and winked at him, smiling as if they knew he could not survive without their fatty goodness.

"Ah!" The red and yellow Clown of Defilement called out, his plastic face a toothy, sweaty grin. "You come for sit on my lap?"

"No, Ron." Hero said, almost sadly. "I am waiting for the Oracle."

"Ah! She is busy feeding the vultures right now, perhaps you come back later?" The mechanical laughter rang throughout the parking lot, and even the single-M golden arches jiggled in their neon happiness. "You no come here now, go home sub!"

Hero spit on the floor, a string of tomato limply falling from his mouth. "Bring her out, clown, and stop with your foolishness."

"Fine, you come sit inside?" The mechanical voice asked him, its smile bright and white against bloody red lips.

"No, thank you. I prefer my arteries to stay unclogged."

"Of course you do." Ron said snidely, as if this were a horrid decision. "Oracle come soon."

Hero nodded, a strip of alfalfa falling from his face and dying on the parking lots surface. "Hurry up then."

Oracle of Defilement came out, her hands stuffed with grease and fake meats, her face dripping with not-so-potato fries. "What you want?" She said, grinning with pretend safely commercialized Mac Flurry lips. "What you want ask Oracle? Goddess no speaks for hours yet."

Hero did not know what to say at first. He was not entirely sure of what needed to be answered, only that it would be wrong if all the battery powers were destroyed for the sake of an inefficient society. He told Oracle as much, and she spat blistering hot grease on his breaded skin.

"Of course, of course. Goddess says you no smart enough to stop her. Goddess say shut up or put up little turkey filled man."

Hero raised his onion eyebrow at that.

"Goddess says if you smart you fix yourself." With that, the Oracle slammed the glass door in his face, turning the key. She gave him no other word, and paid him no other mind, leaving the Hero in a world of confusion and condiments.

***

The Dead Virgins had gone on their rampage, Hero Sandwich knew that as soon as the sun was up. He could hear their banshee death calls echoing from the land of Java to the Spaghetti Monster hills, and worse still he could hear the death of the battery powered kin.

Dead Virgins raised their Deer Soul swords high in the air, the evil magic causing all but the strongest to die before the blackened blades laid on their candy coated skin. It was genocide, from hill to river the blood flowed unhindered. The Non-Production group heard this too, but could do nothing to stop it, being overfilled with meaningless paper work and even more meaningless social dinners, but such was their way. They could not have stopped the Dead Virgins anyways, for the Dead Virgins were uneducated and illiterate, their fury grew unchecked across the County of Once-Been, nestled in the land of the Decaffeinated.

Piece stood behind the Dead Virgins, though by now she should have been with her own fairy kin, safe in the refuse camps. She wanted to be where the action was, even more so, Piece wanted to be where the money and power was. Some of her own kin stood against the Dead Virgins in the early hours, but they were weak heart throbs who fluttered away beneath the glares and curses of their adversaries. Piece was the only fairy kin in the killing fields that afternoon, as the Oven Element Sun burned bright red, scarring the land beneath her feet. The fairy whore slaughtered more on that day than any Dead Virgin, her ferocious baking soda arrows fizzing the Vinegar Vultures to their deaths, her blistering Clorox Laser slicing through the heads of the battery kin, from elder to child, man to woman. An entire family of Country Spread Margarines, crying and holding one another, their buttery coolness melting into puddles of slippery yellow slime died beneath Piece's squealing attacks.

The Goddess turned, and saw the wretched violence her creation was releasing, even onto her own kind. The jerk of sadness the Goddess felt was quickly replaced by dry ice anger, and she breathed life into Cherry Pie one last time.

Piece was not watching her rear; everything behind her was dead or dying. She did not see Cherry Pie's dark grin, or the way Pie's eyes burned with a sickly green, like cherries not fully ripened. It was not until Piece herself was dragged under the firm sweet arm of Pie and pulled inside the girl's piping hot crust, did Piece finally realize what an evil thing she had done. By then, however, it was far too late.

Electric Chocolate was running hard, running away from the death and destruction. He thought he was running into salvation, but the heat of the rising oven elements had already begun their own damage, and too late he realized that leaving earlier would have been a very good idea.

Hero Sandwich was running too, as fast as his toasty sub feet would allow. He lost three slices of meat in that run, the pain doubling him over thrice. He ignored the pain, and ran to the dying. A child made of gingerbread reached out to him, calling for help.

"Please mister, please help me!" The gingerbread babe whimpered, even as a Dead Virgin ate his crunchy ginger-ness.

Hero Sandwich vomited mayo and mustard.

Electric Chocolate felt the noose tighten around his neck, the toll booth just beyond the next Peppermint Candy. He was on full speed now, even as Piece melted into the refrigerated forest behind him, screaming his name and cursing his being. She blamed him for Cherry Pie's erasure, and she was right.

Even with all this pain, Electric Chocolate was not ready to die. Not yet. He ran without seeing anything but the toll booth, ran until he slammed headfirst into the All-American Hero Sandwich.

The two beings, having never met before and never to meet again, were shattered by the sudden and fierce collision. Hero lost his condiments and his meats fell about him in scattered fear. His lettuce wilted the moment the oven element sun touched them, burned them.

Electric Chocolate was weak from the oven element sun, and his body splattered the moment it touched the Hero Sandwich, covering the crust with shattered pieces of his melted self.

Around the dying sandwich and candy coated chocolate, the Dead Virgins shouted with glee, their genocide continued unhindered. If there was a moral to this tale, it would certainly be to not fancy one's self a goddess, although more so it would be to never write while under the gripping influence of home grown greens and caffeine.

***

It would end there, however the Goddess thought, that perhaps, her Obligatory Short Character should have one last debacle across the empty clean white. Obligatory, being of neither battery kin, or of the fairy kin, and certainly he was no Hero and no Dead Virgin, slipped silently through the mass of melted plastic and charred foodstuffs. He had no real body, he was a thought, a short and fleeting thought to fill the voiceless void. Really, he should have melted away with the rest into the Land of Never-Been, finding his thoughtful self reminiscing beneath the slush pile of printed and formatted crap, waiting to be shredded or torn of the Goddess's frustration.

He was not waiting. The Obligatory Short Character refused to stand and wait for the Goddess to decide his fate, he gnawed at her mind and guts until she wrote his own story, and gave him a proper name. Obligatory, incessant and demanding, ended his thoughtful life, renamed Oby, as a transvestite vampire heroine, rescuing the Realm of Pretend from a thousand Floating Eyeballs. It was a good end, but the Goddess hides him still, waiting for the moment his voice screams against her soul, refusing to be silenced.

For all thoughts, words in the land of the Has-Been slush pile and the Never-Been delete button, leave their mark on the Goddess, the writer, the one who creates and destroys worlds with a flick of her tender and tired fingers.

Sometimes, they become more than what they were meant to be, and other times they become nothing as they should have been.

7 and 7 is the drink for the night

So tonight we are all drinking. The boys (aka...my man and his bffl) are drinking horse urine Coors Light. And a lot of it. I'm drinking Seagram's 7 and 7 up with a splash of Grenadine. Then I got over the need to have 7 up and now I'm just straight up drinking....that's the trap of drinking. The more you drink, the more you can drink.

We listened to Marylin Manson's new album. God I love some of his music. The rest of it just makes me want to shoot myself in the brain. Then there is the new Ozzie. Ozzie, man, I love you---but if you are going to make anymore slow songs you absolutely must have a female counterpart. Like Lita Ford. Man I miss her. Lita was a goddess. Kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me deadly...is there anything more lovingly profound than that statement?

My daughter has this girl over. An odd girl who shares the name with my step daughter, so that gets a bit confusing. There are too many Brittany's in the universe. Anyways, this girl is a darling child but very odd. She is 12 and her parents allow her to go on dates with boys by themselves. I don't know about everyone else but my daughter can't date until she is 30 and I have one foot in the grave. The friend also has more carnal knowledge than any child this age should have. Which causes me to wonder what kind of environment she lives in. My kids may be able to name the physical parts of a body, but they don't understand or relate the body to the act of sex. I do like this friend, she is a nice kid. She is funny. She also talks about kissing boys and recently whistled at my boyfriend. That was an odd moment. He walked into the bedroom and stayed there the whole night. He has not came out of the bedroom without his shirt on since then.

You know, we have to start protecting our children by teaching them the appropriate way to behave and that while being inappropriate has its advantages at certain times, it does not give one a leway to be utterly nasty. I would tell this friend that she is not allowed at my house, but I have this problem. I have a dependency issue. I take in strays and downtrodden and the utterly sad because I feed of thier need for me. I see a need in this girl for a strong role model mother. I am not perfect, but I like to view myself as a strong person. I also know--through acquaintences---that her mother has a habit of leaving her with her grandma and occasionally strangers to go on drug binges and hang out with guys she meets on the Internet. This causes a duality in my thinking. On one hand it wants me to keep this family as far away from mine as possible. On the other hand it makes me want to give this girl a hug and a cookie and a tall glass of milk and just be there for her, because nobody was there for me. I also see a lot of similarities in her world and the world I grew up in, which makes me worry for her future. I know I don't have a lot, and God knows every day is a struggle for me to take care of my own, but if I can't help this girl too what kind of person am I? When do I decide that I should no longer help a person, short of physical or verbal violence? I can't. I would never tell this girl she is not welcome because her family has her head all screwed up. I hope my kids see this and when they grow up they will know that no matter how bad and fucked up your life is---there is always someone with a worse life who needs help. We should give help when we can, and pray when we can't.

I see all this sadness in the world, and I wish I could make everything better. I can't. I know that. But mabye I can start with my own kids and this one friend and go from there.

Be Blessed and Be Kind.

I'm going to drink more and then throw up on my man. : P

So I got all this shit in my head and I thought, what the hell? Its not like my mental problems are any kind of secret, plus it is better to let those demons out (in a safe way) than to hold them in. So what the fuck, here's me. Plus, none of you guys really know me....and if you do, well, who cares?

My problems began in my early teen years. I was abused in the worst way by my ex step father for several years. I am now almost 30 and it has take me decades to get to the point where I can even talk about this in any verbal or written sense.

I am planning on writing a book about it called WHY I'M MORE FUCKED UP THAN YOU but I don't know how that would sell.

When I was 12-14 I started running away from home, doing terrible things like drugs and generally being a horrible person and hoodrat. Then I got pregnant at 16 by a man who was a generally good person, just not to me. He liked to do things like throw me across the room and poor alchohol on my face. Ever had tequilla in the eyes? It sucks. Then 2 kids and 4 years later I left him, left the kids at my ex in laws

I got an education (yay, Im edumacated!), got remarried to another jerk (he liked to gamble, drink, and lie about it) and had my 3rd kid. So all my life I have allowed myself to be abused in one way or another, financially, physically, verbally and sexually.

The doctors have tried giving me tons of different drugs. I did lots of drugs on my own, too. Nearly half my life I have been on one drug or another, some legal some not. But nothing helped me as much as when a few years back I decided to get off my ass and help myself. I brought all my kids home. I met a good man. I threw those drugs out. I spent time with myself. I wrote down all the crazy shit in my head. I stopped taking drugs (both kinds). And I have never been better for it. I don't think I am well at all, but I do think that I am functional. I still can't quite pay my bills, I don't live in a nice house, and some days all we have in the cupboard is ramen noodles. But thats life, and I have learned to take life for what it is.

But there are still those days where I feel utterly hopeless. I feel worthless. I want to die. Those days I throw myself into my work and some of it turns out good, some of it turns out absolutely incoherrent---like this one does.

I'm feeling a little hopeless today. I need something to prove my worth to myself. I need to not be a victim of circumstance. I need to pay the rent, too.

I need to not be a victim because being a victim means that I am giving some other asshole control over my thoughts. That's just bs. I control myself. I am not a victim and refuse to think of myself in that way.

Some of my inspirational poetry!

Love is not

Love is not a chain,
But a freedom.
Life is not a destination,
But a journey.
Faith is not a rule,
But a guide.
Hope is not a vessel,
But a way home.

A Mother's Blessing for Her Grown Children

May the wind always be soft and breezy,
May your travels bring you beauty,
May your heart stay steady,
And kind,
And faithful.
May the sun always warm your face,
May you always find a safe place,
May God give you His grace,
And love,
And blessing.
May you always find your way home.

Faith is...

Faith is honesty without judgement,
Faith is the innocence of childhood,
Faith is giving without expectation,
Faith is a steady heart for troubled youth,
Faith is guidance born of love and prayer,
Faith is belief in the wisdom of God's works.

Don't Dwell

Don't dwell on what makes you sad,
But on the things that make you glad.
Don't dwell on friends that done wrong,
But on the ones that stayed strong.
Don't dwell on troubles long gone,
But on the blessings still to come.

Freedom

Freedom is the one gift,
We never think on,
'Till it's gone.

Keep True:

Keep true to yourself,
Keep love in your spirit,
Keep strong in your faith,
Keep honesty in your words,
And hope in your pocket.

Sit a Spell

Sit a spell,
For there are tales yet to tell,
And journeys yet to travel.
Eat and drink and be merry,
For tomorrow's a trouble
None should carry.

Seraphim

Watching the gold and reds bounce

She was waiting for the sun to set

From the sky to her window.

It was quiet here, and the

Silence was her friend, lover. She thought

For a moment of the past

That had brought her to this place,

The pain she had endured, overcame,

Sadness fought, evils vanquished.

She was standing with her hands

Against the clear glass, pressing her face

Against the stained, lifeless moon.

The voices had stopped now, and

Taking this quiet moment inside

Her, feeling it, loving it.

She was not afraid, for fear

Was for the weak, not the Seraphim.

She ran her delicate hands

Through her pale blonde hair, moving

It away from a porcelain face,

Stretched her white wings to heaven.

She had laid her weapons at

The door, knowing that to bring them here

Would defile this holy place.

Wanting for them now, she needs

To feel their coolness of her blades and

The sharp spear, the thin arrows.

The girl, who was truly no

Longer a girl, and not yet woman,

Gave a long look to the door.

She let her last tears fall,

Slowly, burning, caressing her cheek

Until the rain from her face

Crawled across the glass. She slips,

Walking across the long hall, she wished

Still for the colored sunset.

What was real? The Seraphim

Could not feel, taste, touch. Where now, when the

Last warriors long to dust.

Before this moment, none of

Heaven and hell’s secrets were true.

Her tears came faster, hotter,

Tears of black ash, burning her

Pleasantly white skin and pale, flat eyes.

Once this world closes, she can

Never go back home again.

She gives her life for the voice of God,

And cries for those left behind.

The Dragon

The Dragon shifted. A Dragon this size does not move, but shifts her weight slowly. Something is awakening her, and lazily she lifts one eye to her deep cavern. She can smell men now, and men are something that at once she despises and fears. Dragon once had a name, but centuries of stillness lost it to her memory. She has slept for so long, remember days of old when her and her kin rose like majesty into the night sky and rained down their terror. She remembers the smell of sulfur and death in her dreams, and it is the sweetest of the sweet. Dragon once held powerful magic, but now can barely remember the incantations. She wishes she could die, but she can not, and therefore sleeps.

But something is awakening her none the less. She shifts, and shakily tries to stand. Her long back legs strain and creak with the movement, and at first she feels that maybe, maybe, she should just lie here and let them come for her. Dragon only wanted to rest her last few thousand years, and fade into the stars a quiet death. She remembers her kin, her mother, and her children. Those she loved who no longer rested on this plane, but somewhere else. She did not know where her kin was, had not heard their minds in five hundred years. But she could taste their deaths, oh she could still smell their skin burning and melting, she could still hear her babies screaming, some even still inside their eggs. She could hear that like ghosts can hear other ghosts, a memory of fear and pain seeping through her midnight blue scales.

Dragon, however, is not a ghost.

She is still physical, and physical meant two things. The first being that she could inflict pain and the second was that she could feel pain. She felt pain now, standing, stretching, and opening her great maw to spit out cobwebs and mildew. Her teeth, once gleaming with bone and blood, now shined a dull grey and yellow, pitted with cavities of deep brown. She was old, and Dragon felt old. Her bones creaked loudly; the sound would have deafened a mortal.

Dragon stretched her wings, flinging off centuries of dust. A thick film of mushrooms and moss had grown on them, and she thought to breathe fire to burn the growing things off. First, the fire did not come. It was only smoke, a puff that would have been comical had any seen it. Her dull silver eyes thinned to a glare. She breathed in once again, concentrating on releasing the spittle that would bring fire from her mouth. Fire came, and in the blackness it was bright and beautiful.

Oh, she was awake now.

She shook the ashes and dirt from her wings, and stretched them wide. Tip to tip inside the cavern, she grinned at her own awakening. Dragon did not feel groggy now, but she felt alive instead. In fact, Dragon had never felt more alive. She took in a deep, sounding breath, but coughed on the dampness of the deep cavern. Dragon was alive, and awake. Now, Dragon wanted out.

She stretched her mind first, stretched it beyond the cavern, and through the mountain of lava that she slept beneath. She stretched her mind to the world of men, far and wide. But she heard none of her kin; she felt none of her kin. Dragon was the last. Memories came to her when her mind was opened, the last memories before she had shut herself deep within the darkness. She cried then, and fire poured from her mouth and eyes. Dragon remembered now, remembered the treachery of man, of the wizard. The deaths dealt to her kin, those murdered by man who would never find the stars. It is an old curse, but one that had been made to keep dragons in good standing with mankind. That any dragon killed by the hand of men would not reach their home in the stars, and any man killed by a dragon would have his soul swallowed by the Chimera (who was her own ancient being, long forgotten, but old friend and sometimes enemy to Dragon).

Dragon wanted to remember the ancient languages, she knew some of the new languages, and they had slipped into her dreams from the dreams of men. She knew also of things like guns, wars and mankind’s attempt at controlling fire, and also something of a man named Jesus, but she cared not of the trinkets of mortal men. She was ancient, and she knew the ancients. The call that had awakened her from her century’s long slumber came again. This time it was louder, stronger, and darker. The voice tore through her like none other. She tried to ignore it, she wanted to taste being alive, but could not linger here. It was the command, an ancient command that only few could give, and fewer of those few would dare. Dragon did not want to answer. She wanted to enjoy being awake, being alive. But the ancient words of magic tore through her as fire mixed with ice would, all at once painfully burning and freezing her thick blood.

Dragon tore herself from the cavern, plowing through the rock ceiling with all her force. The tears of rocks did not touch her in pain like the ancient magic was; in fact, they did not bother her at all. She pressed, harder and harder, until her nose bled and her scales tore, but she moved still. Molten rock began to sweep to her, because liquefied rock does not move, much as a dragon does not, but it grows with a life of its own and marks its prey with thick red eyes. The lava, Dragon knew this new word from dreams of men who had neared her mountain, licked her with its burning tongue, but lava, fire, heat, means nothing to a dragon such as herself.

Up, up she clawed, spat and screamed.

And for those who somewhere, on some part of the mountain, were living as trappers or as traders, the sound they heard was that of a demon. Something dark was coming. They knew it, felt it. The men folk dropped their hunting or farming tools and ran to their women, many of whom had already grabbed their children and were hidden in cellars or under their beds. The sound was deafening, causing the small herds of livestock, sheep mainly but some cattle, to huddle together in their ramshackle barns, bleating their own fears.

If there had been airplanes in this time of man, or helicopters, flying near by, they would have seen an awesome sight. The mountain opened its great maw, a maw that had been shut for thousands of years. There was a slow gurgle sound as the lava came forth, not in the great bellows of a volcanic eruption, but rather as though the mountain were bleeding from its top. Then a hemorrhage began, and the mountain (whose name had been Sliabh Tarragon, but as many things, was now simply forgotten) opened, spilling forth its own life blood from deep within. A massive blackness came from the glowing red, so large that it would have blocked the sun had any dared to look.

The blackness rolled almost lazily across the crumbling top, rolled with the bleeding lava and out into the world.

The Bee and The Sparrow

The Bee and The Sparrow

Once there was a sky so perfect that the angels feared to mar it even with their grace. A sky that floated above pristine waters and pristine lands untainted by the hands of men or the trampling of beasts. Here only the birds and the bees fluttered, conscious of one another but of such separate castes that neither spoke for thousands of years.

Until one day it came upon an unwitting young male bee to kiss a honeysuckle, and there that particular bee met up with a young and impetuous sparrow, who was taking time by herself as she was wont to do, pondering the uselessness of her sparrow-like life and hollow, sparrow bones.

The sparrow, as it were, was quite upset as her father, who was king of the sparrows, had promised her claw to an eagle. While the tiny girl sparrow found the eagle majestic, he was a bit too war-like for her. And although she understood her father wanting to further the ties between the feathered kin, and further peace throughout the perfect, sky-filled land, her heart was heavy and left wanting. She lulled about, snuggly fit into the breath of the honey suckle, until she felt a tickle upon her brow, right about there.

"Oh my!" Cried the sparrow, and the bee alike.

Frustrated, the bee fluttered about, wanting to gather nectar for his home. His wings were undecided, for he also wanting to leave and get far from the visage of the sparrow, which was a giant compared to him. Besides, sparrows, as it were, ate bees. His wings brushed together in a hum, and to the sparrow, his song was like none she had ever heard.

"Why do you sing like that, odd little striped winged creature?" The sparrow asked, for she had never seen a bee before and was unsure of what to call him.

"It is the song of my people." The bee wings hummed as to mimic the sparrow’s twittering. “Are you going to eat me?”

"Oh, I could never eat a creature as prettily pretty as you! Do sing more!" Sparrow cried out, and fluttered her own tiny feathers. "I've not heard such a song in all my life."

"As you wish, my lady." Bee hummed, and sang her the song of his kin, a song older than the eldest of bees, a song older-some say-than time itself. A song, surely, the sparrow kin had long forgotten, but the bee kin never had.

The hum soaked into her very hollow bones, infecting her soul and flighty spirit with tales of ancient timelessness, of space and emptiness and utter perfection, of a universe without matter, without life, without pain and without death. The sparrow gave a tear, the first, but not the last, tear the young female bird would give.

"Why do your eyes make water?" The bee asked, for he had never seen such a thing as tears, as it is widely known that bees have no tear ducts.

"Oh, I do not know."

They talked amongst the honeysuckle, of things that the birds and the bees would talk about, things uncommon to mortal man, or angel, or demon or even the beasts. Soon, the two became fast friends, and sooner even so, their hearts, as small as they were, began to beat in the same rhythm, sparrow's heart beating slightly faster, and bee's heart beating slightly slower, and their songs became one.

Situation as it were, the two creatures met every day, until the day came when sparrow would be forced to marry the eagle, for which her distaste grew greatly. It was not that she cared not for him, it was that the eagle could not sing the right song, the one that strummed across her small and quick heart. The bee too, had his own problems, for his meetings with sparrow were forbidden by his kin, as birds were, by bees standards, a filthy and uncaring race with no memory of their intertwined past. Besides that, the young bee’s mother said with exasperation, “Everybee knows sparrows eat bees.”

Ah, to be young and in love, for at that moment, love can carry all things, even the hefty ties to family, pride, and prejudice. While the sky was perfect, the creatures beneath it were not. Even the birds and the bees have their own fears, and their own hopes.

Our young sparrow argued, in her own twittering fashion, until her father had her locked into a cage that no bird could escape. Locked until the morn, where she would marry the eagle, and be taken to his lofty and expansive mansion.

A gilded cage for a gilded princess, her heart crushed by the weight and girth of her crown. But it was a cage built for a sparrow, and not for a cunning bee. The boy bee slipped away late at night, the soft buzzing snores of his kin urging him to stay, but he ignored them. This was a flight he must take, for his sparrow, for his love, and he flew far and flew fast. His little wings carried him in the cold and damp night farther than he had ever been, past the wide Moon River and Sun Meadow, beyond the Caves of Silence and the Sleeping Forest, he flew farther than any bee had ever flown. But he flew fast, and he flew true, and there he found his princess, and her golden cage. The lock fell away easily to his tiny and strong antennae. The two were quickly away, away, and happily lived ever after, the birds and the bees.

Why I feel that Christians who HATE gays can not call themselves Christians.

First things first. I don't care what your religion is. Everyone has a responsibility to care for thier fellow man. Wasn't it Jesus who said hate the sin but love the sinner? Wasn't it Jesus who said judge not, lest you be judged yourself?

Stop judging others.

Jesus never once condemned gays.

Lev. 18:22, “You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination.”

Lev. 20:13, “If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death. Their bloodguiltness is upon them”

Now, it also says in the OLD TESTAMENT in the SAME CHAPTER THAT CONDEMNS GAYS—LEVITICUS—-the following:

10: And if his offering be of the flocks, namely, of the sheep, or of the goats, for a burnt sacrifice; he shall bring it a male without blemish.
11: And he shall kill it on the side of the altar northward before the LORD: and the priests, Aaron’s sons, shall sprinkle his blood round about upon the altar.
12: And he shall cut it into his pieces, with his head and his fat: and the priest shall lay them in order on the wood that is on the fire which is upon the altar:
13: But he shall wash the inwards and the legs with water: and the priest shall bring it all, and burn it upon the altar: it is a burnt sacrifice, an offering made by fire, of a sweet savour unto the LORD.

SO UNLESS YOU PLAN ON SACRIFICING MALE SHEEP WHILE HATING GAYS, YOU ARE ONLY A HYPOCRITE.

Now lets take a look at Corinthians — This is i the NEW TESTAMENT, actually and is A LETTER WRITTEN BY PAUL, and not technically the quotes of Christ or of GOD.

1 Cor. 6:9-10, “Or do you not know that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, 10nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers, shall inherit the kingdom of God.”

WHICH ALSO STATES:

17: If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.
18: Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise.
19: For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.
20: And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain.

WHICH IS BASICALLY PAUL SAYING THAT WE DON’T KNOW SO DON’T JUDGE.

And finally, one of my favorites:

Rom. 1:26-28, “For this reason God gave them over to degrading passions; for their women exchanged the natural function for that which is unnatural, 27and in the same way also the men abandoned the natural function of the woman and burned in their desire toward one another, men with men committing indecent acts and receiving in their own persons the due penalty of their error. 28And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do those things which are not proper.”

THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT HOMOSEXUALITY IS WRONG. IT IS SAYING THAT ADULTEROUS DESIRE—REGARDLESS OF THE FUNCTION—AND DECIET OF INDECENCY—IS AN ABOMINATION—

YET ROMANS ALSO STATES:

001:028
And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;

001:029
Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers,

001:030
Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,

001:031
Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful:

001:032
Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

SO PLEASE TELL ME—WHICH IS EVIL? WHICH IS SIN? DECIET, WRATH, OATH BREAKING, LACK OF MERCY—

ALL SINS ARE SINS IN THE EYES OF GOD.

Yet conviniently, politicians, preachers and closed minded “wisemen” forget that god sees the heart of hearts, and thus if you commit to any acts of sin, whether it be a lie, cheating on your wife, or gaying out with your nieghbor, it is still A SIN OF MORALITY and furthermore,

And the best of Paul in Romans:

Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

That means that you are not better than anyone else. We are all sinners in the eyes of God, but He loves us equally anyways.

Romans 5:9: “Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him!”

When we pass through this physical life into God's grace and God's heaven, He will ask us how we honored His son....

If your only answer is through hatred and violence I do not think God will bless you with entrance.

42 is the answer.

Before I begin, I would like to state that this is very illogical, based on a ton of assumptions and does not cover everything. And there are many uses of curse words in this post. Thanks, and please don't take this extremely seriously!

42 is the answer.

---

Yes, Hitchiker fans, 42 is really the answer to life and all that.

42 is spelled forty two.

F often represents the word FUCK as in F U.

O is often represented of surprise or bliss, as in O baby!

R is the symbol for the greek Rho, which has a value of 100 and is used constantly in computing and mathematics.

T is an English alphabet letter derived from the Greek Tau. Tau has a value of 300. The movie 300 was about violent defiance in the face of adversity---it was about standing even though you knew you were fucked.

Y is often used as a replacement of the word WHY. As in Y R U gehy? Or, why are you gay (in layman's terms).

T in the second word two, is also representative of relative time, in fact, it is used by scientist to decribe PROPER TIME. Proper time, in the thoery of relativity, is measured by the span of moments between events.

W is the chemical symbol for the element tungsten---which is used in lightbulbs, clocks, and other electronic devices. tungsten is used in multiple scientific research activities, primarily because of its use in X RAYS and superalloys. It is in so many household items that it is mind boggling how science has influenced our lives. Therefore, to understand our lives we must learn science.

O -- now, barring the current use of O in the Internet culture, the letter has a massive span throughout history. It is theorized to come from the Egyptian hyrogliph of the 'EYE" or ir. Interestingly enough, this particular gliff often represented an all seeing god or gods. Now, as the letter O went through Egyptian hieroglyph `ir; Proto-Semitic and Phoenician to the Etruscan, it finally landed to the Greek Alphabet and became known as OMEGA---OMEGA is synonymous in much literature with God, Gods, and is constantly used in SCIENCE. There is quite a bit of relationships that can be made from the use of OMEGA in religion and in science, but for the short version it means great, and is also often used to mean massive, or the absolute. NOW--The letter O is also used to represent the omicron, which is a small value or measurement. To put it into math terms, Omega means 800 and Omicron means 70...thus omega = great and omicron = small. Since the letter O is used for all this, it can be said that the letter O encompasses all things great and small.

So the symbol 42 is a representation of the word forty two. If each letter in the English language is representative of an idea or singular thought, then this research (which is by NO MEANS CONCLUSIVE and is EXCLUSIVE of quite a bit) then we can hold the following as being the answer to life:

1. Fuck as much as possible and within reason. Procreate, make babies. Love them and love your wives or husbands.

2. Look for surprise in life---and even in the simple things. Be surprised often!

3. Find 100 reasons to live for in your life, then live them. Learn as much math and computing as possible because all things have a mathematical meaning. Even the words you are reading now.

4. Fight with violent defiance. Stand up for yourself and those you love. Fight for your right to live a free life. Fight for your family. Fight for your freedom. But do not go quietly into the night, whatever you do. In amny countries we are laying down and letting our governments take our rights, tell us how to pray or not to pray, tell us how to raise our children, telling us how to think, what to buy, how to socialize. I say, fuck that. Stand up for your history, your rights, your culture. Don't fall into someone elses ideal of who or what you should be.

5. Ask WHY. Why are we letting the media define us? Why are we watching shows about Anna Nicole Smith and not about the flagrant abuses of our government. Whatever it is in life, ASK FUCKING WHY. Find your own reasons, your own answers, and thus your destiny.

6. There is a proper time and place for everything. In all things, think not only of the why, but is this the right time? Are you in the place you are destined to be in? What are you doing in the span of time between events? Are you making that time valuable and relative to your life and your definition of your existence, or are you just rolling over and letting the world and society and this fucked up government fuck you in the ass? Make the most of the time between the events---it is these little moments that matter the most. They are the threads in the fabric of life.

7. Think critically and research how things are connected. know not only what something is, but learn why it is. Think about how things can be made better. Then get off your ass and use your resources to make them better. If you don't have any resources, then make some. Learn, learn, and learn somemore. Our world is degrading because people do not care about learning and scientific research anymore. Go the fuck back to school and learn, learn. learn.

8. Love all things great and small. Protect all things great and small. See all things great and small---by that I mean, take the time to see the greatest wonders of the world and the smallest beauties, but don't destroy, pick, remove, or degrade them. Mostly, get the fuck off the couch. Life is waiting for you too see it. Learn both religion and science. Know religion so that you can see the great things unseen, and know science so you can see the smallest nano particles that make our universe ours.


There you have it kids. The answer to life really is 42. Now get the fuck out and do something about it.

Excerpt from The Verses of Ely-Anor

Hi All, just wanted to give another preview of my book, The Verses of Ely-Anor. If you enjoy this preview, you can purchase it at the link to your right. Please buy the E-book download if you are able too instead of killing an innocent tree!

The thing below the cowl came towards him, and the sounds of feet sloshing through water came nearer. It stood over him in a few steps, and then one hand came from beneath the long sleeved robe and grabbed the top part of his head.

It smiled at him with a mouth that appeared in the glassy, faceless orb.

The crystalline thing laughed a sound that was a shadow of shattered glass.

Hesson gaped at it, blood and drool ran down his chin.

The crystal thing grabbed Hesson by the top of his head, for it was easily two feet taller than he. Hesson did not bother to fight it, he just let the thing glide him across the polished hard wood floor. The living room windows shook slightly, the white and pink draperies moved in the wind.

With one swoop of its other arm, it lifted the glowing amber rod into its swirling crystal hand. The thing drug him across the day room where less than an hour ago he had been pleasantly watching golf, and slammed him head first through the swinging kitchen door.

Hesson skittered across the white linoleum, leaving long trails of blood across the floor which marked where he slid. He crashed into the kitchen table, the small table meant for two to eat at, and turned as his back nailed the white wicker chair. The kitchen itself was both long and wide, everything in it perfectly matching white, down to the last dish. The dimming light and his buzzing head gave the room a sickly yellow glow.

Hesson thought of attacking the man-thing, but could hardly move. The pain in his head pulsed with sharp explosions followed by dull aches, and even the slightest move sent fiery sparks up his spine. He gave a throaty cough. The moving, faceless glass regarded him, its shining orb turned upwards, curious. Like a dog would be. Hesson looked away from the swirling orbed face and dry heaved into the cool linoleum.