I love candles. Many times a single candle has altered the course of my life.
Last night I lit a red candle and BAM!! All these realizations about sex started flooding me. I saw how it merges two people’s energy & if the man doesn’t value your survival & material well being as his own you best steer clear, cause he will dilute your energy. The energy you need to survive. Especially for someone like me who feels precarious in her own survival to begin with.
Wanting a man to invest in you materially isn’t selfish…. why would you merge your material body with someone who doesn’t love you that much? I invest in Slippers materially and take responsibility for her life. Even tho I suck at survival it isn’t that hard to expand your sense of self to include someone else. This should be the minimum sort of love a person has before you risk merging with them.
Cause for me, if I have sex with someone I become very attached. My mind and emotions are constantly drifting towards them. Why would you want to spend all day thinking about someone who wouldn’t even buy you groceries? It doesn’t make any sense. Until you find someone who at least loves you that much you should hold your energy inside cause you’ll need it. Cause I think survival is hard for females. At least for me.
It’s is hard for me to think practically, logically, selfishly and strategically which is how you need to think for survival. How would a man feel if he was expected to jack off to purple rectangles? It’s not how he’s wired up.
But men are more selfish & strategic by nature. (Not to mention that their testicles are 2 extra brains devoted to survival.) It’s what makes it dangerous to be intimate with a man unless his sense of self has expanded to include you. Because although men are designed to be selfish, they also have the ability to expand their sense of self to include wife, children, family, clan, country etc. In this way they are selfish and unselfish at the same time.
But don’t place your well being at the mercy of a man who sense of self does not include you. Because to people outside this sense of self they are ruthless.
This hit me like lightning last night. I was lighting a red candle to help me be better at surviving because I don’t know what I’m going to do for money yet. I lost my last job for not conning people hard enough & the two jobs before that were both lost for crying on the job due to smells. I’m sure there is something I can do but it always seems to require being something other than my nature. Just trying to get my brain to think about what I could do ends up with staring into space as no thoughts arise. My mind is wired to be hyperaware of what is, not to strategize a path forward.
But the red candle showed me that the first step to surviving is not forming relationships which don’t facilitate your survival. Cause why would you merge with someone not vested in you? How can it lead to anything good?
I’ve always been so afraid of being a gold digger that I sort of became the reverse. But really there is nothing wrong with a man investing in you materially. I invest in Slippers materially. I’m not going to be enjoying a delicious meal while she is hungry. That would be sick. To care about a loved one’s physical well being is the most basic form of love. If someone doesn’t love you in the most basic way WHY would you allow your mind & heart to center around them? It’s self abandonment.
It may be nobody’s responsibility to take care of me but it is not my responsibility to suck their dick either. It doesn’t really matter if someone claims to like or love you. Actions speak louder than words and if they can’t love me -at a bare minimum- like I love Slippers then being with them will dilute my raw power which I cannot afford.
I have to put myself first until I find somebody that puts me first.
Thank you red candle. I will add candles to the list of things that have always been my friends… colors, candles. End of list.
Why do people say hell is red and fiery? When really it is gray and icy with each person held alone under a cold metal bell. Pumped full of pain medication, they breath, feel no pain and think thoughts of their own well being. They are glad the bell protects them. They have 100,000 dollars plus a gold brick and they are glad no one will steal it. They know no one can lift the heavy bell to find them. They have won the game of life. Every day tasty meals are dropped into the bell. Anything they choose. They eat with relish. Winning! When they relieve themselves, the byproducts magically disappear. Hell is sanitary. People never cry there. They think they are smiling and maybe they are. Who knows? No one can see them.
Pain is when you go to Heaven. Looking down, you see everything you missed. St Fanci compared entering heaven to having both your legs sawed off with a rusty blade. Pain is the price of admission.
Stabbed in the chest by remorse. You never saw the beauty of everything until it was too late. And now in heaven you’re face to face with everything you wanted to avoid.
The people you least want to see are your greeting committee, standing there waiting in white robes. Those you wanted to impress stand behind you, noticing how you’ve shit your white pants.
Everyone you ghosted, neglected, abandoned, wait for you there with arms outstretched. They hug you and the memories of how you hurt them return. The clarity is excruciating because in heaven there are no clouds, fog or shadows.
And why did you do it? Why were you such an asshole?
Because there was some wound you didn’t want to feel and now it is probed with a million forceps and scalpels. Your mind explodes in an infinite sun of pain. In heaven there are no pain killers.
I finally got this poster I really wanted. It means so much to me I just don’t know what or why.
What is the relevance of this? I don’t know. In life, I am hanging in there. I got a job as a phone psychic and felt I was really in my element. Then I got fired. I was keeping people on the line for an average of 22 minutes rather than 35 minutes like they wanted. There is a bell that rings at 20 minutes and you’re sposed to keep people on for a while after that, because the rates get jacked up. But the callers want to hang up once they hear the bell so they don’t end up with a huge bill.
My psychic hotline name was Isabel Harlon. I’m gonna start my own psychic reading business now.
So money is hard.
And love is hard too because I don’t understand it. I feel like a retard in math class. A bunch of squiggles on the board and I have no idea what anything means. I was good at math but could never understand it which drove me nuts. I couldn’t figure out what numbers WERE. What the fuck is a one? A zero? Are they things themselves or ways of seeing things? The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.
Slippers in her new cage. I am cage training her so she will be calm when I leave the house. To my surprise, she loves it!
Sometimes I read books about love and it makes things worse because there are always more and more things you aren’t supposed to do because they will emasculate men. Words you aren’t supposed to say- like can would but. Tenses you aren’t supposed to use. If you follow the rules he will love you forever! But if you can’t…. well, no one to blame but yourself for what happens next.
And I don’t want to emasculate anyone. Rip off their dick and leave them with a bloody stump. But following all these rules feels impossible, especially when one of the rules is to be yourself. And you are supposed to be vulnerable and show your emotions, the problem is there’s only one emotion you are supposed to feel- pleased. But the more bound up I feel the harder this mild & flavorless state is to achieve.
Somewhere I must find the strength to take a solemn vow that I won’t abandon myself for love anymore. Because I love romance so much. But romance comes from being yourself and feeling the chemical reaction of self touching the world. Romance comes from the beauty of your own emotions welling up to surprise you. If men need you to be completely colorless and drained of life just to be in their presence then what is the point? Money? Or just avoiding a wound- the infinite pain of being abandoned? Love is one of the bells of hell. Blocking the pain while keeping you dead inside.
I need to find the strength to choose myself but I don’t know how. I don’t feel that strength anywhere.
Slippers at an open mic. Until I train her to be okay at home, I have to take her everywhere.The face Slippers makes when she wants a snack.
Hey! And while you are at it please consider clicking below to send me a sweet tip! Now that I’m not married, feeding musicians is a cause close to my heart.
Saturday night inside a one horse town He’s blowing in like a breeze into a tin roadhouse The game is pretty easy when you choose them right All you need is twenty dollars and a saturday night oh.
Cause you wanna be high oh And you wanna feel free But you dont care about me.
Cause when it’s easy to come you come And when I bleed you go That’s just the way that things are I know.
I’m bleeding bullets like a horse put down For the last three weeks I’ve been popping them out. Blood in the kitchen and blood on the sheets Blood down my neck when I walk in the streets but
It was all just a game yeah Something fun and carefree And you don’t care about me.
Cause when it’s easy to come you come And when I bleed you go That’s just the way that things are I know.
The thing about men is when you let them win They dance around in a circle and come back again. But things is pretty different when someone gotta lose Then theys putting on their shoes.
Cause men need to be high. Men need to feel free. And you don’t care about me.
Cause when it’s easy to come you come And when I bleed you go That’s just the way that things are I know.
High as dust and I’m walking home Try to breath but I’m never gonna get it right. Cuz I know that when I get home then I’m all alone To face another spooky night.
I know. People tell me everything come and go. People tell me everything’s far then near no fear my dear Was is will be but they don’t get it.
Please get to the part where you hurt me. Please get to the part where you break me down and cry.
In the day you can act that way Like its all okay and nothings gonna cut me. Smile and drink like you never think Like you never feel and nothings gonna drag you home.
Midnight crawling on the graves in the moonlight Wait for him to tell you goodbye You’d cry but you’re just too high Then the open sky fall down upon you.
Please get to the part where you hurt me. Please get to the part where you break me down and cry.
So many skies What are those things that move whenever I open my eyes? So many dreams I need to find a world where I can be weak so I try to breath but I can’t find it.
Please get to the part where you hurt me. Please get to the part where you take me down and cry.
If I was a movie character I would be Rambo, no doubt.
The only way I can feel relaxed around men is when they are threatening to kill me.
Just today someone who had previously said he would curb stomp me then put me out of my misery with a bullet to the brain stem invited me for tacos.
I don’t enjoy being treated poorly but it makes me feel safe. I know what is expected of me. Compliance. In other contexts I don’t know how to function and start to panic. Like really panic.
First my kidneys seize up, then my brain shuts down. This isn’t good in social contexts because healthy people expect you to have a brain. They want you to be Captain of your Ship.
And I’m trying to rewire my brain into Captain Consciousness. But right now it freezes, scans for threats, monitors emotions & tries to glean the wills of other people so they can be followed. Cause it’s seized up in terror, especially around men and the nicer they are the worse the terror gets.
Nice guys feel like a dark fun house where the room is empty and silent and you don’t know which wall the clown is going to come busting through. The longer you have to wait, the worse the terror grows. Pins and needles until finally the clown pops to attack you. Now you can release a blood curdling scream and feel the pain of getting bludgeoned in the head, but regardless being attacked by a clown beats waiting to get attacked by one.
If I’m around a nice guy for extended periods of time, I become unable to move afterwards due to prolonged anxiety. First the kidneys seize, then the brains freeze, then the limbs. This state can last for hours or a day.
And its impossible to relax in his presence. Much less do the things expected of a modern woman like having a will and voice of your own. But these expectations are ridiculous. Can a man know what flavor of ice cream he wants while staring into the eyes of a cobra and trying to sway in just the right way to appease him? He wants whatever flavor the cobra wants because he is the cobra’s little bitch. Every human is a little bitch when they’re waiting for clowns to pop.
Nice guys feel like a tightrope stretched over the Grand Canyon. You know you’re going to make a misstep. Why not plunge to your death now and get it over with?
Missteps are certain because you don’t know the rules. They aren’t the rules you are used to, where doing & saying as little as possible is gold star behavior. Nice guys are fucking demanding. They want you to know your mind, express your mind, run your own business, be a cowgirl. Don’t take shit from no one, have a personality and know how to make your jeep jump like a frog.
Assholes only need you to not contradict them. Let them yell at you without defending yourself. Go into deep freeze mode so you can absorb quantities of anger without getting angry back. Blur out your brain so words wash over you like water. This is my skill set. But nice guys don’t value these skills. Good luck pleasing them.
And when you add to this the fact that the whole nice guy thing is probably an act and a woman eating lizard is going to bust out of his skin at any moment, you can see why they jack up my anxiety.
However, I am actively training my brain to be more positive. To believe in good things & seek them out. Because we won’t know how magical life is unless we look for magic & that all starts with believing. Or at least being open.
Yes, yes, my kidneys say, but also listen to this rhyme I just wrote!
What is a man but a clown in the dark? Who clown clubs your head then jerks off in a park?
Sometimes it is hard to write songs or even blog posts because I lose myself so easily and then I’m not on the right wavelength to tap the muse I want to tap.
And I know why. Because I have certain traits that aren’t socially acceptable, but when I detach from these traits I lose myself and have nothing to say.
There is a pressure to be everything at once but you can’t be. You have to pick your poison and then align with those people who can accept you as you are.
I have certain traits that are socially unacceptable- such as talking about dicks too much- but these traits are actually to cover up a set of traits even more socially unacceptable.
I read in a book once that everyone has a fake personality designed to cover their true weaknesses and this is definitely true for me. The bold act meek & the meek act bold.
Supposedly though, if you drop your compensating mask & allow your true self to shine through you will get much luckier. That is what I read in the book. But in my case it is easier said than done since my true self is a clear blob. How can I express that?
Anyway, let’s talk about sausages. They are my safe place.
What is a sausage?
A dick?
A man?
To me, a sausage is a paradise. The feeling of a moment stretching out in all directions. That bubble of eternity is one link on the sausage chain.
Or sometimes a sausage is a world set apart from other worlds. You are in the ocean and everything is blue, the ocean and the sky, like a blue pearl. That pearl is one link on the sausage chain.
I used to think women contained worlds and men lived inside them. But now I’m wondering if it is the reverse and all realities are created inside men’s dicks plus the dicks of giant men who live in the sky.
Men seem like magical beings to me, for better or worse.
They can change your sense of yourself until you are certain you are a worm.
Or they can lift you out of this world altogether into a link of the sausage chain you have never seen before.
Either way, don’t panic. There is a new link behind every bend and the chain goes on forever.
A cloud? Or a man disguised as a cloud? Men will take the form of whatever you want to see until you chomp the bait.
Mushrooms continue to grow in front of the house where I used to live. James had the locks changed so I can’t see my dogs anymore. Thinking about this hurts too much so I think about sausages instead.
Before changing the locks he started putting weird signs on the door every day when it was my time to see them.He was allowed to choose anytime for me to see them. 1 hour 3x a week. But no matter what time, it would never be good.I hope they know I have not forgotten them.On a happy note- an EBT dinner. I can have all the food I want now, although fresh fruits & vegetables are hard to come by.A tip jar. I’ve started playing music by myself since I broke up with my bass player. He thought he should be able to dicktate which songs I was and wasn’t allowed to play even in his absence. This seemed to me like an overreach. I miss the deep watery sounds of the bass though. And having someone who could drive and set up equipment.Meat sent these to boost my confidence. Dust of Slut, Essence of Testicles, Lez Vibes & Self-Doubt Eliminator. But I find Essence of Testicles works for almost every situation. I’ve always been a huge believer in dick and ball magic.
I did a gofundme to raise 11 dollars so I could buy this poster. I don’t know why it speaks to me. And I don’t know if I should hang it in the kitchen as a welcome or the bedroom as a warning. To myself. To never trust in no one else. Except it takes trust to reach paradise.
Fur sausage. My doggies inhabit their own link of Sausage Time. We will find a way to see each other again.
A bouquet for the poor.
Clouds above the Lettuce Patch for the Poor, plus a ball. But the lettuces have grown tall and thin and don’t seem edible anymore.
When I was moving out on my own what I wanted most of all was for my new life to be airy.
When I was married life was not airy at all. My husband did not like to interact with me. But I wasn’t supposed to interact with anyone else either. He said if I left the house I would get murdered so I stayed at home. Receiving a message from someone or just a random email was the highlight of my week. There were pros and cons to this sort of life.
But now, my life is nothing but messages from strangers. Two hundred a day. What is it called when winds rip people apart until they die with bits of them flying everywhere? That is what’s happening to me.
There are ebay messages, herbal messages, music messages, lawyer messages, messages about wizzles and fizzles, messages from men, messages from women.
Two hundred messages a day and I’m making two hundred dollars a month. This seems off somehow.
My friend made a match.com account as me which I think is hilarious. She pretends to be me and then forwards people she likes to the real me. I like the part where she interacts with them better. I’m too mentally overwhelmed to respond to anyone. Even the people I meet I can hardly remember their names and faces. Hi it’s Chris! Oh yeah, Chris, of course. You build houses. No, I’m the Chris that flies planes. Busy girl.
But I’m not a busy girl. I’m a girl whose brain is being electrocuted with random inputs from all directions. Meanwhile there is nothing solid in my life. I want to visit my dogs again. But if I get arrested there will be no one to bail me out.
Ten thousand winds but nothing solid. No feeling either. The other day I walked by a man who was on the floor with a hurt foot. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.” I said “Oh are you really?” he asked in a relieved voice. “No, I’m joking.” I said with a laugh. Two minutes later reality hits and I realize I sounded like a total psychopath. This will be another black mark added to my reputation of cruelty and violence. But I’m not a psychopath. Everything is just so airy it starts to seem unreal. So many words. So many people. No way to assemble my bookcase because my wrist still doesn’t work from the last time James squirted me over with dishsoap and pushed me into a wall.
