Tag: men

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Astrology Charleston, West Virginia men Writings

First, An Apology to Men

Recently I have been writing a ton of blog posts but not publishing them. I have a lot to say but feel hung up about saying it.

In some cases, the things I want to share fall somewhat into the #metoo category. Although the excesses of #metoo (Believe Women. Believe the Victim.) are frightening, it is also hard to overstate the value of sharing true stories of victimization. There is simply no other way these processes can be understood and prevented.

We know this when it comes to wars and large scale atrocities. Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it. But the principle applies equally to the issue of predatory behavior in relationships, which- while less dramatic- causes just as much carnage in totality.

In astrology, the sun rules the government and husbands, while the populace and wives are ruled by the moon. With apologies to men, it seems accurate to say that governments and husbands are more likely to abuse power than the reverse. The people & wives have to be aware of this possibility to ensure safety. They need knowledge of what can happen, a clear sense of rights & boundaries so they can tell when these are being violated, and some form of power so they will have the possibility of fighting back if it comes to that.

Of course, the government also has to fear the population rising up against it. Likewise, women sometimes kill their husbands. But this most commonly happens as a response to tyranny (in the case of the government) and physical abuse (in the case of the husband). Conversely, men- who kill their wives far more frequently- generally do so in response to the woman trying to leave.

I know many men object to abuse being made into a gender issue and I understand the reasons for this. The fact is, some women are inclined to use false claims of victimization as a tool. I have known them. But the only reason this works is because it is believable. It is believable when you accuse a gorilla of tearing a sink out of the wall with its bare hands, less so for a cat. This is one of the risks of power. But pretending to not have power so that you can’t be falsely accused of abusing it is not the solution.

Lies breed lies and truth breeds truth. One facet of that truth is that women are more vulnerable in relationships. Men have more force and hardness built into the structure of their beings. They are less permeable. Marriage is like throwing a chunk of quartz and a chunk of calcite into the same pocket. If these differences are not accounted for, it is easy to predict which stone will get fucked.



P.S. I realize that when a person’s mind is far from root level concerns and focused on things like movies and restaurants, the power differential between genders and government overreach can both seem like the far-fetched concerns of the paranoid. Sure men CAN overpower women, but so what? We live in a post-physical power reality, right? Sure, governments HAVE killed their citizens, but like wasn’t that in the past?

A decade ago, my perspective on these issues was very different. I thought women could just as easily abuse men and there was no legitimate reason people needed guns. When you are focused on trying out new falafel recipes, it is easy to pretend these red levels of power don’t exist. But once you are forced to confront them, you see how these lower frequencies of life have actually been influencing your choices all along.

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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies

Far

Can you close your eyes we’re almost there?
I can feel the tendrils of his hair
Look I see the pole they said we’d find
First you know we saw it in our mind.

Close your eyes and let him start to speak
First we fall down limply then go weak
Though we cannot move we see the star
And we know this man will take us FAR.

First we feel his hands caress our face
Lips that part too gently to erase
All the things that lay behind us now
Things that hurt us in the mind somehow.

Darkened hands that lifted up the lid
Of the heavy black box where we hid
Till those heavy hands became a star
And we knew this man would take us FAR.

Sister hold my hand it’s just the two of us
To withstand what he gives.
Let your mind give way you know they say the one who dies
Will be the only one lives.

First his eyes seem black then they seem blue
First he watches me then watches you
As though we were dancing though we lie
Paralyzed and facing towards the sky.

Then we feel his hands begin to touch
Do we like it no or very much?
Either way we’re flying in his car
We have found the man who takes us FAR.

FarDownload
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Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Red, Soldiers, & Fire

No More Tears

Try, try open your eyes, but its my head- no… where am I ?
days, months, seconds, years, I told myself no more tears.

I always use the words that drive him away
sometimes I don’t know what I mean to say I
try to clear my head, slipping like sand…
I can’t lose one more man.

First you’ll go cold and then you’ll open the door
but could you stay and please don’t leave?
You run around and still I’m chasing you down
as though there’s something that I need.

I know I drove you away I turned you cold
cause I was talking all of the time.
Trying to hold too many things in my head
to make me seem right inside the mind.

Try, try, I won’t cry, just look into the air and you will
find something inside your mind to distract you from what you feel.

I know that I was wrong chasing him round
that’s why his shoulders turn away from me now.
Try to search my mind to find a way
but words and words are all I say

hello blanket over me, pull me down I can’t breath
hello room, hello pink, pull me down I can’t think

First he’ll go cold and then he’ll open the door
because he hates me on my knees.
I’ll grab his arm again oh please understand
sometimes I don’t know what I mean!

I’ll grab his arm again oh please understand
I think its broken in my mind!
But he goes crazy on me when I beg and then
I’m not supposed to cry.

Try, try open your eyes, but its my head- no… where am I ?
Days, months, seconds, years, I told myself no more tears.

No More TearsDownload

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Charleston, West Virginia Purple, Magic & Sorcerers Writings

Where is my Venus?

(Warning. This post may contain gross words.)

I am a female. I am an artiste. Why can’t I can’t relate to Venus, beautiful goddess of women and the arts? Ruler of money, comforts and social graces? Why can I only relate to Aries, god of blood and gore? Why do I turn to him when I have problems? I started wondering about this today and then vomited out the following words. I don’t know if they will shed light on the issue or not.

*

Growing up I wanted to be a boy. Or at least a tomboy. Not because I liked boy things. I didn’t. But I wanted to like boy things. I felt incredibly guilty for not reading the sports page, watching sports games or learning sports statistics. My ultimate dream was to be seen by others as someone who was obsessed with sports. My ultimate ultimate dream was to be the first female professional football player.

I wanted to be a great athlete, but was held back by my dislike for sports. They were smelly, dull, tiring, abrasive, and lacking in color.

Still, the world I grew up in was 90% sports, so even if you disliked them you were playing them anyways. Swimming, t-ball, tennis, gymnastics and ballet when you’re little and later volleyball, basketball, tennis and track. In half of these sports, being tall made up for the fact that I was spaced out and apathetic.

It wasn’t enough to just play sports though. Unless you wanted to be an absolute loser in life you needed to force yourself to do sporty things in between playing sports. Time between sports could be filled with competitive ping pong games, shooting pool, practicing freethrows or going for a bike ride. If there was a time lapse between swim practice and tennis practice, you should arrange to hit balls with a friend. Failing that hit balls against a wall or practice your serve. But do not sit there munching a grilled cheese like a lazy piece of shit.

I knew some people from public schools who would sometimes play sports in a silly way, like hitting ping pong balls against the wall and giggling. This shocked me. My husband grew up in a religion where pure thoughts & sexuality were moralized. In my world, sports were moralized. Sports and exertion. If you chose to relax when you could be playing sports, exercising or doing something strenuous, then you were a bad person. A lazy piece of shit, to be exact.

Also on my shoulders was the weight of needing to save the female species from disgrace. They were a disgrace because they were bad at sports. The superiority of men at sports was a favorite dinner conversation. My dad liked to discuss how one day my younger brothers would surpass me in sports and this filled me with dread and humiliation. I had to stop this from happening. I had to prove that females can do everything a man can do. And so from the beginning, I was at war with nature.

But the possibility of being a worthless piece of shit was not the worst part. On its own, I could have dealt with being a loser. The real problem was that if I did not become a professional football player I would have to become a regular woman. I knew I didn’t want this. Based on everything I heard they were absolutely disgusting. They used only one thing to get through life and that was “sexual wiles.” Whatever they appeared to have achieved it was those wiles that had done it. I didn’t know exactly what wiles were, but I knew they sounded gross like smooshing your body against someone else’s while wearing a silk blouse bulging with boobs.

And since I had three brothers and no sisters, I was the only one who would have to grow up and use sexual wiles. It made me feel humiliated. They would just get to grow up and be normal people. Beating me at sports until eventually my wiles took over. This sucked.


***

Fast forward to when I’m 18 and decide to legally change my first and last name. Of course I chose a man’s name. To me, a man’s name meant I would be the person I was within, not someone who played a role to please others. Males were subjects. Females objects. A man’s value came from his accomplishments. A female’s value came from what men thought of her. Unless she could beat them in sports. But I couldn’t. By this time I was just a series of injuries and could barely walk without pain. Dreams of becoming an athlete were over. Sort of.

Now I’m 19. My first boyfriend/spiritual guru/husband and Jesus have agreed. I should be a stripper. The reasoning has something to with achieving enlightenment. I agree I should do this. Why? Because it is my greatest nightmare. You must do the thing you fear. Or as my dad liked to say “That which does not kill you makes you stronger.” If you do what feels good to you, the ego wins. If you torture yourself, the ego starts to die. Then you will finally become free to fly past the Eagle in the sky and live forever. That is literally how I thought of it.

Some people see stripping as a feminine expression. Dumbasses. It is the most manly thing in the universe. No one with a feminine side goes near those places. I can only compare it to a man working up the courage to stab himself in a nut.

It is about as sexual as a man pulling down his pants to be examined by a doctor who happens to be his uncle. But I was honor bound to do it because it combined all the things I dreaded most- being on stage, dancing, acting ‘sexy’ and worst worst worst of all- not wearing clothes. I can’t really convey in words the extent to which I did not want to be without clothing. Would you like to be naked and carved up in the middle of a Thanksgiving feast? Would you like to be hog tied with your head buried in mud and your bare ass pointing towards the sky as friends walk by pointing and laughing at you? Cause that is how it felt. Disgusting but also like a horror movie. “Guts” was my name. But the disgust and the horror were why I had to do it. Only the ego has those feelings. Unless you kill the ego you will never fly past the Eagle.

This is also the time I decided to become a Professional Body Builder. This was probably a way of trying to turn my body into a suit of armor since I really didn’t want to be naked. I was not looking to become toned. I wanted to become absofreaking ginormous like those men in magazines with veins popping out of their forehead. I wanted to be a three hundred pound monster. I was convinced that if I ate enough canned chicken and spent all day at the gym, I would become just like those men. I didn’t realize this was as unlikely as becoming a professional football player. In the summer I spent all my time pumping iron and packing down protein. When I got back to school the teacher had me stand up for the class as an example of a body type that would never be able to gain muscle mass. I was confused because in my mind I already resembled those giant men.

But that one statement popped my dream. And if I couldn’t be a successful professional male body builder then I wasn’t going to be a stripper either. The two things went together.

***

Always people were breathing down on me, sculpting me. My psychology was built around finding ways to fend others off while also seeking them out for protection. But every new protector would become the one I needed protection from. Normal, healthy people probably steered clear of me, I was so weird. Or maybe I steered clear of them. To this day, I feel very uncomfortable around nice people. When people tell me I am the dumbest person they have ever met, I feel safe, like Briar Rabbit in his briar patch. When people gang up on me I feel at home. Nobody in my family liked me. I was surrounded by invisible cooties and you could see the disgust in their faces.

***


I don’t trust men who try to pretend like men and women are the same. My first husband was like this. He would wear women’s clothing and mascara. He would decorate my room with pictures of women carrying guns and knives. And naked women making weird expressions. To me they looked like men in those unnatural poses, their faces scrunched up as though (trigger warning) they were trying to take a crap. But to the males that came around they were hot and sexy women. I never knew what they were seeing.

Husband would wear my shirts and perfume. He would buy me knives whose handles were carved into skulls. He bought me swords. He gave me a stolen gun and told me to keep it in my backpack as a symbol of female empowerment. He called the cops and told them I was planning to murder someone. A man who had recently crushed my skull but whom I had no plans to murder. It is hard to explain the full extent to which murdering people was not on my mind. It really hit me from left field. The cops took me to get psychiatric evaluation. They looked at my dorm room, the walls covered in collages and posters hung there by my husband. Violence, nudity. The big black pirate flag he had hung in my window. I had thought it was funny and weird the way teenagers think it is funny to turn a sign upside down. It was better than naked women. But when you are a potential murderer these things take on a different glow. The collection of knives on my desk. It made me feel special when he bought these for me. He wanted me to be safe and powerful. At any rate, I hadn’t had much say in the way my room was decorated. Each new piece of decor was hung while I was out and then presented to me as a surprise, a gift filled with complex existential meanings which would be laboriously laid out. Usually something along the line of female empowerment or getting past the Eagle.

Aesthetically I didn’t care for his decorations but it never occurred to me to view them through the eyes of police men. Although this wasn’t the first time police had shown up in my dorm room. Once they came because there was a gigantic naked man handcuffed to the stairwell outside my door. My name was written over his naked body, presumably by my husband. He was rattling his chains and wailing my name. I don’t know why. My roommate and I were pretty scared because this was the middle of the night and we had been sleeping. But it had become normal for my husband to do weird things in the middle of the night, like pulling the fire alarm, sometimes repeatedly forcing everyone in the dorm to evacuate. It was so loud & startling & cold & then the nightmare of having to get out of bed in a panic and be around boys without real clothes or makeup on. But he said I needed to learn to go without sleep to get past the eagle.

So when a naked guy was chained to my room wailing my name it was not totally out of the ordinary. I was usually in a state of semi-horror. The cops came and I was hid from them because I didn’t want them to see me in my nightgown with no makeup. I couldn’t look at them and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know why he was chained there and why my name was written on his body.

My husband would wear my clothes and give me his. Sheer mesh shirts from International Male that reeked of permanent b.o. He made fun of my clothes, saying I dressed like a gigantic baby. He bought me new ones. He said he needed me to be a classy elegant lady. This had something to do with existentialism and Apollo vs Dionysus. There were always very complicated explanations for things. Classy, elegant ladies wore cutaway tops. Cutaway tops were shirts which covered up one’s entire torso except for the breasts which were left bare and exposed. I said I had never seen a cutaway top and it made no sense that elegant ladies would wear these. But that is when he would start screaming. Really really loud, just like the fire alarm. I guess his pattern was to make a false or absurd statement and then start screaming until I accepted it. He especially liked to scream in public. It seemed as though the more he screamed at me in public the more our friends would come up with psychological theories as to why he was actually a good guy, just someone with problems. Which caused an ever increasing flow of kindness and generosity in his direction.

He liked to humiliate me in public. Screaming at me until I would take off clothes or dance. Taking off his clothes in a fancy restaurant. Telling me I had to say sexual things to people, including family members, or saying sexual things himself. Giving people inappropriate gifts that were supposedly from me or threatening teachers in my name. I became accustomed to living in a state of permanent humiliation. I was horrified to be associated with myself and the dark, perverted, murderous freak I was supposed to be. But this made me cling to him even tighter. He was the only one who could love me.

People say it is your fault if you are in a bad relationship because you didn’t leave. I don’t care. I don’t know what fault means anyway. There were reasons I was with him. For starters, even before him I was very confused. I remember running around outside at night screaming “Help!! I can’t see!!!” I felt there were things in my mind I couldn’t get to. I was confused as to what was real and what wasn’t. I was always looking for people who could help me make sense of things. Nothing ever made sense in my world. My parents would say things that didn’t make any sense either. They would project strange things onto me.

Even moreso I was with him due to fear. I was terrified of my parents. I still am. I preferred being escorted by cops as a potential murderer to being alone with them. And for all his faults, my husband had the virtues of being insanely brave and bold. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He would bite the head right off of a live snake knowing it was poisonous. It was insane.

I suppose my core flaw was not being an independent person. That is my core flaw to this day. Everyone is expected to be an independent person ready to handle life completely on their own at a moment’s notice. But it is hard to be independent when you can’t trust your mind to know what is real and what isn’t. The terror, the confusion & the dependence became this Bermuda triangle, each point playing off the others so there wasn’t any clear way to escape it. He was the only person willing to step into that mess.

Nothing has really changed. I am still confused, still terrified and still dependent. But I try to be a productive person to make up for my flaws. I don’t want to be a net drain on the world.

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Astrology Charleston, West Virginia Red, Soldiers, & Fire Writings

Aries, I love you!!!

Holy cow, if there is one thing I love in this freaking world, it has to be Aries, God of War. Just thinking about him makes me want to go insane.

Not only is he the first sign of the zodiac he is also the first principle I turn to whenever life feels dim. If not for Aries taking that first bold step into the void, no other signs would have ever be born. He is the electric current that powers the whole zodiac. You could say he is life itself. I freaking love him.

Aries is one quality (well one of 100) I always seek in people but rarely find. It isn’t that common for people to move forward boldly in a direction of their choosing. Many are pathetically addicted to being on the receiving end of life, seeing this as a form of validation. There are more people who want to be courted & pursued than people who are hungry to continuously pursue someone (or something) who is kicking them in the face. But once you make the connection to Aries and feel his fire in your heart your perspective shifts. A kick really does start to feel like a kiss. There is a reason Jesus said it is better to give than receive. Because the life force flows through the giver.

To be the actor plugs you directly into life’s current. When you act boldly upon this world, electricity from another world begins to flow into you. The receiver looks to this world for his fulfillment, while the giver receives straight from God. Connected to a higher power, it doesn’t matter how this world responds to you. The exhilaration of feeling life flow through you becomes its own reward. It is thrilling to never know what you will do next and what might pour out of you. We call this “being on fire.”

And the fire of Aries is always available to us. Aries is our ability to act independently and assertively, without outside support. By definition, he is there for us any time we choose.

No matter our situation, there is always some arena in which we can engage a little harder and become a little bolder. Always some opportunity to extend further into the unknown, filling your body with tingles. If you are low on tingles it is because you are low on Aries and no amount of external stimulation can bring that potato to life. It has to come from within. Setting aside the need for validation, for permission. Life flowing through you and making the world come alive.

I have in my mind this masculine ideal of someone who is always brave, shockingly bold, moving forward, relentless, caring what no one thinks. After discussing this with many women, Aries seems to be the archetype 90% of us dream of. A strong bold man who sweeps you off your feet despite your protests and you have no idea what is happening. You can’t think straight, your bones have turned to jelly, but still he continues.

And I have experienced this a few times, but the sad truth is that when your life consists of continuously getting swept away by outside forces you eventually turn into a vegetable. Even females need to find the fire within. Sometimes though, it doesn’t feel so much like this fire comes from within, but from someone behind you- the perfect man- filling you up with a fire from another world, giving you boldness even when you know you are a coward. The love he gives you never fades or dims, it just grows stronger the more you use it.

Ironically, the more you let the primal fire flow through you, the more you may attract things to yourself thus fulfilling the vegetal desire to be pursued. But at this point it doesn’t matter anymore because you already have all the fire you can take and it is just holding candles up to the sun.

How many times have you heard that you must love yourself before others can love you? How many have lost large chunks of their life floating around in bubble baths waiting for this to happen? Women often think of self-love as a kind of bifurcated mental state where they are both a priceless object and also the housekeeper who must tirelessly care for that priceless object. With this kind of self-love you break even at best, like preparing an elaborate dinner for one. Becoming the slave of your object self is blah. Becoming the slave of Aries is hot.

To me, self love means connecting with the fire in your heart and realizing that this fire is life itself. No man created it. No man can judge it. The fire created the whole world and everything in it. The fire bows to no one and seeks no approval.

It feels fucking exhilarating as though Prince Charming is standing right behind you blazing a hole through your heart. Life itself is the ultimate masculine principle and He has chosen you to be forever alive. Feeling him there you know how much you have to offer the world because it isn’t the form of what you give or how well crafted it may seem. You are bringing fire itself. Bringing life to life. On fire like this, it feels wonderful to be the one extending your hand because you have already received and been chosen. The fact that you are able to extend is proof that life has found you so desirable he couldn’t resist filling you up with his own energy. A slave to the ultimate man. UGH!!!!!!!!!!! That is how I feel about Aries. Like I said, he makes me go insane.

***

But wait… I need to be honest with you… there is a dark side to my love for aries… there is another side to this coin…

I tend to view life as consisting of two worlds. The physical world we can see and an invisible world of eternal spiritual powers which we can’t see. I view myself as a channel through which the powers flow, descending from that world into this one. This is an Arian view of life, in which I play the dynamic role and the world around me is the dough I act upon. Sometimes I view others as dough people. I have to ram them with my rod til I’m exhausted. Or sometimes protect myself against them. Because I realize other people can harm, but I rarely consider the possibility that they could bring something new or meaningful into my life. I have no hope of finding anything meaningful in my world other than the things I bring into it. And I’m pretty sure that perspective is fucked up.

The upside to this is being able to find meaning in my life regardless of how others treat me or feel about me, because my primary meaning is coming from relating to the invisible worlds. Consider Emily Dickinson, who spent her life writing poems but never got them published. What if she had been concerned with getting them published? Maybe she would have become frustrated & committed suicide. Not caring what the world gives to you puts you in a position of control. Things like other people, over which you have no control, don’t matter.

I guess my approach to life developed in an attempt to maintain equilibrium while feeling overpowered by those whom I could not influence. To be able to grow when normal avenues of growth seemed blocked. But viewing life solely through the lens of what you bring to the world can lead to a sort of loneliness where the only person in your life is you. Not to mention reduced survival skills since you aren’t connected enough to the people and things around you to really understand how they work. And emitting too much energy can keep other people at bay. In fact, keeping other people at arm’s length is probably why I started to emit in the first place.

One technique I learned early in life was to stream out a continuous flow of energy towards those I found threatening… to try and shower them with so many compliments, gifts and helpful observations that they would have fewer opportunities to attack. Like throwing a tiger a steady supply of meat. Love bombing I guess. I would try to fill all the space between myself and others with energy so there would be no time or space left for them to respond. This didn’t stop attacks, but did slow them a bit. It probably had the impact of attracting mostly predators and mooches as well since I was constantly throwing things at people. Money, compliments, clothes, even trading school papers when I knew mine would get higher grades. I flattered others constantly while disparaging myself, but because I paid no attention to what I was or wasn’t receiving from the world, I never really noticed the harm I was causing, nor that I was sinking deeper and deeper into a pit from which I would not be able to escape.

Now I don’t feel as much of a need to flatter, but still obsessively fill space with my own energy. When I stop doing this, it feels as though there is nothing there. I can either provoke others and be attacked or be surrounded by inert blobs of dough.

Hence the need for Libra, Aries’ polarity. The sign of relationships where giving and receiving are in a state of balance. To be Aries is to be an individual. To be Libra is to be in harmony with the world and receive the things you need from other people. I am not going to say much about Libra at this point because I don’t really understand it. I have been fairly productive for most of my life and probably earned less than a thousand dollars. Meanwhile a person with a super strong Libra says something like “What is, is.” and wins a Nobel Prize. Oil barons want to marry them. Because they understand how the world works and know how to position themselves within it for maximum gain. I guess receiving things from life is not an automatic but takes a different type of skill and knowledge, something Aries cannot understand. I want to learn this because I want to survive. And also because everything which isn’t myself is my obsession, even if I can never quite reach it.

So take my enthusiasm for Aries with a grain of salt, because despite his absolute hotness he is just one side of the coin. Without the other side you will not last long in this world.

******

*** PS. This is my usual disclaimer that in discussing Aries & Libra I am discussing the signs themselves, as forces in the universe, not those people who call themselves “an aries” or “a libra.” Personally I am a scorpio, despite identifying with aries in this post.

But we all have aries at some place in our chart and this is an area of life where we will exert ourselves with aggression. For me, aries rules my House of Creativity & Self-Expression, so this is the arena where I am willing to step out & assert myself in an independent manner. In other areas of life, not so much. Someone else, like you for example, might have Aries in their house of sex, making them an absolute freak but only behind closed doors.

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Purple, Magic & Sorcerers Red, Soldiers, & Fire Uncategorized

Light on the Wall


Light on the wall
Just stare at it hard then he’s coming to call
He said that your name was the cause for it all
But you knew truth- he knew nothing at all
And next thing it’s all coming down.

Blue on your mind
Then come the words that you’re struggling to find
A world that don’t change and his arm like a vine
till he’s lifting you up by the shoulder.

Waited too long
You can’t hold it back now you’re lost in the song
To enter a world where you could not belong
only lay hypnotized in the smolder.

Cotton is shame
But when you’re alone then you’re primed for the game
The way you’ll go out is the way that you came
To touch is to know that you’re feeling the same
And next thing it’s all coming down.

Light on your mind
It hurts when you know he’s not looking to find
Anything more than to have a good time and that
you were the one he could roller.

Melted again
Everyone knows it’s the heart of these men
To lower you down till you can’t rise again
then they turn to a friend and grow colder.

You will remain
Just hold your hands close to the fire of the pain
And in the end only the fire will remain
The men will return to the light where they came
And next thing it’s all coming down.

Light on the WallDownload
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Charleston, West Virginia men Writings

dry words, testicles, men & things which are hard to relate to

Recently I have been feeling it is pointless to say anything in dry words (words with no music) because you can never really say what you mean and if you DID say what you meant it would be inappropriate and everyone would hate you. Consider the lyrics of any song and imagine speaking them to a person. Your life would be over instantly. But somehow when words & music combine it becomes okay to say what you really feel.

Still there is a practical limit to how many songs I am able to write so this forces me to use dry words to fill in the gap. In order to record a song, I must ask my husband has to disassemble the microphone from his computer & attach it to a different device so I can use it. Then, I have to get him to move the song from this device & put it into his computer. Then I must ask him to let me sit at his computer for a few minutes to do the sound. So basically I must make three requests of James & separate him three times from his computer in order to record one song. Each request must be carefully timed to avoid conflict. His schedule is quite odd and windows of opportunity are infrequent. Sometimes it takes days or even weeks for me to get up the nerve to ask him. If I could just write songs & post them directly it would be much easier & I would hardly need dry words at all.

There is just something about musicless words that always ends up feeling pretentious. They are so lofty & detached. I always end up getting this weird Butler feeling, as though I am impersonating Oprah. The meaning of what you are trying to say gets warped by the dryness of words and you end up seeming like an asshole.

Plus, so many social rules apply to dry words that do not apply to music. You can write a song called “Please Help Me!” and that is totally cool, but to say it in words would make you a pariah. You can express feelings, needs & desires in music when expressing them in words would make you seem like a narcissist. You just have to be very careful how you use dry words. You must never reveal to much & always follow the rules. There is really no point.

*****

Perhaps though it is the case that dry words belong to the world of men. I have really been trying to understand men these past few years, but I’m not sure I have made much progress except to realize that there is something very, very strange about them. I don’t think anyone really accounts for how differently their brains work & this is the cause of much conflict. Here is the small amount of info I have gleaned so far…

  1. They are more attuned to survival than women. Their testicles seem to be two extra brains which feed them info related to survival. It is possible that their testicles may be two separate beings altogether who feed information to their host in exchange for warmth, food and shelter.
  2. They are more attuned to status, rank, respect, & prestige than women, although they will not admit this. Hence why they believe women seek out men of high status, something which, in my opinion, is fairly uncommon for women for whom love is the ultimate attainment of life and not a means to an end.
  3. They are also very attached to their dicks & sexuality… somehow this ties into their sense of self & power at a core level.
  4. They think in blocks, which makes it easy for them to work with certain types of info but more challenging to work with others. They don’t seem, for example, to have the same access to feelings and inner states that women do.
  5. They are less trusting. Women are more geared towards dependency & caretaking while men seem geared towards independence & battle. If you ask a woman how she is feeling, she is likely to see your interest as a welcome sign of concern. A man may view this same question as a potential trap and try to choose his words carefully.

    The end result of this is that if you treat a man the way you yourself would like to be treated, he may see you as a foreign invader. In general it seems that maybe women like to be probed, while men do not.

    ***

When I was a kid my friends were mostly female. We would do creative things together. Then at some point men began to seem more interesting. But still there is a constant friction which feels like an unbridgeable gulf. Your actions are viewed through a lens of suspicion. Gestures intended to heal are batted down defensively. Words are translated through some mysterious lens leaving you with no idea of what you are supposed to have said. The culture tells you again and again that talking things out is the solution even when talk itself seems to cause all the problems.

What is the answer? If a man reads this, will he believe I have insulted men? I hope not, but based on my experience, this seems likely. Perhaps when dealing with men you must stick to facts and figures or be prepared to pay the ultimate price.

***

What if men interpret words in a more solid manner- as pronouncements on the official nature of objective reality- whereas females interpret words more as fluid & subjective expressions of feeling states?

For example, “Men are dumb” could mean “I am trying to establish a permanent belief in the group mind that men are intellectually inferior. Submit to my view, insects!” Or it could mean, “I am upset because I just had a bad experience. I wish someone cared.” Females tend speak & interpret language more through the second lens but I’m not sure men always get that. The language women use to bond, express emotion & seek caring seems to trip off wires in men which relate to power, domination & control.

Luckily, songs are automatically interpreted through this female lens- as expressions of mutable subjective states. Thus we give them a wide berth. Sometimes I wish men would give this same berth to women. To see them as songs rather than barbarian hordes. Then men wouldn’t want to be with elevator women anymore than they want to listen to elevator music.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Earth, Pink, Mothers, Love Writings

Trapped in Man Crust

I feel like I am trapped in a man’s body. Not my physical body, but like there is a giant man around me, a crusty man suit, which I must wear to deal with the outside world. It is so heavy. But I need to act like a man so people can understand me. Men do not understand women, in my experience. You must put everything in manguage so they can hear it. If you want to seem intelligent you must seem heavy & thick. Women can understand you regardless, but I must be a man around them as well, because women need men, and I feel responsible for taking care of them.

It would feel selfish not to be a man. Lift heavy logs, stroke egos, be boring & responsible. This is my moral programming. Above all- be crusty. My feminine self doesn’t even want to be nice to people- it would prefer people being nice to me. My man self doesn’t care how it is treated though. You can break giant logs over his head and it will not deter him from trying to care for you.

My feminine self does not understand the things people say. People seem to talk in puffy word clouds, with their words having no specific meaning. Men do this especially. They puff out words & the words have that intelligent aura, but when you try to boil them down, you cannot find anything specific they are saying at all! I don’t know how to process that.

Most of the concepts people throw around mean nothing to me- love, compassion, forgiveness, goodness, kindness, equality… what are these things? Once again, they feel like clouds, positively charged, commonly used to obscure something nasty. They evoke fear in me. When you see empty positivity, you can be certain its opposite- tangible negativity- is not far behind. Why do people blow these words around? Do people wake up in the morning thinking “Equality. Compassion. Heal the World?” Or are these concepts only used when others are listening?


I don’t understand books either, though I try. I open them to a random page, read the first sentence, and realize this will be unbearable. I can tolerate children’s books- so long as there are no morals involved- and also simple autobiographies- so long as they aren’t written by writers. I detest the puffy way writers write. I guess I have real issues regarding words.

Though I wish I could be real around people, I can’t. My real self is needy, weak, pathetic. Semi-retarded. The opposite of what anyone needs. I must be peoples Knight in Shining Armor. I must protect them and be the one to take bullets. I must lift heavy logs & then retreat back into the woods with a sporty whistle. The lesbian lumberjack. It is so lonely though. There is too much of me and too little of anyone else.

But also there is none of me and too much of everyone else.

Technically there are other people in my life but they feel… predictable. They rarely say or do anything I could not have thought of myself. I wish people were more surprising and could open doors to new realities. I wish books could do the same, but I can’t find these books.

Of course, I mostly connect with others in a mental fashion. In physical life, I bet people are surprising. Robbing banks, anal sexing their cousins…

But the mental realm tends towards dullness. It may be the average person just doesn’t have much to say beyond recirculating group mind concepts. Talk to a few people & it can feel as though you have talked to them all.

Perhaps emotional relationships are the answer. What does this mean though? I think the essence of emotion is to give of yourself. To take a risk. To make a sacrifice. There must be some transfer of bodily fluids, at least on a symbolic level, or relationships are pointless. Social media does not make this easy though. In many cases you have no idea who you are interacting with and just opening up a vein does not seem advised. In real life, exchanging fluids is now illegal since it spreads disease.

Nonetheless there is something about giving of oneself, in a meaningful way, that magically opens the door between people enabling you to see through their eyes and know things you could never have known. I am not sure if words alone can do this. I guess that is why people used to sacrifice animals to the Divine- spilling living fluid to open up a portal beyond what prayer can do.

I am glad we don’t sacrifice animals anymore, but still the principle applies. Blood, sweat, tears, something liquid must spill or else nothing truly new can ever break through into this world.








Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Red, Soldiers, & Fire Uncategorized Writings

Hatred- the Red Flame of Glory

I just need to write a quick post in defense of a dear friend- Hatred. Just like Mr. Rogers, I am a big fan of all feelings. What are feelings really, but colors that enter our body, giving us the energy & wisdom to do what needs to be done? And what is hatred but a surge of red fire to our heart, enabling us to respond appropriately to extreme situations? To set aside our vanity, our social hangups, our desire to be pleasing and simply fight for something we care about?

Why has hatred has been so demonized? I hate hatred? Hatred has no home here? Do these people love hatred so much they are hoping to keep it all for themselves? Are they are prepping future victims to not have a swift and violent response to being attacked? Do they want men to be so impotent they won’t stand up for women? Women to be so zenned out they will walk over the murdered bodies of loved ones with a smile?

There is little chance a human will overdose on hatred. It simply consumes too much energy to be sustained over time- much like an erection. No one needs to worry that their erection will become permanent and live in their pants forever. Likewise, there is no chance that hatred will set up a permanent station in your heart. It is too combustible- flaring up under extreme circumstances and then dying down once released.

When hatred comes into your heart it should be embraced so that your red circuits can flow freely. If you try to smother it down with an extra scoop of white spirituality you will only end up with social impotence. Because a man incapable of hatred has no meaningful role to play in society. He can’t get married if he is unable to summon enough red to hate those who would threaten his wife. He can’t even stand up for his own life and can only hope that men who are capable of hatred will be in his vicinity if extreme circumstances ever arise. In essence, a man who cannot hate is a wuss.

Hatred comes to us to enliven the heart and give it courage. When you really boil it down- hatred is the flame of love, turned up so bright that it begins to hurt. You only hate when you love something so much you are willing to protect, destroy & sacrifice for it. It is a beautiful thing.

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Minerals, Mountains, Crystals, Ice, and White Music & Songs

Follow Me Down

Years ago I fell into a tunnel made of white
Held my arms against me & they bound them to me tight.

Follow me down. Follow me down.

Was it night or was it day, the lanterns seemed the same
Dimming for a moment and then bursting into flame.

Follow me down. Follow me down.

Did I fight? Did I bow?
I’ve been afraid for so long now
No way to still remember what I thought I’d found.

Falling forward on my knees
To think of all those precious things
To wait for all the time again to come around.

Follow me down.

Did the walls reach out to touch me with their silky hands?
Colder than the snow yet dry and sparkling like the sand.

Follow me down. Follow me down.

Do you think he cared but was possessed by something black?
Wandered so far in the night he couldn’t wander back?

Follow me down. Follow me down.

Did I cower? Was I proud?
I’ve felt alone for so long now
No way to see the way that things would come around.

Falling forward, rise again
To tangle with so many men
To wait for all the softer things to come around.

Follow me down.

If I wander further will I find the stairwell down
Leading to that chamber where the trees grow underground?

Follow me down. Follow me down.

Climbing up, fall again
I’ve tangled with too many men
Too late to see the way for things to start again.

Maybe still I did succeed
I stood there proudly on my knees
Nobody knew my hands were full of soft diamond things.

Follow me down.

Follow Me DownDownload

And great…… it seems like the sounds gets weird at the higher parts but I still have zero idea how microphones & recording devices work. They are so complicated. Of course I should try to figure out how they work, but it seems so complex that there is really no hope of ever making progress in that realm. And so boring I could possibly die. I must be resigned to my fate and continue on. Just realize it sounds better in person & make adjustments in your imagination. Thanks!