Birds, or, perhaps crows?

After the assimilation do not expect things to be better
or any special treatment

It is not that long here anyhow, one way or another. Unless they figure out a way of keeping my soul tied to this planet. Which the devil may do if they have their will. It's to me no bother. Not a big one.

I lie. It is the nightmare. Imagining being stuck on this fucking rock with troglodytes who don't know how pristine their utopia is as they are hell bent for destroying it.

I've read a few books and seen some pictures. I know what happens. I remember how this story ends and you do to.

I seem to have an allegiance with an entity that is non-national but rather human and planet centered. I believe in water, shelter, the right not to be raped, hunted, slaughtered for pleasure; I believe in a language beyond words that we are more than we have been taught that we are. I believe that in each and every one of us we are ourselves, good by nature and circumstance, without a doubt possessing enough wherewithal to survive another half century without causing too much harm.

I decided years ago not to have children. There are simply enough here. I believe that all human beings are intrinsically disgustingly close  relatives, being 99.99% genetically identical, I chose not to commit incest and adopt. It's simple. We're not precious.

You of course are precious to me my beloved.
I mean simply that all humans are so human, which is lovely but temporary.

Anticipatory hurrah

I am not trendy

The wave's crest curls

into itself 

Like a waffle cone on its side

#CHA¥A

#CSL

One identity is limiting

Singular rather than plural

I've been so many things 

words with more than one meaning

sometimes words have hidden meanings
"I want you to be honest with me' translates into 'tell me what you think I deserve to know."

That comes out bizarre and what I mean is that I am honest; I tell the truth and lots of it; I expect and anticipate the same from those around me.

When I don't get that, when people lie (I thought it was cocaine, I didn't know it was speed; I never said that, or if I did it's not what I meant; I didn't want to hurt you)

it always starts with the mouth not the ears.

I've been addressing my PTSD these days or more realistically it has been addressing me. In the world of tempered fragility the foundation of respect and trust is the bedrock of relation. When I became the other woman or the other woman stepped in between me and my lover something happened.

It was not that he fucked another woman, which is what it is.
It's that at first he didn't tell me.
It's that it was the woman who I had to have trespassed from my work for flipping me off, calling me a cunt on the street, and generally harassing me.
It's that the other woman triggers my PTSD
and that the guy who was supposed to be my partner didn't seem to think that my psychological well being would be impacted; that I would be shaken to the core; that I wouldn't withdraw back into the cocoon of safety that I've built.

Because respect is knowing the person that you're with and understanding their needs. It's not that people with high levels of anxiety need to be held with velvet gloves, it's that we all have specific needs and as we're adults know how to express them. If a partner is unwilling to meet those requests or steps over those boundaries it's hard to come back.

Because, TRUST. It happens until it's gone and then there's no going back. No amount of texts, phone calls, boxes of chocolate make up for the fact that someone whom I am supposed to trust to be on my side, on my team, just pushed me down hard and that their actions are an icy cold bath of feelings that I don't really have words for.

So I grow into all of that. I am simultaneously vulnerable and in retreat; I am gathering my stores.

Sometimes to teach, we leave. Sometimes in order for the general public to understand what it means when someone says "this is my boundary, if you cross it there will be a consequence" there has to be a consequence otherwise the passive aggressive molasses blooded neophobic think that they have a full deck of cards.

tonight in the bathroom

she has long hair and was wearing a short white dress
her vagina felt like a chrlysanthim under my finger  

Dream Money

I'll dance alone in blue cowboy boots
and denim fits right in all the best places

****

Picnics, ponies, long days, longer nights: summer and I can't seem to shake it.


****

I am mad about my tits and ass
in the basic ways of they tell lies about the way I think from the inside out

Feeling top forty country these days and wondering if it's time for me to dip out of life for the wilderness, BBQs, cold beer, snake bite kits.

***

I believe in that kind of love
sunsets
these dreams

I've cultivated
(let them grow, grow, grow; they take time to germinate, bear fruit)

**

wanting at times the quick release (hot metal, fresh angry scars)
but would settle for dream money
or a motorbike of the German variety

**

afternoon and evenings dripping with food cooked on a grill, eaten outside, cold beverages taste better when they're drank in the shade. I am thinking that next weekend or the weekend after is the father's day picnic down in Sonoma County. I'd like to go. It's father's day weekend and damn have I always had nothing but good times there.

I have been thinking about Aaron these days and the parts of me that have changed, that had to change. This is a during, just after, now reflection on myself. The strange way that I needed him to be here now. I mean I needed that experience, those hands wrapped around my throat, tight; I needed him to distrust my every word; to show me how fragile the foundation of my being was.

That fragment that catches the edge of your peripheral vision that's me now. I am all shook up and the water is deep.

*

Last Hold

It's the frontier and whirl-birds are hot tonight. We're strapped; no one's holding, not this late.

The ac rattles, I lean back into myself and think about bad lighting, what an affront it is to every sensibility. The noise of the day's doesn't seem to wash clean.

Dry lighting strikes southbound. I wonder about all of it. The entrapments, entanglements, enchantments coconspire and leave me flaberghatsed.

Write them out all of them and think about them daily: the manifestos the constitutions, the proclamations; dreams, glimpses, knowings.

What is this human thing? This having a body and being here, now of all times, all about?

I listen to effervescent bubbles against a glass of sparkling white wine and thunder.

Ask better questions; answers are less significant.

Right now I am wondering if the house of cards I've crafted is stable. And the thunder rolls.

It's dawn, past dawn, rain is falling, my heart is revived. 

Two Cups, Father Pentacles

I woke up art
all my pieces linked with ink and glue

I burn my heart in my sleeve and I forgot all the dreams where you hang your head
and set my heart to the sea and hold onto seventeen dreams of the sea

Build it all from the floor to the ceiling to the walls
a pit for fire and listen

I like how the fan feels on my cheek, I am against the wall;
Lost in the same spin cycle

Cognition and stickers

I got hit hard in the chest all of it starts spilling out over the edges and I am jittery as J
une bug. The telltale quivering in my limbs let me know that it may be possible that the nerve damage they swore had been remedied had not been. I look at it all the railways and tunnels and the fever foul water. There are fewer and fewer reasons to stop moving besides the simple exercise of will over tissue. I pour a dime out and rail. Voices saying nothing overlap lauding impossible braveries.

It's exhausting; I always hope that it will be exhilarating, it's not, it never is. I question myself, am I washed out? exhausted? I don't seem to be. My faculties are functioning lucidly and I am if anything gaining a more clear perspective of expression.

Three of Swords

Foreboding, heartbreak

Last night my doorbell rang. It was one, I was asleep.

Find pants, find the light, open the door. My lover, gasping words tears silence, his arms holding me don't leave me not now.

I did it because I don't trust you; because I want to love you; because I don't want to hurt you, be hurt.

My only advice in that moment: don't fuck people you don't want to fuck.

The other woman, is that me or her?

Sleeping, fitfully, awake, finally, morning: why is he in my bed?

She's my friend, he said, going through a rough time, needs me.

This I know: My friends don't try to fuck me; they respect my autonomy and my asexuality around our relationship. My friends respect my space, my body, my choices and relationships. That woman, the other woman, is no friend.