september why are you not seven?

I dream in action and color and I wake exhausted from my night of ongoing adventures in nevernever land.

When I was a girl of nineteen I had a little tiny sack of cells growing in my belly. It was a fucking disaster. I was alone, terrified of reality, and frozen in time, my lips sealed against the truth because if I said the word pregnant then I would have to face the shame publicly.

Time and months ticked by.

I don't have time to finish this now. Only know that I've never had a kid and the abortion took three days. I'll finish later. I love you.

All News Fit To Print

Planning now to pursue tempered ambitions. I am moving, keeping the job. There is packing and reorganizing to be done, a job to procure, pictures to paint, money to be earned, friends to love, strangers to fuck, goals, written in my mind, to be brought forward to this reality, items to sell and repair, la la la life goes on.

Weary of grinding poverty and the charity of strangers, I search solutions in the recesses of my skill set. I develop a personality that is not me, but a mask I wear to navigate the outside world.

Half-truth is simple, dancing between the half-light of moon shadows.

*poetic license

Me, I have unanswered questions

which begs reason for return

as if logic and sustenance where netted kinetically

to the fibrous structure of my soul's spine

standing to reason that with calculated decisions it is possible to be both held and beholden

both by and to

three fates

however the catalog of misfortune and disrepute

may linger over my palm

I attest it to be smoke and mirrors
and that spirit bag of shadows I tote
and what I hold close to my heart
that which I tear asunder shall no man
with four cheese cheese-its and string cheese and red-vines piece meal back together

because don't tell me that ain't living
my part of the dream

the part where I go to sleep to wake up and awaken to sleep
this is not some sort of salt streaked locution

9th, 10th, Poison
rigorous negotiations have left me on your door
benevolent pockets outpouring justice
praying mercy take me

I have three minutes to live*
I am thinking of you

 and how no time space distance
eternity as far as I can see
and
too believe
despite all of it
everything
I love you

It is brave and bracing
happiness

It Is My Papa's Birthday

This week I lost and found you're knife. I didn't find it, that was Jake. Redneck, asshole Jake found your knife after I lost it spotlighting. I thought that we were going hunting, good old-fashioned stalk game and take it down with pride. That's not what happened.

I miss you like crazy. The sound of your voice is a memory at best, and it is your voice I miss more than almost anything else. More than your voice, the smell of sweat and wool and dirt and Dr Bronners soap that mixed into my nose and familiar as my skin when you held me. If we could talk again, I would tell you how you taught me to be honest and have faith in an unknowable, unbelievable god.

The knife is sharp. I will use it with honor. I search for you in the shadow bright nights of my soul. 

Good, Bad, Ugly

 I am sitting in my room on my computer. Only it is not exactly my computer anymore. My account fritzed and all that's left of the last year's worth of work is well nothing. Not one single word of the thousands that spilled onto this hard drive remain, not a song, not a photo, not that video of Marco confessing to be a drug addict as we paddle boated around Lake Merrit.

There ain't shit to be done so let the sleeping dogs lay:

I lost my father's knife. I am an asshole. Worse even. Of the few remaining items which once belonged to him, that I treasured beyond all others. There is no replacement.

*My Heartbreaks*

This is me now this morning. Can you see Sampson on the bed? he is lazy today but has missed me. He is the world's best bear.

Help Hurt Humans

San Francisco this morning is sky and sun and early morning families pushing babies in wagons. A rare  sky day, ripe with potential and high on coffee I window shop and dream of new boots made of soft camel colored leather and a haircut with bangs and being snapped up by a roving philanthropist. Fall in the city does that, makes me dream of possibility.

Yesterday I learned something. I get to chose to not allow how people speak to me to be a reflection of myself. I am not a victim of words; I am a survivor of myself.

I am on the prowl in search of stimulation: Solitude is sacred. Pressure makes me shake a late fall leaf on a naked limb waiting for the gust of wind that will loose me.

Structural parameters, clear definable limits, and at least two contingency plans that's how I roll out through days of introspection. It is time for action.

Up Against the Wall

A good place to start with me is with the necessary deportment; mix in a healthy dose of confidence built from a checker-board past, sharp eyes and a kind heart, an appreciation of lengthily hours of grueling work, and an innate ability to appreciate life and we may have a moment together in which we both inhale ourselves as we expand.

A better place is to politely tell me what to do without me ever knowing that I am being suckered into believing that I've made my own choice. I also like perfume, redbull, and popsicles. I am picky though so don't think just because I like redbull I like all redbull because I don't.

No real updates. No real news. I am trying to get myself situated to make a step forward and I am afraid. I feel the ground shifting and here I was thinking that I had normalized. I was wrong. Fragile little ego that I hold behind a rusty cage. Aces baby.

Waiting for Myself

I feel like I am getting pegged down, pinned into a corner with work. It makes me feel boiling anger inside and it took me a long time to realize why.

It's because I am being questioned about other people's actions.

Mostly in life I want to be left alone. I think that most of us do want that, to be left alone to do our work uninterrupted and in relative peace.

I need a plan. More than a plan I feel it is time to take action. I seemingly take action very quickly. Realistically it was all part of the plan all along. I am a little terrified.

Take That

Well there aint no auto-save here and I am trying to function in a windows environment fuck all I need access to normal, functional technology.

I've seen shit this week. I've been removing larve from horse cock. Serious no jokie jokie here. Larve removal by hand. And people be strange.

I don't have more now. Just know that I am grateful and find humor under rocks and in tight places.

Chaya Lovingly.

(I pray that someday I will be serene and walk with ease in my body, in balance with my mind. Until then, I stumble and use the moon to guide me.)