“my shitty blog”

4mm-14mm – Fisheye – Abstract, creative – a search for truth

I would be amazed at stories, such as, Diary of a Mad Drug Fiend / Alister Crowley – taboo – I had many false starts, living in those beginnings – I thought I was at the end. And it was. Until it wasn’t. Yet another colorful, animated clip. Called life. – Tell it all – Paint a colorful vibrant, spellbinding story. Loving, violent. Gut wrenching, ethereal.

In Black and White.

I was recently asked where am I going to write and publish these ideas. Good question. I started this blog, which is a personal journal in 2011. And I am glad I did. I enjoy writing. It helps me to process. And I have had my share of procession and possession, pugilist, pedantic, punctual and tardy pastimes. I have written them in the moment and events long gone. Vivid memories. Faint recollections. Fights. Court battles. Deaths. Births. Surf adventures. You know every day life. Getting by through writing.

Continue reading “my shitty blog”

Poppy/Fuck Father’s Day

There has never been a Happy Father’s Day for me. There has never been love. When I asked why he always loved the children in his Morocco Shrine parades so much, I was told it was because they were poor. He could not stand me, because of his money. And I look like his mother. Born in Paris and lied to by his father. Brought to Bainbridge GA. She killed herself in 1957. The year, they played the most popular song, The People Of Paris.

I have always had a pain in my heart for her.

I was born as she died. It was not a happy time.

He was mean and brutal. But he made a lot of money. Yeah, money.

Fuck Father’s Day ~ Every year I have to look at it. Happy Father’s Day.

My first husband lured and lied to me, to get married. He wanted in on the money. Our daughter suffered. She is no longer living with us. I believe she sings with Skynyrd in Riverside Memorial. As an engineer, my ex could not help to support her in her band achievements. She was a good musician and a great singer. I look for his obituary, every day. —- Keith Edwin MacDonald, loser.

My father cared for all his children but his own. (except for Deena, I like Deena too. Most of the time. She has been the most sibling of my siblings. We created hilarious stories. We call her Hollywood. For a reason.)

Keith (my x) zeroed in on another woman, from a wealthy family. He drives a Lexus.

My daughter craved his love and got none.

And that’s why there is a psychology 101.

If money is what you want. The man was a success. If love and care was what you needed you were just born in the shit house, with no toilet paper.

Eagerton Plumbing Co. Since 1954. I do know how to install a toilet and turn a wrench dad. Thanks

Til next year.

Echo

Narco – See – Sissy created Echo. Bullying was his pleasure and she was his choice of experiment in all things. Her little body used for his curiosity. For his grandiosity, in the neighborhood. She was his choice of experiment.

Her mother knew, her nervous system froze.. like the ice..that she chewed..

Like the ice box, that she kept by her side. For life. Until death took her. Iceless.

One holiday, showing visitors the homestead, Echo walked amongst the pines and shrub. She looked up and NSS scowled at her from his elevated position on a pony. His frontal cortex, dark, due to DNA and environment. He charged the 700 pound pony towards Echo. She ran as fast as she could, Filled with terror. She saw the silver bit as it collided with her cranium. Her head slammed into the pine, she had intended for cover. 

The impact…

Another trip to the hospital.

She cried to her mother. “Why did he do this?” Her mother replied, “He didn’t.”

Cards. They all played cards. Echo was winning. Amazed. – He pinned her down with his threats, until he took all of her money. He put it in his pocket, smiled, big white teeth. Their mother loved his teeth. He left the house. Echo’s teeth were hidden. 

Echo said nothing. She his her teeth.

Her mother said, nothing. Because Echo said, nothing. 

She listened. 

Fatty, Fatty, two by four. Can’t get through the bathroom door. So she did it on the floor. Licked it up and did some more. 

Echo had become mute. Repeating here and there. Thoughts traversing her mind. Then buried. She hiccuped.. responses. – When in the presence of NSS, she repeated. No response to the abuse. Until……..

Onlookers viewed  NSS and Echo as friends. 

Echo’s only friend was Celeste. Celeste cared for Echo. If it was cold she found her a blanket. If it was hot, she found a fan. 

Echo – echoed. 

Celeste – nurtured.

She protected Echo. 

Maternal.

Iceless…finally…iceless

Always A New Hell

Hello, Good morning. And the world gets darker and darker.This phone number is supposedly from Bank of America. Someone tried to rob my bank account yesterday of a large amount of money. They want me to help them catch the culprits. I am not to contact anyone. Not even the bank because they are in on it. OMG. There’s the number 857 1911. Something in front of it. He was Richard Badge #2613. He spoke like lightening and was quite annoyed with my Southern Accent. Wow….What’s next. He told me to definitely not talk to my favorite assistant at the bank. She is probably the Guilty one. —- I think this came from a skimmer at Arabi, Georgia. They had twelve pumps. Only one worked. And we were on zero. We felt lucky to get out of there with gas. And now we have bank robbers on our heels. The old west has nothing on us.

I am leaving this post in this fashion. Left and right. He hooked me. He reeled me. He was annoyed by me. Bank People at Bank of America never get annoyed. They are polite. I wish this young man. The Pentecost. Up his hiney…..A burning flame. From his asshole, to blow straight out of his head.

Like I don’t have enough to do.

OOOOOhhhh Son……you are stinky mister. And something is going to get you. I can feel it.

The Postman

Pablo Neruda was a “postman”. He delivered destiny and dreams.
He was activated
Civil
He could write at night, like me.

Don’t look for me in the mail.
None of y’all, ever.
You’ve chopped my soul and had it for dinner.

I swim in your guts.
I long for you to puke.

This is my destiny.
This is my dreams.

It’s certified.

Long Live the Rabbits

Skinnyboy crimes were exhibition, a horse a car, ammunition. Fire below the waist –
a non-murderous trait. … shoot the horse between the eyes. … let the boat fly-to the sky. Jump the fence, swim the river, you look pretty good wet or dry.

The Skinnyboy has it all. Or does he? Who is he? Victim? Attacker? Avenger? Does it matter? He’s the Skinnyboy.

Long live the rabbits – the creator of his habits. Hopping the trail. A surreal wail of pain. Woven. Sewn. Tied Twisted. Hurled high above his head.
Until he is dead.

Long live the Skinny Boy.

Direction

Como Las Vacas – Live Like The Cows – This is a Costa Rican dicho. Near and dear to my heart. I was raised with cattle. A North Florida, educated Cracker. I once lived in a cow pasture. I like to live close to the the earth/with nature. I slow down. I turtle trot. I swim like a fish unchased. I swim like a fish not hungry. It’s not about me. I am blessed. Pura Vida……amigos….

Choose your path – with a moral compass.

Roll it all Back

Daily writing prompt
What technology would you be better off without, why?
View all responses

Trekking through the rain forest. Standing under majestic, celestial waterfalls, dodging a snake that fell through my ceiling, Making friends with Chorotega Indians, diving for lobster, surfing daily in empty line ups, crossing crocodile infested rivers, leaf cutters, dodging turtles making their way to the ocean in the brilliant sunlight of the Avellanes river mouth, flying across the Gulf of Mexico for a pentance/pennies, standing in line for a pay phone, only to be pushed to the side by a bold man, who ran in front of me and grabbed the phone, mother fucker, having the bank president take me outside to show me how to use a machine to get money, machine guns, friendly men with machine guns, climbing into pools of water held by boulders, sit in one, cold, climb a boulder, hot, miles of clay highway, no road signs to guide you, no GPS, no pop up blocked, sitting at a table in Guatemala with a Professor from the Aisle of Wight, a mechanic, an international business major, the host family and the argument of Fingerprints of the Gods, horses, cows, dogs, bot flies, dengue, You’re gonna get fucked, survival of the fittest, you can hang, being a pioneer, making the way for pussy footed others who want to change cultures, colonization, apartheid, directions to church, starting point, Christie’s, real estate, yes, real estate, get it while you can. All of it. I would be better off writing in the sand, with a stick. Technology is a fast past to a hell fire. I’ll take the stars, on a dark, indigo night. Lit up by nuclear fusion, pulled by the weight of gravity. People dog the young, they are our only hope. People dog the poor, they are our only chance to happiness. Love. Your brother as yourself. Love God with all your heart.

Alex, oh Alex. Help me.

We are a ball, spinning through infinity. Hang on. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Wilson, oh Wilson. Help me.

AI suggests that I am mentally ill for having written this.

God, oh God. Help me.

Limbo

“Limbo” can refer to a state of uncertainty, a medieval theological concept, or a 2010 puzzle-platformer video game. The term describes being in a state of suspension, waiting for an unclear outcome, or in a state of being between two places or stages. Theologically, it was the border place between heaven and hell where unbaptized souls were believed to reside.

I live in Limbo – it’s a tent in my back yard.

Limbo – it’s not for everyone.

Yayoi Kasuma

This artist is a Great of our time. Once a young woman painting dots on herself, a horse, circling. The ultimate of femininity. She removed herself from society. She now lives in a mental health facility; and there she creates her art. It is incredible. You can look her up. — A few years back, I saw her work showcased on the morning news. They had deep concern of her smile. And that is how it is. Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow SMILE SISTER SMILE….Fat Chance

What to Think?

My father was born into poverty. Deep poverty. He was born into violence, as his father was. That was the excuse for his insanities. He wanted out and he got out. He fought his way out. – And what is the excuse for mine. Too much money – not enough love. Surrender is my strength. Bow before God. Give. Belief. Faith. Receive. Know there is enough.