Trip Tick (content warning: body fluids, sexual content, 'coarse language', possible sarcasm...what the fuck, we're all adults, right? make your choices.)

full moon blood ritual by the river...

nighttime.  the house asleep.  heart thumping, the sealed jar taken down and out beneath the swollen spring moon.  to the river, swiftly, through the forest.  down the rocks and across the sand, to the water's edge.  so beautiful...but there's little time.  draw, with the big stick, a circle in the sand.  mark the directions, and say hello.  open the jar, hold it up, think about what's in it, how old it is, where it came from.  why.  place it on its side in the river.  let its blood run out.  set it free.  is this what it was meant for?  didn't it seem like it had more of a story to tell?  why?  what has been set loose?  where did it go?  too long, too long..!  rinse it out and seal it up; time to go.  thank those who watch over, in the opposite direction.  grateful for the big stick, up over the rocks, across the grassy strip, into the trees.  heart back to thumping because it's bear season, but the sounds of footsteps and a big stick meaning to be respectfully heard should be enough, and the scent they would be after is back in the river, now, anyway.  the house lights comfortably close, steps slow, breathing expands out.  now what?


equinox sap, rutting season.

the drums bring her back.

where the hell..?  where am I now?

she wonders.

oh yeah, the River.  awesome!  I love these people!

her head bobs deeply with the beat as she smiles, digs the rhythm.  duende.  she changes her direction and does a little spin, changes it up, and one of the drums comes with her.  she lets him go because she needs to steady herself after such a bold move, and find the swing again.

I was lost just a minute ago, need to balance!

so she catches the net the drum throws out, and hangs in.

right.  it's time.

moving gently in waves towards the altar, she takes a deep breath and begins to gather in the energy of the drummers and the dancers, pulling it into her.  she throws another spin in, but wilder, and more focused.  feet stamping.  arms stretching, reaching, encompassing...she throws her head back and bends her knees, then lifts the bowl, slowly, carefully, overhead.  gazing up at it, and out into the heavens.  she pours a smooth stream of blood over the rocks of the altar where it pools around the bases of dozens of candles, offering plates, flowers and herbs, crystals, fruits bones grains mixed with honey and wine seeping into the stones  dripping into the earth  where they danced
                                                                                                                                   where they danced

hear us.  amen.

the drums were signaling, so she came back again.  swaying with the bowl in her hands, dripping its last onto the flowers before her feet, she bowed to the altar and replaced the bowl.  dancing back, she turned to face the drummers, and they all met her eyes.  yes.  they beat the ritual out.  a collective whoop from all those dancing set a seal on the night's work, and some fell to the ground, some shook out last ya-yas, and a few were left spinning...spinning...and laughing.  there were sighs, and lots of breathing.  then came the hugs.  everyone embraced in what became an all-group mosh, with many sighs, deep with feeling and the closeness of days of journeying.  the drummers joined in and all hands reached to massage arms
                                             shoulders
                                             necks.

of those who were hungry, they went to food.
of those who were thirsty, they went to drink.
of those who were tired, they went to sleep.
of those who were aroused, they made love.

many made love.  many made it with others.

many did it roughly, like animals - out in the open, biting clawing growling, with teeth blood and bruises.  like a good fight, fierce and tight.  a coupling.  a mating ritual.  death.

three did it hidden in a grove like fairies, all soft and fluttery, breath letting out in peals and tiny gasps, exquisite.  a wonder, a discovery.  life.

one did it alone.  and with everyone, everywhere.  rebirth.
(and they had pie)


his father's tools in his hands conquer the world.


this tragic hero, this...John of Arc.  John of Philly, California.  John of My Heart.

this motherfucker.

this work of art.

what can be said would be right?  shine on you crazy diamond?  I don't even know how that hurts.  I can't walk the walk, and I can't talk the talk, but I do my best, so fuck off.

sing for your supper.

in this world...
                                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                      amen 

Framing Ford's Fiasco

content warning:  description of non-consensual sexual contact and related issues

when we were around 19 years old, a friend and I met two guys at a street fair where we were vending, and made plans to catch up with them later that evening at a local arcade.  at some point that night, while killing a game of Black Knight, I started to feel sick and began to slump over the pinball machine, but I was racking up the high score, and didn't want to give up the game.  eventually, I asked my friend to take over so I could go outside and get some air, yelling at her over my shoulder on my way to the door not to lose my ball, because I'd be Right Back to finish the game myself.  after walking around the parking lot a bit to clear my head, I decided to go sit in my car and relax for a few more minutes before heading back in.  the guy I had been hanging out with suddenly got in next to me, started touching and kissing me, making out with me, and I know I told him I came outside to breathe because I wasn't feeling well, and I'm sure there was a "No" or a "Stop" in there somewhere.  he started to climb on top of me, and managed to lower my seat back to a reclining position (I was in the driver's seat).  he started rubbing himself on me - took his penis out of his pants, and with his full weight on me, thrust himself between my breasts until he came all over my chest, at which point, he jumped out of the car, and was gone.  I remember laying there in my car, thinking "what the hell just happened?"  I don't remember finding something to clean myself off with, but I must have, because I Do remember walking back into the arcade, finding my friend, and telling her that we were leaving - Now.  she was confused, and made some half-assed attempt at arguing, but the guy she was hanging out with wasn't all that interesting, and I was her ride, so off we went.

and that might have been the end of it, however inappropriate it was.  I would have gone home, taken a shower, and moved on with my life without giving the incident too much conscious thought, though obviously, the experience has never left me.  I hadn't been hit, bruised, beaten, threatened, held down, or hurt.  I hadn't tried to scream or fight - mostly I remember being dizzy and confused, and wondering what was happening, what he was doing to my body, wondering why he was doing it.  it was over just as quickly as it had started, and he took off like a shot, leaving me lying there, covered in his mess, not understanding why I let it happen in the first place.  sure, I wasn't feeling well, I was dizzy and nauseous, and having to fend off an overzealous date wasn't something I thought was in the game plan for the evening, but I'm not a 'lay there and let it happen' kind of girl, so...why?

about 5 years or so later, I was living with a boyfriend, and in the cottage next door lived another couple we were friends with.  one afternoon, my neighbor and I were hanging out and she was gushing about this new friend she'd made, telling me how awesome he was, how she had invited him over that evening, and that my boyfriend and I should come over, too, and we'd make a night of it.  Sure, sure, no problem, we'd be there, can't wait to meet him.  so the four of us (the two couples) are sitting in the living room of the cabin when the new guy arrives.  the moment he stepped through the door, my blood turned to ice.  yeah, it was That Guy...I stared him down while our friend made the introductions.  The look of sheer terror on his face when she introduced us turned to shock as I smiled and reached my hand out to him.  "Nice to meet you," I said, as we all settled in for a night of board games, adult refreshments, and camaraderie.  my skin was on fire, or icy cold.  my head was pounding.  I found it hard to follow the conversation, speak, or make eye contact with anyone.  I excused myself, and went back to my own apartment, shut off the lights, and lay in bed with my eyes burning holes in the bedroom wall, fists wrapped tight in the blankets, while my boyfriend, our neighbors, and their new friend, all had a grand old time together.

this asshole now became a part of our group.  he was invited to all the parties.  he came on all the hikes.  he was brought to our special swimming spot (where he forged an inappropriate friendship with another one of our friend's girlfriends, go figure).  he 'was in the neighborhood, so he just dropped by'.  he came to my house, and expected to be let in to hang out with the rest of us.  I think that must have been the point at which I finally said something to my boyfriend.  I remember telling him that I didn't want that prick in my house, and I resented the fact that saying so would make me look like the asshole, because everyone just liked him so much.  I don't remember how my boyfriend reacted, but I do remember words like 'long time ago', and 'different person now' floating around my brain, trying to connect with words like 'it would be weird if we suddenly stopped letting him come around, especially if we're all hanging out'...

here it is more than 25 years later, and I no longer know those neighbors.  the old boyfriend is still around, less a friend of mine than a friend of a friend.  I have no idea what happened to 'the asshole', but I wouldn't be surprised to hear he ran for congress or something, because that's where these fuckers seem to end up.  I don't even remember his name (ok...wait, yeah I do.), but I can still recall the look on his face every time he spoke to me - it was like he was pretending to be sorry for doing something he knew was wrong, but also like he didn't get caught or called out for it, so he was smug about having 'gotten away with it'.  I should have knocked his teeth out, or pushed him down my stairs, or told my girlfriends, or...Something.  I shouldn't have just let him off the hook.  especially after he and that chick at the swimming hole cheated together on her boyfriend - a good friend of mine to this day - and effectively ended their relationship (it's ok, my buddy married someone way better than that bitch).  hell, my so-called boyfriend should have done All those things on my behalf as soon as I told him what happened!  I don't recall whether or not I told anyone else.

while it certainly wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to anyone, if he did it to me, he may well have done it to others.  others who aren't tough-as-nails like me, women who may have been devastated by less...or seriously damaged by more.  how might he treat his wife, if he ever got married?  his daughters, if he has any?  and to be fair, my beef is not specifically with this one person, it's with All the people who use others as if they have some special privilege (there's that word, again) to walk through this world without the consequences of their poor behavior to hinder them in any way.  he was neither the first, nor the last person who treated my body like it belonged to his personal desires rather than to me:  there was the inappropriate babysitter I just learned about recently; there were incidents with my brother's friends who spent the night at our house; there was the 21 year old college basketball player I gave my virginity to when I was 15; the high school footballer who took me into the bathroom at a keg party and made me give him head for what felt like hours; the 'boyfriends' who only ever wanted to have sex and wouldn't hang out with me if I refused; the high school hockey dude who got me drunk at the drive-in, had sex with me, and took my underpants so he could bring them to school and yell down the hallway, "you left these in the backseat of my car the other night!".  there was the random dude at some party where I must have been drugged because I still can't explain how I woke up in a strange bed, my neck black with hickeys.

do you want to know what I was wearing when these events took place?  do you want to know why I chose to give up my virginity to a college dude who was 'home on break' that I hoped never to see again when I was so young?  do you want to know what I was doing at keg parties while I was still in high school?  do you want to know why I went out with guys who were only after what was in my pants?  why I went to the drive-in and got drunk with that loser who stole my undies?  why I was at a party where I didn't know who I was partying with?  who cares?  I was a teenager - a kid.  and yeah, a pretty stupid one, at that.  I hitchhiked around in mini-skirts and three inch heels (and mostly got picked up by little old ladies who were Very concerned about my welfare).  it's called life.  it's called learning.  did I learn how alcohol works in my body, and decide that drinking wasn't really for me?  yes I did.  did I learn the mechanics and politics of sex?  yes I did - and after many years (and several kind and patient lovers), I eventually learned how to enjoy it.  did I learn that dating meat-head jocks was best left to some other chick?  abso-fucking-lutely.  did I learn to party responsibly, and only with people I know and trust?  definitely.  did I learn to recognize a dangerous situation and how to extricate myself from it?  yup.  did I spend years training in the martial arts?  you betcha.

does my working through my issues excuse any one of those boys from treating me like an object to be used for my parts then tossed aside?  No It Does Not.  every one of the above experiences (barring the babysitter) happened when I was a teenager.  less than 20 years old.  by the time I was 21, I took no more shit from anyone, for any reason.  and I'm in no way attempting to diminish my own irresponsibility in these instances, because I was most certainly irresponsible, but that doesn't in Any Way mean that a series of belligerent, entitled, white boys under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol had the right to use me like a sexual doormat.  the weird thing is, given all I've written above, I am also guilty of not having believed one of my college roommates when she claimed she was raped.  in the room next to ours...by one of the nicest, and most gentle human beings I have ever met.  to this day, I believe she slept with my friend of her own free will, regretted it, and made up the rape story to pre-empt and redirect her boyfriend's anger from focusing on her, to the guy who supposedly violated her.  I don't think he bought her story, either.  my friend, on the other hand, locked himself in his room, stopped coming to meals and going to classes, lost a ton of weight, got sick, and eventually moved to another dorm.  you'd think if the allegations against him were true, the school would have kicked him out rather than simply move him across the quad...

in retrospect, the other three of us roommates were kind of shitty to have looked at her askance, and thrown all the rote, misogynistic questions at her, making her go over it and over it for us so we could pick her apart, and still not believe her.  the thing was (still is, I guess), I knew a girl who made up a rape story to cover a lie she told her boyfriend.  I also knew a girl who made up a pregnancy story as a way to exact 'revenge money' from her ex, ostensibly for an abortion, with which she bought herself a pair of rather stylish and expensive boots.  so learning that there were women with the same poor judgement skills as the idiots I had the misfortune to cut my sexual teeth on definitely contributed to my general skepticism, but knowing a person's character gives you a really good idea about who a person is, and how they may behave.  in the case of my college roommate and my buddy, our neighbor, the differences in their characters told the story:  she was a social climbing, party-girl who came to college to find herself an athletic husband, and a career that offered a flattering uniform; he was a shy, sensitive soul, an art major with a low, quiet voice, and a bit of a dark edge due to a certain depth of knowledge.  who knows what happened?  maybe, for all I know, he did it, and they gave my roommate that line about how it wasn't fair to ruin a young man's life, blah blah blah, and they moved him away from us, but nowhere she didn't have to still see him most days.

we have to be sure about these things.  for instance, I can get behind the death penalty, but only in cases where the evidence proves beyond the shadow of any doubt, and all that.  there are few upstanding and righteous individuals - most of whom are not students of the law - I would trust to judge delicate issues, such as the one I've mentioned above, and others of a similar, or even darker nature, because of their understanding of 'truth & justice'.  what I've seen recently, in relation to current events, is one particular person looking to be appointed to the national committee we have in this country that oversees that sort of thing, but he's kind of just like that arcade-parking-lot-molester-type dude, and doesn't belong in that position.  was it a long time ago?  yes.  could he be a different person now?  yes.  are his buddies asking me to be silent in my own house so they can have their little boys club that benefits them, and harms pretty much everyone else?  YES.  am I going to?  NO.  why?

because they're going down in flames, these assholes, and they know it.  and they're grasping at every last straw of power they can get their mitts on before they go.  and that means it's going to get a bit worse before it gets better.  and that means a few more bodies on the fire before we manage to see this thing through.  but we will see it through, we're closer than we've ever been.  we have to build on the work that's been done before us, and smash all this nonsense that been going on around us with the words we've been holding in for too long.  and (white) guys, I get it...so many of you who are good and decent people are getting a raw deal because of these assholes, but the truth is, you all have had the benefit of the doubt for way too long, now, and it's time to share the sandbox.  that is all.  and stop touching women in ways you wouldn't touch other men.  or your mother.  maybe this is a good place to talk about sex work, even, who knows?  or a jumping-off point for that discussion, anyway.  it's all related.

we shouldn't even need to be having this discussion.  from what I saw on national television, the general consensus is that a certain party does not appear to be a model of impartiality, or an arbiter of justice, and we can do so much better.

kicking the social validation feedback loop

so I got really mad at facebook recently, and decided to cut the cord.  I joined Mastodon and MeWe, but there's only three people I know on either of those platform who came over from 'fakebook', but aren't really being active on the newer boards.  I unfriended a bunch of people, too - I only had 231 friends, but I cut it down to 162, which still seems like a lot.  or maybe not, I don't know.  some people have thousands of online friends.  I feel like I should get off social media completely, not necessarily join two more platforms, but it is nice to keep in touch with people far away.  I just want to do it somewhere else, now.  if I can't move my physical location, why not my online one...and my inner location, as well.  where do I need to be?

I know where I don't need to be - around people who question my values, or insult my choices, or people who can't seem to honor the Sacred in me.  I don't want to be in a place where people are overly concerned with their own egos, make a grand big deal out of every little move they make, or hold themselves up as some kind of authority figure based on falsehoods.  I have absolutely no tolerance for racism, bigotry, prejudice, xenophobia, ethnocentrism, androcentrism, misogyny, or poor manners (among other things).  am I perfect?  hell no.  do I screw up?  definitely.  do I correct myself when I make mistakes?  damn straight I do.  one of my biggest pet peeves is people who don't immediately apologize when their poor behavior in relation to the previously mentioned issues is pointed out - you know, those folks who say things like, "well, I didn't mean it like that", or "I didn't mean you", when they should be saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings", or "my understanding of that issues is obviously incomplete, and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn more about how to address it better".

I guess I just want to live in a liberal utopia where I don't have to put up with people with opinions so very different from mine, and I guess I tried to make fakebook that kind of online oasis for myself.  for the most part, I managed it pretty well, because when a glitch did happen to appear, all I had to do was click on that 'unfollow' button, and in extreme cases, the 'unfriend' button.  given the world we live in - or rather, the world I live in - it's good to have a place where you can connect with other folx like you who understand the particular implications of moving through the world with the same identifiers/generational traumas/genetic memories/oppressions as you.  it makes things easier when you don't have to explain why 'this thing that someone said or did made you feel a certain way', and to be supported through unpacking whatever it was that messed up that moment of your day, or changed your relationship, or made you have to decide to speak your truth, or stay silent to keep your job.  if anyone reading this has lived with the privilege of never having to deal with anything like that, I think it would be nice if you sent all the money in your wallet to your local homeless shelter, or to me personally (leave a comment, and I'll happily share my PayPal).

so what's got me all in a twist this time?  if you pay attention to the news at all, you can't really have missed the stories about the 'social media giant's' latest scandal involving not just data harvesting, but the illegal use and manipulation of said data to affect outcomes on the 'world stage' of deep politics, the workings of which are barely even known by the majority of the population.  influencing election results?  breaking up the European Union?  tracking immigrants for deportation?  multiple legal violations?  spreading hate and unrest towards refugees fleeing war-torn countries?  what business do they have, as corporations, in any of this (guns)?  more billionaires, protecting their billions while exploiting the masses (weapons of mass destruction).  but everyone is So addicted to their 'dopamine-likes', they don't even care to see the larger implications past their kids' photos and info being 'harvested' along with their stupid check-in to the local latte shop.  again, egoists - it's about More than just your silly little life, So much more, and many can't even see past the end of their own noses to bother being bothered.  I find that attitude reprehensible, and personally unacceptable.

as a result of this latest social media circus, I decided I needed to move to a 'decentralized federation of independently operated servers running free software', and I did just that.  never mind that I don't 'know' anyone over there, or that the few of my friends who came with me aren't even trying to make it work, or promoting the use of these alternative spaces, OR (and this is a big one) that any of the supposed 162 'friends' I have on fakebook don't even notice I'm gone, or care to connect via other means.  given that realization, I am happy to have committed the modern equivalent to 'social seppuku', because fuck people to whom I am only a number, or a 'follower', or some kind of ego-boost in the form of inflated self-worth connected to arbitrary numbers on a website.  sure, I could go around and 'friend' every shmuck on the internet, too, but I care less for quantity, and a great deal about quality when it comes to interpersonal connections.  I don't need followers; I like to have people willing to engage in deep and meaningful conversations with me, actively involved in my life 'in real time', and forming true community. 

while I am rather disappointed that more people in my carefully curated online sanctuary haven't chosen to make a larger collective statement about how much bullshit they are willing to overlook for the sake of their quizzes and memes, what pisses me off more are those who cynically say 'crab in the bucket' type nonsense like "you'll be back in a week."  like the globe will stop spinning for me because I'm not on fakebook anymore?  like I have nothing to do with my life but sit around and digest the content of others non-stop or cease to exist?  by god, I didn't 'check in' anywhere this week - I Must be Dead!  again, I'm pretty sure the people who say those things are the larger part of the 'out of sight, out of mind' contingent on my own 'friend' list.  the people who are just there to pay service to a past they are unwilling to let go, even though the relationship has no significance to their current life, and wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire.  what investment could they possibly have in my being nebulously connected to them online when they wouldn't make the effort to get in touch with me if they were 300 feet from me, rather than our usual 3000 miles apart?  to me, honoring the friendship we once shared looks like 'I live in the East, you live in the West, but I'm out West, so I not only let you know I'm in your vicinity, I call you to make plans to share physical space while I'm close.'  guess what?  I have Real friends who Actually do that - and I love them deeply for it.  true friendship and connection...a special kind of blessing.

while it may be hard to quit social media, so was quitting smoking cigarettes, and I managed that 7 years ago, so there's no reason to think I can't do this, too.  it may take some time, as there are people who Don't actually check in every day, and I do want to take the time to get alternate contact info for the folks I Do want to stay in touch with, as well as try and convince a few more folx to join me elsewhere on the interwebs, if they can see their way to 'what's next' rather than 'what we're used to'.  one of my friends described me as a pioneer almost 20 years ago because I make a habit of going where I want, when I want, for reasons all my own, which is something he seemed to think most people don't  do, choosing instead to settle into a location, and put roots down there.  I laughed it off as he described me as someone who seemed to him fearless and intrepid, adventuresome and dynamic, who could adapt myself easily to different cultures and climates, and as such, had opportunities to interact with a wider variety of people than the average American (I was never an average American, from the moment of my conception in the Middle-East, to my first trans-Atlantic flight in-utero that brought me to be raised in this country where I've never felt fully at one with the descendants of the white people who colonized it long ago).  in any case, I've made my decision, my proverbial bags are packed, and I'm making a change in my life that may seem drastic to some (like I care), but is of great importance to my personal development during the coming year.  

for my fakebook 'friends' who are reading this, do join me on Mastodon or MeWe - it will be nice to connect with you in a different online forum than the one I was so reluctant to join in the first place.  I knew it was a bad idea to get involved with it when I signed on, but over the years, I grew complacent as well.  no more of that.  time to pay the piper, and check out 'what comes next'.  much like our political system, we've been deceived into believing our choices are much more limited than they are - it turns out, they are not.  we have options.  let's make it a point to explore the other games in town.

what are your thoughts and feelings about this so-called scandal?  how did you feel when you heard the news?  did you make any choices or decisions based on the information you learned?  how do you stay in touch with people near and dear to your heart that are physically far removed from your main locale?

Warning: Possible Triggers for Abuse and/or Childhood Trauma

I'm not even sure how to start this week's blog.  I had a subject I wanted to write about, and even tagged the page a few days ago to leave myself a prompt for where I wanted to start today, following the theme I have been working with, but I had a conversation this past weekend that scrambled my mind a bit, and I guess I want/need to deal with that instead, even though it's rather disturbing and personal, and involves some hard, possible truths about people other than myself, as well.  or maybe it doesn't - I'll have to see how it plays out, and decide whether or not I need to 'protect the innocent' after it's all written.  so hang in there, or duck out now...it may get ugly. 

While visiting my mom this weekend, at some point in our conversation she asked me if I remembered being 'molested' by one of my babysitters.  Now, I'm not entirely sure what we had been talking about that made her ask that, but I have an idea...it had to do with my brother and his friends, and their ways of behaving towards me, so that in and of itself was weird enough, but I had no idea what she was talking about with this alleged molestation, so I said as much, and asked who it was, and what happened.  She gave me a brief sketch in hushed tones, because my teen was across the room, napping peacefully in a comfy chair.  She asked if I remembered her friend So-and-So, who had the two sons, one of them nice, the other one not so much.  I remembered the friend So-and-So's name, but only because of her gorgeous dog - an Irish Setter; the first, and possibly only, I had ever known - whom I adored for her soft, pretty red hair, and lovely name that seemed to suit her so well.  I have no recollection of the friend herself, nor either of the sons.  Apparently, one of the sons babysat me one night, behaved inappropriately, and what I told my mom about what happened caused her to never speak to that friend again, end of story.

So here's what's fucking me up about this - or rather, I have some questions...who was this guy?  What was his name?  How old was he?  How old was I?  Where did this take place?  When?  Where were my folks that night?  Where was my brother?  Where in the house did this alleged abuse take place?  What did he do to me?  Why don't I have any memory of it...or do I?  Was I taken to a therapist?  What did my dad say or do?  Did my mom ask my brother about it?  What did he say?  Was he aware it had happened?  Was it ever addressed again, or was it forgotten about entirely?  Did I have any issues surrounding it?  What were they?  Should I ask my mom for more information, or should I leave it in the past?  Should I seek counseling?  Has it had any long-term effects on me?  What the fuck?!  I mean, there are obviously people in the world (way too many) that know exactly who did what to them, how often, and for how long (who have my deepest sympathy), and next to some of the horrific abominations that happen in this world, my tiny issue is an insignificant little nothing, and it is with bearing those atrocities in mind that I think it's worth my time to just brush this little 'factoid' off and move on, but it doesn't seem to want to leave my mind right now.  It may well in the future, with some time between having this nugget of truth dropped on me, and the rest of the important facts of life going at speed all the time, but for Right Now, I can't help but feel like all I want to do is love and nurture that poor little child that may have been violated, and hold her, while reassuring her that she's ok.

Without knowing what happened, it's hard to make a judgement call on how 'bad' the actual incident was, and I'm not sure that matters at all.  Does it?  This is an area in which I have very little experience, and maybe that's why I'm so fucked up about it.  I know a great deal about a lot of things, but I'm also quick to admit when I'm out of my depth.  This feels like a big, empty, dark room without any reference points to me, and I'm not used to being lost, because I've always managed to find myself, wherever I am, and get back to where I need to be, but I may need a map for this one.  I can answer some of my own questions with basic deductive reasoning, such as...okay maybe I can't, but I'm here to work through it, so I'll go through them one at a time.

"Who was this guy/What was his name/How old was he?" - well, he was the older of the two sons of my mom's friend.  I don't think there's any more to be said about that, but I guess if I wanted to know more, I'd wonder where he went to school, who were his friends, did they know he liked to do the things he did - did he even like to do those things?  Were there other little kids he did them to, or just me?  Was it just a thing he did to see if he could get away with it?  Was it a real problem?  Did it continue throughout his life, was it once, what was it?  Does his name matter?  If I find out, will it change anything?  I would like to know how old he was at the time, because I feel like it will give me some clue as to what he was thinking...or...something, I don't know.  Well, that just brought up more questions, so let's move on.

"How old was I/Where did this take place?" - this I would definitely like to know.  I can assume it was in the house we lived in during the years I was 4 through 12, because I think that's when my mom was friends with that woman...but it could have been the house before that (which would mean I was less that 4 years old when it happened?).  I know for certain it wasn't after that, because we didn't have babysitters anymore by the time I was 12.

"Where were my folks that night/Where was my brother/When/Where in the house..." - the first part hardly matters, I'm just curious (were they out with the babysitter's parents?).  Maybe wondering how much my mom remembers, or how late a night it was.  The rest of the questions are really important - I assume we kids were both home (why would they have taken my brother with them?), so the 'when' question is more about whether the babysitter put us to bed in our respective rooms first?  Was my brother asleep in his own room when it happened in my room?  Or was he awake for the incident, and possibly watching or involved?  Did the babysitter send my brother to bed first, then keep me awake?  Did it happen somewhere else in the house?  Did it happen early in the evening, or in the wee hours of the morning?  Does it matter?  I think the timing has a lot to do with my questions surrounding my brother's presence/possible involvement, which leads into my statement above about how he and his friends later behaved towards me...you see? 

"What did he do to me/Why don't I have any memory of it...or do I/Was I taken to a therapist?" - Mom said I told her 'his penis didn't taste good', so...I guess he had me put my mouth on his penis, but is that all he did?  And how much of 'that' did he do?  Just make me touch it with my lips and/or tongue, or make me (convince me to) put it in my mouth?  Did he climax?  So many questions around this...  I must have blocked it out, because that's obviously a normal and frequent response to this kind of thing, but I feel like that for so long I was not into touching a man's genitalia during sex, that on some level, I must have had some kind of aversion-response.  And there was this weird dream I remember having as a kid that involved some disturbing sexual imagery of masked people touching my body in ways that I felt were probably wrong, but if I was just quiet and let it happen, than I would be 'good', get rewarded, and be celebrated.  At the end of the dream, I remember having my hair washed and styled, tied up in a new ribbon, and being carried on the shoulders of the two men I loved most at that time (who seemed grim and wooden), like I was some kind of hero for having endured the 'treatment'.  I doubt I was brought to a therapist, because of the next question:

"What did my dad say or do?" - I'm going to say with 98% certainty that my dad was Not told, because he would have murdered that babysitter.  I mean literally.  It would have taken a great deal of convincing, and several large, strong men restraining him to get him to Not kill the babysitter.  I mean, given the way he trained the dog to kill anyone who attacked us violently, he would have been beside himself for failing to protect us from people who appeared to be friendly or kind.  How could the dog have known I was being molested?  If I didn't cry out, or if there wasn't violence, I don't think the dog would have known to react, which also suggests the babysitter wasn't inherently a 'bad' person, because that dog Knew bad people, and protected us from them more than once, when they weren't doing anything more than being friendly (their 'crimes' only became apparent later).  There's no way in hell my dad ever knew this happened.  There was an incident in our family involving another young girl who Wasn't me, and given the way he reacted to That, well...nope.  My mom kept this a secret.  If she had taken me/us to therapy, our dad would have wanted to know why.

"Did my mom ask my brother about it/What did he say/Was he aware it had happened?" - again, it seems like my mom just chose to sit with this herself, and either convinced me/us to forget it, or that it didn't happen.  I'm Really curious as to my brother's level of involvement, or knowledge of what went down that night.  Was it only that one night?  How many times did that loser sit for us?

"Was it ever addressed again, or was it forgotten about entirely/Did I have any issues surrounding it/What were they?" - I'm gonna say no, yes, probably, and varied.  Seeing as how I have no memory of the incident, it was probably swept quickly under the rug, and never discussed again.  My mom probably thought that was best for herself, and possibly for me (and my brother) as well.  I'm sure there were issues.  There had to be.  As I mentioned, I had a pretty strong aversion to oral sex when I became sexually active - at an age I think of now as too young (though not ridiculously so), and go figure, given this new info.  I've had lots of sexual encounters with men who treated me inappropriately, and I'm beginning to see why, maybe? 

"Should I ask my mom for more information, or should I leave it in the past/Should I seek counseling/Has it had any long-term effects on me?" - I want to ask for more info, but it's really uncomfortable, and knowing my mom, she'll be reluctant to discuss it, which will once again make me the bad guy for forcing a conversation she's not willing to have, even if it involves my own healing.  I will most likely seek some form of counseling, just to hash it out in a manner other than overeating, or punishing myself in other unhealthy ways.  I'm sure there are effects, as mentioned above. 

"What the fuck?!" - why would she tell me Now (maybe she's been repressing it, or is just able to deal with it herself)?  and so casually...did she think I'd just be like, 'oh, haha, never mind, it was all so long ago, la-de-da!'  Was it because of the discussion we were having?  So fucked up on so many levels, and makes me wonder even more about how much my brother knew, or was involved.  I can't help but wonder if this incident is the impetus for everything that's ever gone wrong in my life because I wasn't given the opportunity to deal with it, or decide for myself how I wanted to handle it (again, how old Was I?), or I'm overreacting to the news of it as a way to make it the 'all-encompassing excuse for everything'.  Not that I need any excuses, I'm fully willing to accept 100% of the responsibility for the poor choices I've made over the years (as well as the good ones, because I've made plenty of those, too), but could I be staring into the abyss of what helped shape my sexuality, and my perceived inability to form lasting romantic relationships?  I thought it was just that I'm such a bitch, and have impossibly high standards, but...it could be more.  It could go deeper.  It could have something to do with the ways in which I allowed myself to be violated over and over again because I was taught/learned/surmised that my worth was tied up in how men valued me sexually, and that my role was, as I mentioned earlier, to keep quiet and let them do what they wanted, no matter how it made me feel, in order to earn some reward, like being valued, or celebrated as a Queen should be by her King.  Problem is, I've never had a 'King', or even a 'noble' boyfriend - just a series of Jokers, with one enlightened yet highly damaged pauper who may have actually come close to loving me, as much as he was able, for a brief period that didn't last as long as our short relationship.  It's a wonder I learned to enjoy sex, though I finally did - just in time to not ever have it again, as my age, weight, and refusal to settle for less has rendered me undesirable.  Selah ~

Wordle 234

revenant, fluctuation, justice, drop, pilot, sigh, shaft, claim, bustling, engage, dismiss, roar

     With a roar, the revenant crawled out from under the ground he was buried in, exuding such sounds as those that had terrified the villagers before, causing a slamming shut of windows and doors in all of the cottages closest to the Abbey and the graveyard, with whispers spreading quickly through the alleys and street, causing a general bustling of women and children into back rooms, behind locked doors.  Bishop Gilbert stopped short at the sound in mid-prayer and sighed heavily, crossed himself, and rose slowly to his swollen, old feet.  Sighing again, he tottered towards the shelves stocked with bottles of holy water, muttering, "is there no justice, then, in the afterlife, Lord?  Why must your pious and good sheep be tormented by creatures such as these?"  Standing in a shaft of moonlight, he took down several vials of the blessed water, blessed them again, and moved with care towards the workroom off the rectory to combine his only weapon from the small vials it was bottled in to larger receptacles.  He knew from experience that it would take more than a few drops of the precious stuff to hold the monster at bay, and aging though he was, he was the greatest ally his flock had against an enemy such as this.  The last time it came, it took too many of them with it down into whatever depths of hell from which it emerged.  He was loathe to lose any more of them.

     Jack was dozing before his hearth after a hot meal, his feet stretched out towards the flames, his pipe smoldering in his hand, when his dog, Neville, sensed a fluctuation in the rhythms of the night-time sounds that usually accompanied their sleepy little village's evening routine, and issued a low moan to alert his master to the possibility of danger.  Jack opened his sleepy eyes to glance down at Neville, whose head was turned towards the door, his ears engaged to pick up the slight sounds out of the range of Jack's own hearing, but registered nothing out of the ordinary, and dismissed the dog's seeming concern, merely shifting in his chair to maximize his comfort.  When a bellowing roar reached his ears a moment later, he was on his feet just as fast as Neville, whose hackles were up, his snout lowered, a low and dangerous growl issuing from his throat, between barred teeth.  Jack already had his gun in his hand, then looked at it, put it down, and went outside for his shovel, went back inside for his gun, and looked from one to the other, trying to decide which would be more useful, whether he should bring them both, or if one would get in the way of using the other should the need for one arise over and above the need for the other.  He settled for both, and calling Neville to him, strode to the village green with a steely expression in his eyes, and a curse on his lips.  "Not tonight, ye Devil.  Tonight I'll rip yer heart out with me bare hands rather then see ye claim one more innocent life.  Not one more, ye hear me, ye rotting corpse?  For what ye did to me Mary, I'll have yer head on a spike outside my door for a notice to any more like ye that wants to come moaning around my door again - you hear me, ye bloody Devil?"  He was shouting now - "ye hear me?!"

     On the green, he was met by several other grim-faced men, similarly armed with guns and shovels, also muttering curses and vengeful epithets.  Several of them clapped him on the back as he joined them, grumbling "Jack...there ye are, man, I knew ye'd be here...evening, Jack, we're ready this time, eh...come on, then, Jackie-boy, let's get 'em."  A shout went up as a shadowy figure limped towards them out of the dark, but a calm voice assured them all quickly that it was none other than their beloved Bishop Gilbert, and several rough hands reached out to steady the old man as he panted his way into the circle of their safety.

     "Good evening, gentlemen...thank you, Richard, I don't mind leaning on you a bit, son, I came as fast as I could after I heard the first indications that we would be visited again tonight by that creature of the dark...how many are here?  Looks like most of you...that's good, but please, we don't want to risk too many, you are all too important to me to lose even one!"  The elderly bishop stopped to catch his breath, as another ungodly roar pierced the darkness around the men assembled together in the center of their beloved village...

     "Ok, stop right there," said the lanky woman in the red dress that everyone in the class was buzzing about being from some network or other.  "Thank you all for reading your story ideas for me today, there were some really good hooks in the batch, well done.  I can say with 98% certainty that my network would be willing to offer to produce a pilot episode of several of them, but I'm out of time for today, and I'm seriously considering this one about the guy and his dog going out to fight some creature with the priest," she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the young author who had just read his work to her, while staring off at some indistinct point in space as if she were already framing the storyboard in her mind's eye, and tallying up set design and costuming costs.  "Would you be willing to give me a copy to take back to my people?  I'm that interested..." she said, looking directly at the pudgy student turning red before her outstretched hand.

     Glancing shyly at his professor, Neville saw that she was smiling her encouragement the way she did when he shrank from the praise he found heaped upon him in these uncomfortable, public settings, and squeaked out a small noise that was meant to be a 'yes', but sounded like he had stepped on a mouse, so he nodded his assent as well, to be sure that he was clear in his acceptance of her offer.  Luckily, Ms. Burton stepped forward to help him out in his moment of extreme fear, and smoothly took the manuscript from his shaking hand, addressing the whole class in general, him in particular, as well as the network woman, "I can run off a quick copy in my office while you all get ready for your next class.  Ok, Neville?"  Her warm smile reminded him to breathe again, and he nodded back while taking a deep gulp of air.  "Fine," she said with a wink, "Come on, Sylvia, we can chat quickly about what a talented group I've got this year while it prints - it won't take more than a few minutes..."  Ms. Burton and her network friend clicked out of the room and down the hall on their high heels, chatting like the old friends they were, as Neville did his best to respire, in and out, before he did something stupid, like throw up.

* the words took me on an interesting journey in the form of the story, but I couldn't figure out how to work in the word 'pilot'.  my kid gave me the idea to end it the way I did - he said it sounded like a tv show, and that in my story, someone could turn on their tv, and say, "I don't like this show", and turn it off!  : )

come play along at:

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Wordle 232

angels, cold, dust, dial, loss, days, gasps, slap, snare, left, remember, pause 

angels

     left out in the cold

turn to dust


when I remember

     to dial back

          the pain

               of their loss

I am caught in

     the snare

          of days gone by


like a slap

     the gasps

cause me to

          pause

     and think

of another way

          to begin

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ABC Wednesday - N is for...

Nothing.  Nada...nil, nix, and none.  Nearly non-existent, never-was, none shall pass, not in my backyard.  Ouch.  I'm really hurting, so I had to fall off the wagon, get off the train, call a halt to the expedition, reroute the landing gear.  it's in my knees, mostly, and my gut.  the lower back feels like a building tide of muscle gathering to loose an angry red wave...how I long for a thick, woolen shelter, for the muffled peace of sacred solitude.  am I coming towards winter?  the hermited life of an ascetic, cloistered away in a hidden grove.  what purpose can it serve?  to mourn for the world, and pray for peace?  to feel my heart torn, everyday, asunder - to scream into the abyss until my throat rends and tears, for what?  nobody hears...nobody hears.  this vessel is breaking, and I can not hold it.  the howl is too massive, can't you feel it?  it's tearing through the floorboards of my house, exploding up through the ages to pour out and sing, but it's too loud and so deep, it's vibrating the foundations, flooding with light and the darkness.  those stories, those stories!  write them now, quickly - oh, I remember this pain, now.  the contractions have been rolling through me for a few months, I guess, but this last one tells me we're almost there.  and I'm going to tell you now, that for all my life, I've never been so scared.

oh, sure, there were those times when I fell out of the tree I was climbing, or got hit by a bike, had my hands slammed in car doors, or dropped a window on my foot.  there was the block to the head, and the glass underfoot, the knife to the thumb, and a thousand other little injuries.  the broken leg was probably the worst of them - it was certainly the ugliest to look at - but I don't really think there was any undue fear associated with the pain, other than the "aah, I'm falling!", or "my parents are gonna be pissed...".  car accidents are scary, but thankfully I've never been in one so bad where I, or anyone else, was seriously injured.  I've been lost in dangerous areas of the US and other countries, and then there have been those times when I have purposefully walked into the scary, naively unaware that my mettle was about to be tested, though keenly interested in my own response, as if I were separate from myself.  there is the jump of adrenaline, but would I call it fear?  the feeling right before the hammer drops, the moment that hangs... ...before it falls away, leaving you affected, possibly changed.

childbirth hurt.  a lot.  and it was scary, but only in the way that it was Unknown.  I can't even think of a number big enough to include all the women who have given birth since it became a thing, so what's to be frightened of?  pain can be managed, and though I decided to manage mine by walking it off, and standing in the shower, it was still quite painful and traumatic.  but the truth is, you deal with it while it's happening, and then you get over it.  this feeling I'm describing is different.  first of all, it comes from outside of us, deep in the ground, from our Source, out in the Universe...through us.  picture an old, clay jar, tall.  picture it rumbling a little, as if there's an earthquake in the distance.  now picture the jar filling up with light that seems to begin as an inner glow, and emerges out the top in a great, streaming beam, while the jar continues to rumble and crack, as the light pours out through the fissures of the clay being blown apart by the force of the energy.  now picture my body as that vessel.  that's the feeling I'm talking about.  that's what's scaring me.

I remember doing the math when I was pregnant, thinking that my son would be just shy of nine when the 2012 ball dropped somewhere other than Times Square, and feeling satisfied that he'd be big enough by then to run while humping his own pack (hey, my dad took our survival training seriously, and I'm a bit of a paranoid conspiracy theorist to boot).  not that I knew what we'd be running from (if anything), it's just a condition of having been born me, I suppose, to always have an escape plan.  I'm just a contingency-supply-bag and exit-strategy kind of girl, you know?  I love the many lovely and delicate things I keep in my home to decorate and enliven my space, but I will not look back if the jackbooted ugliness reaches my doorway.  hell, I don't even use salt...  the point being, the Earth is our Mother, and she is about to give birth.  I don't know to what, or what horrific form her contractions will take, but so far, it looks like wealthy republican overlords who intend to set their zombie armies to imprison and dehumanize the non-white/non-conformist male population, while raping and impregnating the female population.

once 98.6% of ameriKKKa has been relegated to work camps, all of jesus' little rape-babies will enjoy being raised into future zombie armies fed on 'enhanced, medicated chow', as the ritualized lobotomy-at-birth won't leave them much to complain about.  it is my sincerest hope that these nightmarish visions of possible futures as evidenced in the psychic over-wash of extreme distress our beloved planet is in are just that - the purging of emotional flotsam that can occur when toxicity is released from the body, and the vibration moves closer to its own harmony, while my own nature is leaving me torn between making for the hills in all swiftness, and polishing off the shotgun, filling the storehouse, and battening down the hatches.  of course, having neither shotgun, nor ammo, storehouse, or hatches pretty much leaves me the running for the hills option - so the question becomes 'which hills?'.

for all the crazy ouchie broken and stitched fallen off of out of onto in through gave birth to you Mother Earth is who you owe more than Fukushima which poisoned us all, rolled around us like a big cloud of 'now you've done it' like they'd been saying all these years out in desert, through the soy, which I've been saying all these years, like how the cities need to go back to green, like Bucky Fuller said all those years ago...we've got to shut it down, but more, we've got to grow the solution to clean up the mess.  I'm just  dreamer, that's all I'm good for.  all I can do is see it, and hold the vision in my head so that it's real for the people who can make it happen.  that's all the magic I have.  but there are times when it has been enough.  with all my heart, I hope it's enough.  if it isn't, we all die...well, we all die anyway, but without my vision, the end is a whole lot darker.

 

keyboard porn

while perusing the news feed on the facebook page for this blog, I was struck by a post from Colossal about the custom-built, walnut keyboard above, and caught myself going, "ooooh!"  it's lovely, isn't it?  it's made by French design company Oree, and I think it would be divine to type on.  I don't love computer keyboards, and often I miss the clunkity-clack of my beastly old typewriters, but that is a finely-crafted instrument, and it is 2012 - one needs a means to an end.  so I thought I'd share a few of the things that have caught my breath while perusing the collective electronic mind, and see if anyone shares my interest.

because I love my typewriters more than I like computer keyboards, I nearly peed myself when a woman whose exploits I vaguely follow posted about the 'USB Typewriter' - look at the wonderful device below!  just as I was wishing there was some way to hook my old typewriter up to my computer, I learn that there is!  it's pretty freaking pricey, but if I had the $$$...there's a kit to retrofit your own antique typewriter for under $80 dollars (which I would not attempt to do), or you can buy one ready made for under $1000.  prices are approximate, click on the image of the typewriter to take you to their website if you want specifics - and check out the sweet machines they have for sale.

I didn't know what steampunk was until the last few years, but to be fair, I don't think that particular style had a name too much before then...which isn't to say it didn't exist, but maybe wasn't fully realized enough in the alternative-mainstream to bear labeling past 'science-fiction', or 'Victorian'.  either way, some of the designs are stunning, and definitely the sort of thing that makes my shopping instinct kick in.  is there such a thing as a shopping instinct?  I suppose it would be more an arousal of desire, or an attraction towards beauty, on a base level.  I mean, look at the skilled work below - is that not an example of inspired design?  sure, it costs more than my whole desktop setup put together, but this is art, and fine work deserves generous compensation.  the keyboard below is the work of the good people at Datamancer.





this one doesn't get me hot and bothered, but it's a nifty toy/gadget, so I felt like giving the wireless laser keyboard a nod - it projects the keyboard on a surface, and makes cool clicking noises as you type.  just type 'wireless laser keyboard' into your search bar, it'll come up...





and last but not least, the Happy Hacking keyboard, hand-lacquered in red and sprinkled with gold dust, only runs about $4,500 - but oh, those Japanese!  they know how to do things, don't they?  I can imagine the nasty things I'd shake out of my fingertips while stroking those deliciously wicked red keys, said to be painted with brushes made from the hair of virgins...I wonder how hard it is to type while bent over?  this keyboard makes me want to smoke opium with a swarthy gentleman in the captain's cabin of a merchant's galley from back in the day - surrounded by cushions of silks and brocades, velvets and furs, while the glow of candles from behind colored glass illuminated our bare flesh at our feast... 

well, I hope you've enjoyed this trip through the trivial and I believe I've wasted a sufficient amount of time procrastinating over what sort of keyboard would make me want to type my thesis more, but the truth is, the trouble isn't in the writing.  it's in the reading.  I don't want to do the necessary research.  I don't want to go into the ugly places and pull out the rot and stench that is festering there because it means having to do real work, and not bullshit my way through with finely-crafted prose that circles back on itself and says nothing.  but if I ignore the work much longer, the result will be disastrous - I can't afford that kind of blow to my confidence, I need to figure out a way to get this done.  there's too much on my plate as it is, and I'm feeling the need to simplify - tasks as simple as a healthy breakfast are falling by the wayside and sabotaging me before I even get out the gate.

hmm.  seems I've been talking about food a lot lately, maybe it's time to re-evaluate that relationship (again), now that winter will be coming on.  and did I mention that the hideous rash/scar on my right ankle is mostly gone, with barely a sign of it's passing (much like what happened with my elbows, about 20 years ago)?  I really think managing to finally graduate from college went a long way in healing that wound, and also the bear grease I anointed it with in the sweat lodge back in May.  much to think about, much to do and more.  must attend to the Quickening, my darlings, or there'll be no feet up by the fire with my cup of cocoa when the snows come, and I do so love the crisping of the air...

♥

PaD #3: best part of my day

the best part of my morning involved the waterpark, while the best part of my evening took place in a magic meadow, dancing beneath the full moon, around a fire, while good people wove great beats, children played, and food was shared.

  

by the way, this photo a day thing can be found over here, if you feel like participating

Laundry Day

Moon Washing

playing with electronic controls

Pond Scum, Algae, Seaweed, Muck.