morning rant brought to you by the makers of abilify 

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Dear Doc,

The morning sun burns through the Mayberry sky like an accusation from Heaven. I wonder what will come of this day. More so, I wonder why this day even exists, as its birth seems so difficult for my tired mind to accept.

The brightness of the new day slams into my brain in stark contrast to the shadows and dreams that filled the hours before sunup. The day would like for me to believe that it harbors no ill will, as does the night. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Those shadows, visible in the darker hours, only become more creative by light of day. How dare the sun stand in judgement of the beauty of night, which shows itself, even when the shadows’ dance torments my tired mind.

Yes, it’s true, I do have a flare for the dramatic. No less true is the fact that I can feel this medicine hitting my brain. It is strange to feel an organ, as most lie within you, quietly, like good boys and girls. You can imagine how strange it is, Doc, when you FEEL a particular organ. Sure, I do pay attention to my liver when it’s had its fill of the garbage I pour into my body. But, to feel one’s brain is another animal, entirely. You feel as though you’re being lifted into the air, somehow. That’s how I feel, at least. It’s like a tiny man is in there, flipping on this switch and that one; turning off others.

I’d give anything for a say in what the tiny man turns off or on. I’d so like to speak with him, if only I could. I’d say, “Tiny Man, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, but please be a dear and leave my sex drive in tact, will you? I thank you ever so much!” However, I doubt that he’d be compliant. Perhaps, should I meet Tiny Man, I’d just squash him with my heel and be done with it. Better yet, I’d eat him, consuming him like a lioness. Either would be too good for him, I’ll tell you that much.

I have quite a bit to accomplish today, and I’m fully committed to the tasks at hand. I’d rather hop in Maxxine and go for a fast drive, but I’ve been running a bit on the slow side, recently. It seems as though these meds make me feel a bit unsure behind the wheel. I haven’t seen 100mph in at least a week, now. I hate that. I’ve no bravado. No…spice. I’m as bland as milk and dry toast. For all intents and purposes, I am dead. Yes. That is correct: Dead. Thank you so much for prescribing me death in a bottle, Doc.

I find it interesting that modern society finds it more acceptable for us ‘crazies’ to be medicated into submission than to simply allow us to be the nuts and crackers that we are. Yes, some of us are dangerous, but most of us are not. We live in a society that is accepting of grown men ‘identifying’ as six year old girls, yet we must make the crazy people sit down and shut the Hell up. Is this really happening? Am I required to call a woman Sir because she identifies as a man, yet no one is required to accommodate my idiosyncrasies in any way? Tolerance. This society can shove that word squarely up its collective ass. While the madness of the LGBTQXYZ is cradled in the arms of Americans as though it were a baby in swaddling clothes, I’m expected to slowly poison myself in order to tolerate and be tolerated.

America, enjoy your cup of hypocrisy this morning. Choke on it, if you must. Just be certain you drink it all down.

a morning rant, courtesy of abilify

Dear Doc,

The morning sun burns through the Mayberry sky like an accusation from Heaven. I wonder what will come of this day. More so, I wonder why this day even exists, as its birth seems so difficult for my tired mind to accept.

The brightness of the new day slams into my brain in stark contrast to the shadows and dreams that filled the hours before sunup. The day would like for me to believe that it harbors no ill will, as does the night. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Those shadows, visible in the darker hours, only become more creative by light of day. How dare the sun stand in judgement of the beauty of night, which shows itself, even when the shadows’ dance torments my tired mind.

Yes, it’s true, I do have a flare for the dramatic. No less true is the fact that I can feel this medicine hitting my brain. It is strange to feel an organ, as most lie within you, quietly, like good boys and girls. You can imagine how strange it is, Doc, when you FEEL a particular organ. Sure, I do pay attention to my liver when it’s had its fill of the garbage I pour into my body. But, to feel one’s brain is another animal, entirely. You feel as though you’re being lifted into the air, somehow. That’s how I feel, at least. It’s like a tiny man is in there, flipping on this switch and that one; turning off others.

I’d give anything for a say in what the tiny man turns off or on. I’d so like to speak with him, if only I could. I’d say, “Tiny Man, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, but please be a dear and leave my sex drive in tact, will you? I thank you ever so much!” However, I doubt that he’d be compliant. Perhaps, should I meet Tiny Man, I’d just squash him with my heel and be done with it. Better yet, I’d eat him, consuming him like a lioness. Either would be too good for him, I’ll tell you that much.

I have quite a bit to accomplish today, and I’m fully committed to the tasks at hand. I’d rather hop in Maxxine and go for a fast drive, but I’ve been running a bit on the slow side, recently. It seems as though these meds make me feel a bit unsure behind the wheel. I haven’t seen 100mph in at least a week, now. I hate that. I’ve no bravado. No…spice. I’m as bland as milk and dry toast. For all intents and purposes, I am dead. Yes. That is correct: Dead. Thank you so much for prescribing me death in a bottle, Doc.

I find it interesting that modern society finds it more acceptable for us ‘crazies’ to be medicated into submission than to simply allow us to be the nuts and crackers that we are. Yes, some of us are dangerous, but most of us are not. We live in a society that is accepting of grown men ‘identifying’ as six year old girls, yet we must make the crazy people sit down and shut the Hell up. Is this really happening? Am I required to call a woman Sir because she identifies as a man, yet no one is required to accommodate my idiosyncrasies in any way? Tolerance. This society can shove that word squarely up its collective ass. While the madness of the LGBTQXYZ is cradled in the arms of Americans as though it were a baby in swaddling clothes, I’m expected to slowly poison myself in order to tolerate and be tolerated.

America, enjoy your cup of hypocrisy this morning. Choke on it, if you must. Just be certain you drink it all down.

A

…and many more

27837_118311651523611_739362_n
At GWAR about a hundred years ago!

since first you were known to me, i have loved you
a loving seed, planted deep within
while growing inside, you took your place at our table
playing with angels in the dawn of your life

since first that I saw you, i have loved you
innocence in my arms on a Monday morning
your father, at my side, cradled you in strong arms
i looked on; in wonder of the beauty before me

since you were a little boy, running wild, i have loved you
years of bicycles and dirty faces that live on in my heart
your laugh, in my ears, even now
little boy, you gave me life in abundance

since you were a young man, i have loved you
frightening, roller coaster years of self discovery
i hung on for deal life as you grew into a man
the life inside you was bigger than both of us

more than ever, i love you now
grown man, my son, my friend
our bond growing with the passage of time
no power in Heaven or Hell can break us

 

it’s a love thang

In the silence of the morning’s wee hours, I sit and think and wonder. Mostly, I wonder if I’ll ever find love again. I can’t imagine what man would have me. I’m so fat and, even though I’m working on it, I’m going to be fat this time next year. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, as the panic disorder keeps me from dating.

I have a friend, L. He’s a great guy, but all we are is friends. We met once, and didn’t click in ‘that’ way, but had such a great time with one another that we’ve remained friends. I enjoy my friendship with L. It feels good to be needed by a man you don’t have to sleep with, quite frankly. He gives me something to care about in the way that a woman cares. It’s difficult to explain, I suppose. At least, it is for me. But, I enjoy having someone to theater_masks_by_pepper_blake-d4aoez2worry and fuss over. I just do. Bennie made that impossible for me during the last half of our marriage. He broke me in a way I couldn’t fix. But, L. is kind and funny and he makes me happy just being my friend. I make sure he puts his cigarette out before he falls asleep every night and he texts me ‘Good morning’ every day. It’s hard to describe how important that is. I don’t even know why it’s so important. I suppose it makes me feel less alone, which is selfish, I know. And, it gives me a man to fuss over. No strings attached. I love it!

I’ve always had male friends. They’re wonderful and I get along better with men than women. However, there is a huge downside to the male friend dynamic; Eventually, they find a woman who they feel love for and she normally doesn’t like her man talking to another woman every day. I don’t blame the women, and bow out graciously, because I believe that’s the right thing to do. I’d never do anything that would make a woman feel uneasy about her man’s faithfulness. I’ve been on the other side of those calls and texts and it feels like shit wondering who he’s talking to, or texting. She may as well be sitting right there in the room with us. Since men normally don’t have the sense God gave a green onion, they usually want to keep up our friendship. But I’m not a sneak around kinda woman, nor am I some side piece. Not even if it’s only as a friend. The man’s emotional connection should lie with his woman, not with me. That’s all I mean, I think.

As far as love goes, I really didn’t think I’d ever want it again, after Bennie died. Almost sixteen months later, I feel that is changing. Just a little. But, it would be nice. I have serious doubts that I am capable of trusting a man. I’d like to, but I’ve been through so much that I just can’t do it again. Truth be told, Bennie’s cheating did hurt. A lot. I always say that I didn’t take it personally, but looking back, I can see what it did to me; how it changed me. How it destroyed me. His cheating was the root cause of his abusiveness. It was the reason he gas lighted me so mcuh. It was why he yelled at me constantly. It’s why he flew into those terrible rages where all the furniture was thrown around and flipped over. The more he cheated, the angrier he became with me.

All I want is a man to just love. Someone to take care of, cook for, clean…traditional things. I want a man who puts me on a pedestal because he loves me and loves how I take care of him. But, if I don’t get my mind right, where I can trust someone, that’s never going to happen, no matter how much weight I lose. I want a love story. Like Bennie and I had, at first. Something wonderful that my heart will always know is true and will remember when times are tough. I guess that’s a pretty big ask these days.

Enough of all this love talk. I need to try to sleep for a few hours, though I highly doubt that’s going to happen. One can hope!

pretty please

come, love…lie with me among the pillows and the comfort
let me know you in that carnal way
that seethes at night and yearns by day20160521_221725 (2)
allow me a touch, a stroke, a kiss
follow me, love, to earthly bliss

no, i assure, i’m not playing a game
i don’t want you to fear
but if you’d allow my blade to shed
that thing you hold most dear
i’d be in your debt forevermore
only in love with you
why, i’d almost be your slave
you’d be my King, that’s who

give it a bit of thought, my dear
during a time when you are alone
think it through, but don’t take too long
for i am impatient as they come
and, were i to get angry, love
you’d not like what you’d see
for denial of my heart’s desire
does not sit well with me

it’s a funny thing; the blade, so sharp
how it cuts without guilty pain
she who wields it is not so pure
and only cuts for gain
it’s up to you, if drippity drops
are all that you’ll endure
or, perhaps, a full on rain
from within your heart shall pour

as above, so below
the answer’s in your heart, you know

hush

under the velvet black
i emerge
my mind; amped up
i’m tingling
breathless
thoughts soar about my brain
i can feel them, i swear it
i never feel as alive as i do when i’m manic
living suits me; death can’t touch me

at such times
i crave the red
deep, dark
warm on my tongue
exquisitely satisfying on so many levels
i imagine that i will, one day, stumble upon a new donor
someone who cares
for people
like me
a giving soul
who would much rather give than receive
mmmmm…one day…

the crash always comes before i’m ready
forced back into the Never-be
like a dirty ol dishrag, i’m tossed aside
i feel the light go from my eyes
and a heaviness fills my heart and soul
thoughts that once raced have ceased to be
and every one is a distant memory
true Darkness falls
upon my life
too tired to resist
i welcome it
death becomes me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Mustang is a Fuck Face

I had another run-in with Mr. Mustang yesterday. I was driving down the road, on my merry way to town, when I passed him as he came to an end of a driveway. I continued on, speeding up a little. Something just bugged me when I passed him by.

In fairly short order, I looked in my rear-view to see that he was rapidly approaching. I thought it was fine. I just wasn’t in the mood for any of the road games he seems to love RtnRBJ5so much. I slowed a little so that he could pass. When he didn’t get on around me, I knew some shit was about to start. I was not wrong…

Mr. Mustang was so close to my car that I couldn’t see the front of his car in the mirror. I could see his face. He was smiling. I sped up to get him off my ass. He sped up. This went on till we were both going a hundred miles an hour. I wanted to slow down, but was afraid that he’d hit me if I even tapped on my brakes, or let off the gas. When we were getting closer to town, I punched it and white knuckled it to the wye, where I could finally hit the brakes. I got onto the interstate and hauled it into town.

I’m not gonna lie, I was scared. And I couldn’t go for my gun because I felt that any mistake I made driving might be my last. I’m not sure what this wack job wants, but the last time, he was playing his little games in front of me. Speed up, down shift till I’d have hit him, had I not been paying attention, etc. That’s the time I passed him and Hoe Ass Barbie up and slowed down to smile lol! Okay, okay…maybe some of this is my fault, but he started it, and now, he’s raising the stakes. I guess we’ll see what happens. Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure Miss Maxine can handle it…

 

 

 

 

random thought on a sleepless night

 

Another night, all to myself
Sleepless…silent
I play with my phone
Smoke
Flip through channels
I am restless in so many ways

As I pace and think and wonder why
My mind wanders
You have my attention
Even in these wee hours of morning
If you knew how I truly felt
I wonder what you’d have to say