Friday, April 5, 2013

beware the little man

beware the little man that hides inside your ear
he'll tell you things you may not like to hear
though his stories might be kind in tone
the moral, easily condoned
he has a motive quite unknown

before you wake from slumbers deep
the dreams you have will make you weep
then when you're bursting out of bed
with eyes of burning cherry red
for sure, he's crept inside your head

you'll spend the day fogged up and weary
droopy eyed and rather dreary
as you blink, you're on the floor
begging for to end this war
of course, he'll gleefully ignore

back to bed wound up like springs
thinking sad, unhappy things
word salad, is your sputtering
and even through the stuttering
you'll feel your mind still fluttering

days will pass, turn into weeks
your sanity will spring a leak
then two, or three, and maybe four
gushing out onto the floor
you'll never even up the score

a figure in a crisp white coat
will tell you things that make you choke
you'll try to run and hide away
a dainty ear you'll find, and stay
telling stories night and day.


Wednesday, March 6, 2013

daylight savings: a tale of escape

Sometimes I wake up on the edge of the bed, teetering between warmth and the frigid, flat floor. Milky light pours in through the cracks of those filthy blinds, cascading about crooked nooks and cavernous crannies, failing to give me any idea of safety … or a sense of security. The old familiar lumps of clothes scattered around the room give way to fantastic, ghoulish faces staring at me in the dark … mouths gaped open, hissing deprecating chants that strike me down. The tears start to burn my warm, flushed face while I frantically grasp around the bedside for my phone, a lighter … anything to shed some brightness onto my demons … anything to make them vanish back into the piles of laundry needing nothing more than to be washed, and not exorcised.

At this point I’m convinced the pink elephant has taken sanctuary upon my chest, my breathing becomes shallow … full of trepidation and agitation. Thousands of golden, microscopic moths flutter in the back of my throat … their powdery scales drying my mouth, swelling my tongue, and revoking the instinctive need to cry out. My thoughts become rabid, soaking up the cerebrospinal fluid, forcing my brain to dilate violently like an angry puffer fish after a dastardly attack.

With freezing, numb fingers and weighted down limbs, I push around the bed to find my partner. He is fast asleep, snoring uncomfortably, but snoring nevertheless. He is where I should be, dipping into REM and escaping the trials of the mundane … the stupidity, the ignorance, the feeble-minded dolts dribbling out their latest monstrosity … he is asleep, the lucky bastard.

Even in this panic, a pea-sized voice of rational persuasion peeps into my ear, and I become aware: this is the madness knocking on my door. It is always there, lurking in the shadows of my ribcage, hiding behind my pancreas … gnawing through my heartstrings. Rearing its putrid face again, it’s telling me the time has come. Soon I’ll be trapped in another cocoon of disruptive elation or sludgy despair … I won’t know which until morning, and the only clue I’ll have to my own existence will be the rumpled sheets on my side of the bed. “

I wrote that some time ago, but the scenario is a frequent occurrence, and I’m finally able to truly speak out as to why. March 7th marks an anniversary for me, and its bittersweet nature is always difficult to wrap myself around. The mixed emotions surrounding the date are none too easy to express, but I’m tired of holding it all in, so … here goes.

Four years ago, right now, I was stranded on the side of the highway. My station-wagon failed me again, and I was freezing. I called my (ex) husband, begging him to come fix the car, or come fetch me at least. I sat there, silent and still, for nearly 2 hours before help arrived. He couldn’t start the car, even though he fancied himself a genius, and I ended up phoning my dad.

Even he couldn’t get it started, and time wore on. Finally, the brilliance of my ex came full circle when he decided to misuse his company credit card, and call for a tow truck. I figured it wouldn’t be my problem after today, because I had plans to leave him. I arranged for the girls to be with my dad and step mom so I could finally finagle a much overdue escape. I kept my mouth shut, and a feigned smile on my face; if he knew something was up, that would be the end of me. Of course, little did I know, the potential end of me was drawing near.

     We ate some very late dinner, Subway, because I refused to forgo sustenance again – and we watched “The Happening”. He found it truthful, a definite possibility. I feel asleep. He shoved me awake, and told me to go to bed if I was going to just nod off during “our time together”. I happily obliged, sleepily shuffling myself to the mattress on the floor, curling up with my back against the wall. I slept like that for years, because I didn’t trust him, because I never knew what was going to happen. He came in just as I had closed my eyes, and he wanted something from me … but, he always wanted something from me. I had learned early on that “no” was not an adequate answer, and that he would take what he wanted … so I learned to give in with glazed over doe-eyes, disappearing into thoughts of a hopeful, happier time while he slowly fucked away another piece of my heart.

     I fell asleep at some point shortly thereafter, and the next thing I knew, I felt tugging on my head. I opened my eyes, still foggy from sleep, and realized he had me by my hair. I was drug out to the living room that way, my head already aching, and he dropped me next to the coffee table. The screaming was incoherent at first, and I looked up at the clock to see it was 4:13am. The computer was on, I could smell a burning cigarette … I rubbed the back of my head staring up at his enraged face. It was beat red, veins popping out of his neck, nostrils flaring … truth be told, I had never seen him quite this angry. I instantly realized what I was in for, or at least what I thought I was in for; the standard beat-her-up, knock-her-down session, but that it was not. He started bellowing at me again, something about Yahoo! Messenger, and that’s when I saw he had hacked into my account.

     My stomach dropped into my feet, my heart started racing, I became dizzy with fear … he had found the conversations, the ones where I finally told someone what was going on, that I had planned to leave that weekend … it all made sense, and the adrenaline rushed through my body like a swarm of angry bees. In an instant I became hyper aware of everything, including the fist that was headed directly for my chest. The air was knocked out of me, and I foolishly tried to stand up, ready to confront my long-term attacker. He grabbed me by the hair again, dragging me about the room, my arms flailing, my feet kicking … then another blow to the side of the head. I felt faint, flushed, and nauseous. For the following hour I was punched, kicked, pinched, slapped, and thrown – all the while being emotionally hammered into the ground.

The verbal spits were predictable, but hurtful nevertheless. They just solidified how he had already made me feel about myself, nothing new – but it stung. During the first hour I attempted to get my own throws in there, failing almost every time. It had started storming, the clock read 5:20am, and that’s when things really started to get terrifying. He seemed to have calmed some, thinking I was coming to my senses, preparing to apologize to him and make promises to stay … until I got dressed. In a flash, he was out of his chair again – grabbing me by the shoulders and slamming me into the wall. I tried to fend him off when he started punching me in the arms by grabbing his guitar, and holding it out like I was going to hit him with it. He easily snatched it from my hands, and in one fell swoop, right over my head it came. I fell to the floor again, literally stunned. He stood me up, screaming in my face … I could feel his vile spit against my cheeks … and I slapped him across the mouth. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, swung me around, slid his hands under my armpits, and hurtled me into the wall. I sat on the floor, in that spot, catching my breath, while he took a knife and cut the cords to the computer. This was his first attempt at denying my ability to get help.

I got back up, started for the other room, grabbing my coat and the only cell phone we had. He pulled me back by my hood, forcing the coat off of me. I tried to dial 911, but he took the phone from my fumbling hands and dismantled it – tossing pieces in various places. He then proceeded to laugh while tearing my clothes off. He dared me to leave the house with my fat, ugly body exposed – so I ran outside. I stood in the driveway, the hardest rain of the year suffocating my screams for help, stinging my skin. I thought of running to the neighbors, but nobody was home, and my options were nil. I went back inside, and thankfully a brief calm came over the house. We screamed at each other while I was putting on new clothes, then he fell to the floor, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. I just stood there, for once in the five years we were together, and looked at him objectively. I felt detached, the whole thing was surreal, and as he was begging me … he failed to pay attention to the fact I was slowly picking up the pieces of the dismantled phone, and putting them in my pocket. It was 7:30am, and I was tired.

When he realized I wasn’t going to bite, he pushed me onto the bed and held me down by my wrists so hard I thought they were going to snap under his weight. He spit in my face, screamed at me, kneeing me in the groin … everything he could do to shake so much fear into me that I’d stay. He threatened to kill the kids, or kidnap them at least. Swore I’d never see them again. I laughed at the notion, which was a mistake, because he quickly flipped me over onto all fours … and started choking.

The nook of his arm was pressed against the front of my throat, his whole weight dead against my back, and his mouth next to my ear. I tried to take slow breaths, but everything got blurry and dark … a fuzzy tunnel of light was all I had to go by, and I felt myself slipping. Visions of my daughters rushed through my head; their birth, first steps, first words, first smiles ... I was slipping faster, trying to keep that image in my head … then he whispered “if I can’t have you, nobody can”. With that he gave a strong pull against my throat, I made one final attempt to breathe in, and it all went black. When I came to, I thought I was dead, but then realized his arm was still against my throat. I mustered up enough strength, my last hoorah, and pushed him off of me … managing to crawl into the kitchen. He had hit his head, and was momentarily stunned.

     He followed me into the kitchen, grabbing a butcher knife and holding it against me … I told him he would never get away with it, that he’d spend the rest of his life in prison, but he just laughed and laughed and laughed. He let his guard down for a moment, and I was able to get the knife from him. I backed up a few steps, holding it out in front of me, watching every move he made. He told me to kill him, to go right ahead, and I thought about it. I really mulled it over, but decided against it in the end. He didn’t deserve death, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to give it to him.

     He threatened suicide, I talked him down. I wasn’t going to let that bastard die on the floor after 5 long years of constant abuse, and especially after what had just happened. Things died down some, he stopped hitting – mainly out of total exhaustion. It was 8:45am. He flopped back on the bed, staring at me. I was sitting in a chair about 4 feet away, holding my sides, trying to keep the crying minimal. Every muscle in my body was on fire, every joint was inflamed, every piece of me was sore. I looked down at my feet, and very quietly told him I needed medical attention immediately. He sat up slightly, looking concerned. I promised I’d tell the staff at hospital a false story, and that I would be home later. I dug for some change, told him I would take the bus, and to try and nap while I was gone. I gathered my coat and purse, kissed him goodbye to keep the idea of my return in good faith, and walked out the door.
The air smelled of damp earth, thunder in the distance. I started limping my way down the sidewalk. He watched me, knowing I had to take the 5 minute trek from our home to Wal-Mart nearby to catch the bus. He continued to watch me slowly crawl my way down the street, and finally out of eyeshot. Those were the longest 5 minutes of my life.

     I reassembled the phone, called a friend, and went to hospital. I didn’t phone the police because I didn’t want sirens … I didn’t want him running. I just wanted to be safe, away from him, and warm. The officer that took my statement (8 pages long) promised me he would make sure my ex was arrested that day, and he kept to his word. There were several photographs taken of me at hospital, and a few taken by an (ex) friend the day after. I was sent home with a diagnosis of concussion, deep contusions, neck sprain, pelvic sprain, and bruised ribs. My ex spent 3 weeks in jail. Three. Only three.

I’m currently writing a book about the whole relationship, as this is just one incident that ended it all – and tomorrow, March 7th (his birthday, no less) marks the day that I fought for my life, and left. It’s a day I will never forget.

Now, for the first time ever, I'm showing these pictures en mass.  There are more, but these are what I have in my possession.  They speak for themselves.

 photo DSC_0082.jpg  photo DSC_0081.jpg  photo DSC_0079.jpg  photo DSC_0078.jpg  photo DSC_0077.jpg  photo DSC_0076.jpg  photo DSC_0075.jpg  photo DSC_0074.jpg  photo DSC_0020.jpg  photo DSC_0016.jpg  photo DSC_0014.jpg  photo DSC_0013.jpg  photo DSC_0012.jpg  photo DSC_0011.jpg

Monday, December 10, 2012

pickin' bones

1) i need to know where this new found interest in scarves came from.  i mean, when i was younger, scarves were purchased (or made) to keep you warm during the winter - and only the rarest of pretentious twats (like yuppies and faux intellectuals) wore them beyond the scope of temperature control. now it's like a virus spreading all over the fucking world.  it could be ninety degrees out with a humidity percentage of 110%, and these jerks will still wear scarves ... with their designer ribbed wife-beaters.  i think it looks silly.  if you want an accent piece, wear a fucking necklace ... or some earrings ... or carry a parrot on your shoulder.  cold-weather accessories are for practical purposes, and sweltering underneath your shittily crocheted yak-yarn cowl on a summer's eve (courtesy of some overpricing baroness of etsy) is just as practical as high heels.  by that i mean, it's not.

2) fake glasses.  as a spectacles wearer, i could never conceive a good enough reason for anybody to wear non-prescription glasses.  it makes me think you're pulling fakies in every other facet of your life.  if you need to wear bullshit eye-wear, maybe your penis isn't real, either.  perhaps your love for the homeless is a front, too.  i understand that "nerdy glasses" are "cute", and guys especially really "dig them" .... but this bizarre attraction is even more mind boggling.  there are plenty of people out there with real glasses - so wouldn't you rather date the ladies you know aren't pulling your (leg) instead of the flakes pulling a (fast one) on you?  if you need to make yourself look like a nerd, you're clearly not a nerd, and need to stop trying.  not to mention, it's still just as practical as those infamous high heels. 


4) why the fuck does excommunication seem to be an acceptable way to punish someone?  surely one would think that talking out the problem, and finding a solution that saves the friendship/relationship, would be the proper way to go.  considering that we're all adults here, very few of you actually know how to act like one.  it's disheartening. it's discouraging.  and, fuck you.

5) there weren't as many bones to pick as i had anticipated, or maybe i'm just really tired.
i'm going to guess on being tired, because it sounds right.

you know what else sounds right? vagina folding. 

Monday, March 26, 2012


things you just shouldn't do:

- try to gasp for air while washing your face. 
 result: a mouthful of soapy water.

- invite a porcupine into your sex life.  
result: more than just a pain in your ass.

- request that your flatmate throw the tape-player into the bathtub with you
when 'white rabbit' peaks.  
result: probable death.  not everybody is as kind
as hunter s. - not everybody will throw a grapefruit at your head. 

- swing really, super high directly after eating.  
result: puking.  potential choking hazard.  definite memory keeper.

- trying to be sexy after drinking a lot.
result: tits falling out of your shirt, drool sliding out of the side of your mouth,
slurred poetic verses of love, and eventual passing out in the lap of the person
you're desperately trying to swoon.
result of that: no phone call the next day.

- head bang while driving.
result: you will look stupid.  ladies will hate you.  men will laugh.

- give your child caffeine.
result: loss of sanity.  yours, not theirs. (oh.  and it's bad parenting.  waffle-twat.)

- put out a fire with your body.
result: you'll most likely catch on fire.  if you're alone, you're probably fucked.

- trying to walk on water whilst tripping on acid.
result: you won't be walking on water, you'll be drowning in it.

- sticking your head into the mouth of a lion.
result: one of two things can happen here.  either the lion is
docile and has the utmost patience for your circus stupidity OR
he eats your face.  either way, is it worth the risk?

keep adding to this list.  i'm going to bed.

Friday, March 23, 2012

i am a woman, after all.

i look in the mirror
and what do i see?
two lumbering hips, staring back at me.
around to the front, as i sneer with disgust
a belly; round, soft, and robust.
marked with the scars of childbearing years
stained by all the self-deprecating tears.

i turn to the left, shift my body upright
catch glimpse of my ever-fleshy backside ...
and with watering eyes, i look at my feet;
at least those are cute and petite.

prominent ankles, tomboyish stems
sometimes i think my body is condemned.

i claw at my porcine thighs
nowt i can do to hide
i should stop stomping on my pride.

broad shoulders to steady my burdens
a strong back to carry my children
corpulent arms that sway when i walk
small hands that help me to talk ....

i'm built like a teapot
short and stout
here are my love handles
my neck is the spout;
stretching up to the sky when i sing,
holding my head when i scream.

i'm not dainty, graceful, or lean.
i'll never be tall, precious, or thin.
not cute as a button
or fair as a fawn.
i've been built to work
until my life is done..

genetics have made me the way that i claim,
and i'll try to remember not to be ashamed.

i'd rather keep my smarts than have more sex appeal.
i'd rather be rational than beautifully surreal.
i'm happier as the 'go to' when someone's distressed,
than be a bar-hopping, spoiled, eye-candied hot mess.

i take solace that i'll make a good wife.
i take pride that i've lived a hard life.

i'm pleased my maternal instincts are sound.
i'm thrilled to have good friends around,
to pick me up when i do hit the ground.

my body, my temple, my biological car.
you've served me well, you've got me this far.
you're not what i wanted, or expected at all.
and like my character, you're nowhere near small.

i'm stuck with you for the rest of my days.
you'll change like the weather when i change with age.

some days i'll loathe you, like a pain in my ass.
i'll cry, beg, and plead  - stare at you like you're trash.

other days i will wear you, with admiration and worth.
put you up on a pedestal, not feeling cursed.

my feelings on this are fleeting and banal.
but i am a woman, after all.

the fever's rolling in
the blues is back again
the reflection begins

what the hell!
where to now?
pretty sure i had it all figured out.
settled, calm, cool, and protected.
everything seemed in perfect perspective.
leave it to me to destroy the collective;
i've got a knack at defying objectives.

oh my, i'm digging my grave.
six feet deeper, and i'll feel brave.
shove me in, i can do the rest.
but don't leave me alone, i'm not feeling my best.

talk to me through the ground
and i'll tell you what i've found ...
what put me into this compound ...
what was so profound.
why i'm so fucking down.


Wednesday, March 21, 2012

words of wisdom, quotes to live by.

"You can quote me on many things. This is one of them."

"Then that would make you my heinous anus."

‎"If you want to fuck someone in the ass that just shat and didn't wipe you, my friend, have a poopdickament."

"Going to the food library using someone else's EBT card. I am as classy as I am handsome."

"I think we'll have a long, fruitful relationship. With the beef jerky, that is."

"Atkins; The Scientology of diets."

"I would eat cottage cheese out of her asshole, and I don't even like cottage cheese."

"Fuck Chuck Norris. Fuck him and his Walker, Texas Ranger and creationism. Van Damme was the REAL meal deal. He had Bloodsport, Kickboxer, Double Impact, Universal Soldier, Cyborg, Hard Target, not to mention he rocked the EXTREME high pants. And, could Chuck Norris do the splits? I think not."

"Ska - The disco of punk rock."

"On a positive note, cheers to whoever or whomever invented feta cheese. It's like chewing delicious rubber."

"You just go ahead and get off on that. ha ha ha. I am such a genius."

"Tired of reading posts about your fickle relationship, your contempt for men, your ugly fucking feral kids and bible scripture. If you're going to keep posting the same things, make them about Roadhouse, or The Big Lebowski, or Satan."

"I bet her vag smells like a fish hatchery."

"Band name ; Exit Felix."

(all credit is given to the endlessly quotable Jason ....)