splat

I've got to warn you, dear friend, dear reader. It's been awhile since I've written anything besides school research papers and I fear that when I unload, the contents of my mind will go splat. I'm so full and so empty all at once. My eyes, unprovoked, constantly fill up with tears and spill over. hidden under huge, dark glasses, I'm constantly dabbing at these leaky windows. I tell people it's allergies. Really I feel like there is a hole in my heart where my soul is slowly oozing out.

"Why can't we ever get you to go anywhere but Reny and Bell could?" Jenna says to me over bbq ribs, corn on the cob and sweet potatoes at Baby Blues on Lincoln. It's a dinky, plain place but trendy so it takes a long time to get a table there.

I don't really know what to say. When I was with them, I felt like I could manifest anything I desired. Every morning I awoke and felt passion in my heart. I would drop my kid off at school, skip my own classes and drive 45 minutes, sometimes longer to their roach infested Hollywood apartment off of Sunset just to listen to Reny talk about life and Old country blues musicians of which Reny's mind is an encyclopedia . Bell, a beautiful pixie of a woman with a magickal voice and committed heart, would come home from work and make us egg sandwiches with spinach and we would drink and smoke and laugh together until I had to leave. I felt free in that studio apartment. The burning shackles of my insecurity and loneliness would not dare enter that apartment complex. They stayed outside where male prostitutes would stroll down the sidewalk and shake their huge cocks at me, asking me why couldn't they get a woman to ever pay them for sex?

Oh and the shows. I felt like a fucking superstar even though I wasn't onstage. Once in Seattle I asked a snarky soundman who was making them sound like shit to step outside so we could take care of business. I booked the shows, I managed the money on tour, always loving that our main source of income was beer and buds and tons of love everywhere we went. It was those times, on tour, driving for what seemed like an endless epoch that Reny and I would seem the most happy. We would actually look at eachother and say, "This is when I'm the happiest." I didn't need to be anything. Life was enough. It's only with my daughter that I have ever felt more complete. But with her it's different because there is all of this fear and responsibility of holding another life in your hands that comes along with it. With them, it was enough just to exist. Every moment was a sacred act of pleasure denoting a deep reverence for life. I didn't know that all of this would soon be lost to me and I would be plunged back into this L.A. existence of getting by one day at a time. The hopelessness of living a life that is supposedly reasonable. Going to school, being a mom, going on diets, doing laundry, it's like being hooked up when these things hold no meaning for me, which is most of the time.

"I love you, Jenna," I said to her still looking at my plate. "But I was in love with them."

Having been here in L.A. my whole life, it seems that everywhere I look are carcasses of my past. All in different stages of decomposition. Some still wet with fluid and buzzing from maggots. Most are just skeletal remains though. Pieces of me are littered all over this city and are slowly being ground into dust. No gravestones to mark the loss of something so precious.

After not more than 3 weeks of deciding that I would no longer date men, that there isn't one anywhere close enough to me that could ever relate to my experience, that the smell of pussy was much sweeter than semen anyway and that I am womyn centered in my religion and even my education so why am I still bi? Who am I kidding? Well, anyway, after having this very logical conversation with myself I went over to Bryan's last night. I flipped a coin before I went, heads I'll sleep with him, tails I won't. Tails it is. Within 25 minutes of being in his apartment we were in bed. Willpower isn't my strong suit. I don't even really like sex with Bryan. He is too rough and sometimes he mangles my breasts, like he's trying to twist off my nipples or something. He turns me around and pushes my head and shoulders into the bed. I feel my power slipping away as I am lying prostrate on his mattress, my vulva a bulls eye and I am sacrificed with one, strong plunge. He tells me he needs to get his bearings because he's been thinking about this pussy for so long (that is because I have refused to sleep with him for quite a few months), been wanting this pussy for so long. Yes everyone wants the pussy, but the lonely romantic that's attached to it, not so much. I know how it is. How it's always been with me and men.

emptiness is all i feel after I cum. An emptiness that floods and breaks through every levy that I have ever built. I wake up this morning and know that this is another day. Another day of meaningless tasks that lead to more meaningless tasks and another day. I repress the urge to flee. If I smoke a joint I can keep it at bay. My soul tries to escape through my eyes and goes splat on the keyboard. I wish I could drown myself in the dirty water of the Pacific, but I have to bring my kid to basketball practice now. Escape is not an option.

bloody friday

Yes, it's mooooooon floooooooow time again, my friends. And aren't you lucky that you have me to share it with you. Because I am a bleeding human, yet I have no wound. I'm not sick but in a state of heightened sensitivity. I want to lie in bed and dream. I put the me in menstrual. My time to feel. Don't tell me that I must run in your pointless race today, don't even dare. I own my time. My thoughts carry more power now than ever. I am part of the void today. I feel it spin and pulsate inside me. It is the dark nothingness that some fear but I know it is the source of all creation. I am the gateway.

with that all said I am curious about something. Not one person has ever asked me about my profile picture. I'm not sure if anyone noticed there is a crow in it. And that crow was in my bedroom.

conversations with a soon to be 6 year old

I'm here on the computer and my kid is watching cartoons next to me on tv. This commercial comes on, about "stomping out bullying."



My daughter tells me that she thinks the girl on the video is "sexy."

"What makes her sexy?"

"The way she looks and stands."

"To me she seems mad about bullying."

"Yeah. But mom, she is also sexy."

"Oh. Well, what does sexy mean to you, honey?"

Here she takes a moment to ponder. She doesn't really have a solid idea of what sex is, just a vague idea I think from the stories of other kids in her kindergarten, and what she catches from the media(which is frightening in itself). She eventually replies, "Jazzy. Pretty." Unsatisfied with her own answers, she wrinkles her freckled nose. "What is sexy, mom?"

Oh shit. My opportunity to shape and mold the future of feminism and my daughter's future as well. I don't like these moments. The ramifications of any given answer could be catastrophic. I think about the hilarious piece written by Jezebel about tlc's pageant kids reality show. This 10 year old girl fights with her mom because she wants to put "flirty" moves in her swimsuit routine. You can imagine just how inappropriate those moves could be (remember that scene in Little Miss Sunshine?) The girl also states that she wants to be a cheerleader, "because they get to show their belly."

I think about sexuality and sensuality and sexiness. Sensuality to me is the natural expression of pleasure from being in a human body. Sex, and an enjoyment of sex is a beautiful thing. I don't have a problem with pornography if it celebrates a woman's and a man's sexuality. But pornography that reinforces and replays domination over a woman while reinforcing women's status as subordinate and exploitable isn't cool with me.

Sometimes, from my own experiences, I feel that sexiness can also be seen as a tool of manipulation, an art of war, and a tool of survival used by a universally oppressed group for at least hundreds, if not thousands of years. I also know that what I call an, "ability to create desire," is something that is used against women in the worst ways, and in every moment of history. An excuse for generations of men to indulge their impulses, refuse self control and rationalize yet another form of violent domination. Like the planet Herself, Women's bodies have become a natural resource, for men to plunder or protect, yet having no voice or power of Her own.

Besides that, it's disgusting what society finds "sexy" these days. Frail, breakable women who love to be objectified. They come with shaved, disembodied parts that make them look pre-pubescent. Like a child, easy to control. Domination is sexy so that makes children legitimate sex objects. Alluring like a pristine, artesian spring, that is ready and willing to have you plant your flag, claim ownership, and build a factory. And when that one is used up, there are always more. Manifest Destiny = pursuit of happiness. A God given right.

"Sexy isn't pretty."

"It's not?"

"No. It's more like acting like you want to have sex. Or using your prettiness to get things."

"ewww. Gross!"

"Yeah. Gross" I pull out her basketball uniform and gym cloths out of the laundry basket. "Now get ready for Krav Maga class."

25 random things about me

This is a silly thing people have been posting on facebook. Yet, I think the whole "random" part makes it interesting because what the author chooses to write says much more about the person then the actual facts. Personally, I'm not sure why I chose to talk about pee and spiteful things I've done. Was I trying to be funny? Am I confessing? Out of all the things I could have chosen, why did I choose these 25 to share with the world? Am I making some sort of statement? Try it yourself and see what comes up for you. Especially now that the moon is waning.


1. I wanted to try and be mysterious and not write 25 random things about me, but alas, I'm an exhibitionist and I couldn't resist. I'm like that flasher in the alley but in writing.

2. I have animals in my apartment. To be specific, 1 dog, 3 cats, and 7 rats. My daughter wants chinchillas and a baby brother. I told her she's dreamin'.

3. I really really love my dog.


4. Many x boyfriends have had their toothbrushes peed on by me. They all deserved it.

5. I've never put any kind of hex, bind, or any spell on my x-husband, nor did I get a chance to pee on his toothbrush

6. I have my prop 215 card

7. I changed my major in college from "health administration" to "gender/women's studies". Who was I kidding with that "health admin" shit. Like I could ever be that person.

8. I am a Goddess Worshiper. There are actually no male deities in my cosmology.

9. If I eat bread or drink beer, I turn into a drooling zombie.

10. I've lost the same 10 pounds at least 1000 times.

11. A psychic recently told me that if I go out drinking within the next two months, someone will try and roophie me .

12. If someone ever spit on me, they had better be able to run really fast because I would probably try and kill them.

13. I take krav maga, and so does my daughter. It is a perfect metaphor of how the oppressed becomes the oppressor. However, I believe that is why it is such a good system.

14. I hate that many people think it's weird to be a feminist. If you're not a feminist, then you don't believe in gender equality, which makes you sexist. It has nothing to do with shaving your armpits.

15. Having a kid was the best thing that could ever happened to me. But it's really really hard at the same time.

16. My dream is to live in a circular, straw bale house in the middle of the forest with two big dogs.

17. My mom tells me, "eat a frog for breakfast." and I reply, " 'cause that's the only way I can eat my own ass."

18. Sometimes writing can feel like really, really good sex. Sometimes it feels like a headache.

19. I know all parents say this but I believe that my daughter is the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.

20. Being happy sometimes feels so uncomfortable to me. Like a new pair of shoes. At times I purposely wear struggle because it's more familiar.

21. People freak me out. Especially in face to face situations because when I get nervous I get sweaty. My friends have to seriously DRAG me anywhere or I won't leave my room.

22. When I left Portland I purposely locked my x-roommates out of the only bathroom in the house. I am vengeful like that. I feel bad about it now.

23. I am trying to eradicate the word, "bitch" out of my vocabulary. Why is it so much fun to say? I always want to say, "I'm a witch, bitch!" But it just wouldn't be right.

24. Many years ago when I was in Italy, Frank's cousin, Guilio, told me that the Italian word for ashtray was miportacazo. Which actually means, "bring me a dick." Imagine the hilarity that ensued.

25. I self identify as a woman, a mother and a witch. Other people may self identify through their job, or fashion, or sexual orientation, addiction, education, etc etc. I often wonder why we do this.

There are so many things wrong with this news article that it makes my stomach hurt

http://www.nbclosangeles.com/news/local/NATLRihanna-Has-Horrific-Injuries.html


NBC's take on the violence perpetrated by Chris Brown.

They write that he is hurting more than she is, because his career may be ruined?

They confirmed that she has horrific injuries, including, "Rihanna, 20, had contusions to her face, bite marks on her arms and fingers, a bloody nose and a split lip with swelling and bruising on her body...Brown allegedly beat Rihanna so badly with his fists that her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and she could barely open her eyes for police photos"

so this is not as bad as losing one's job?

Here is something else that bothers me.

"Not only is Brown’s career hurting, but he’s said to be lovesick as well. The Daily News reported that Brown has tried contacting his estranged Barbados-born songstress girlfriend only to be rebuffed."

First of all, poor, lovesick Chris Brown! Why does he get to have a name, yet Rhianna is reduced to "his estranged Barbados-born songstress girlfriend" Ummm. She's RHIANNA! This is so typical of victim devalue-ment with our mainstream media. She's nameless and "rebuffs" his "lovesick" attempts. I think I'm going to puke.

And this is the part that I knew would come. Character assassination of the victim. "sources described the Rhianna as a clingy girlfriend who can't bear to have Brown out of her sights." I know he beat the shit out of her, right? But after all, she was insecure.

News reports are supposed to be unbiased. This one sounds like the author, Andrew Greiner, has some issues himself.

And we actually sit around and wonder why violent assault against women is so prevalent?

a born again crazy run amuck at my school

if you look closely at his mouth, you can tell that he is yelling, "you're all going to heLLLLLLLL"

this was the funniest spectacle I have seen in awhile. And I live in L.A.


do you agree that this HUGE sign, the way he is holding it, may be substituting for something else?
He repeatedly yelled that men were not supposed to "go down" on other men. He said it so much, I began to wonder who he was trying to convince. Homophobes are just self repressed homosexuals anyway. I feel bad for anyone who is a part of any religion that requires one to make an ass out of themselves in public.

my new spell candle and my daughter's portrait of me

I had a wonderful reading with Witchy Poo and we spoke about heart healing. One thing she asked me to do was to imagine myself a young girl again and to send love to that little girl and tell her, "I will always love you and keep you safe."

So I made a spell candle for it:)





But I got into a fight in the back alley of my house. Witchy said that things like that are a trigger for me to send love to my heart so I lit the candle soon after getting into the fight. But the top of it exploded off and shot across the room when I lit it. So now it's broken.


I really exploded on this woman in the back alley who refused to move her car so that we could get into our parking spot. Looking back, I let myself get out of control because I wanted it to get physical. Now I'm glad it didn't. I think that the rage explosion blew out of my heart. Witchy and I did a heart-song healing and she noticed there was blockage so we focused light on my heart to break up the "clog". I think the rage is the diarrhea that my heart is shattting ouuuuut... I felt sick the whole rest of the day and yesterday but now I feel good.

Below is a picture my daughter drew of me after the altrication in the alley, which she witnessed and said that I was pretty scary.