Archive for the ‘Darks’ Category

Jesus

Why does the day of rest never feel like a day of rest?

Perhaps I haven’t created anything as significant as the light or Adam and Eve or lets say the Universe, but somehow I’m just as exhausted as if I did.

As a struggling writer I feel I can relate to needing a day of rest. I mean how many starts did God have before he finished anything? Obviously if you look around he had a gazillion ideas. Imagine what his original pitch must have sounded like:

So there’s this creature that lives in the water and it can breathe… well it doesn’t breathe air, but water… and one day it ends up on land… so… it uses its fins to crawl… but then starts breathing air… but he doesn’t know… hmmm never mind… let’s say he has arms and legs and he actually likes trees… I think I’ll call him an Ape or Monkey or Gorilla… anyway he swings down and he’s playing in the dirt and he makes what looks like a weird head… oh wait how about instead we take out the monkey and we make some guy out of the dirt… he can be Dirt Man… no you don’t like that… okay just Man… oooo how about Adam… it can be a pun for… now dat a man…not sexy enough?… huh… well his rib fell off so I can make… whoa… a cooler man… check it… Wo-man! He… no She… has boobies and will eat a forbidden fruit!

Sold!

I think God would agree that writing a novel and trying to get it published might be a little more complicated than saying, “Let there be light.”

Let there be an Agent (that really likes me and has a twisted sense of humor)!

See, nothing, it’s way harder.

However, in order to at least stay in the light I have decided to commit to honoring the Sabbath.

Every Sunday I will post a picture of my Stats page from the category “Search Engine Terms.” By doing this we will honor the Sabbath through observation and remembrance of things once created on my blog.

You must have faith that this will be fun because there are some poor souls out there Googling terms that miraculously lead them to my blog. I’m sure they leave with great enlightenment.

For Example, check out these top search terms:

Blog Stat 1

  1. Fiercely Yours Blog: Someone is stalking me by searching just my blog title instead of subscribing, but that’s cool. Hey, maybe it’s God, he’s so mysterious.
  2. Sawtooth Shark? Yup doesn’t seem to fit I know, but click the profile pic on my About Me page for the low down.
  3. Then of course, searching for Wonder Woman delivers a few here because where else would they need to go?

Anyway, stayed tuned to find out about those girl fights and so much more.

May you rest in peace.

Correction, don’t get too peaceful because that means something else. I don’t think you’re quite ready for a weird funeral.

Happy Sabbath.

[Picture credits: One is mine and one is not.]

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Helmet

The other day I took a bike ride through the cemetery and had a lot of fun.

Fun? Hell yeahs!

See in the hood, cemeteries are the perfect locations for small events like hooker meet-n-greets, dealer conferences, and tweaker trainings.

Some locations even have a community garden where people stand around drinking beer all day, but I wouldn’t advise eating from the fruits of labor. Once you see a homeless man bathing in the rain collection barrel you’ll understand why.

Anyway, back to the fun.

I rode my bike and when I ride my bike I wear a helmet.

FYI no one in the hood wears a helmet, NO ONE except bike cops.

Enter fun.

Every single event at the cemetery came to an end as I cruised along all fuzz like.

The look on peoples punked faces as they exited the grounds were priceless. Yup, not the 5.0, just a nerdy white snitch bitch in a helmet!

It was as the last group left that I decided I no longer want to be cremated. At one time I thought it would be nice to dime bag my ashes amongst the peeps and let them spread me wherever they wanted, but now I see so much more potential in owning a plot.

After all who wants to take the chance of ending up in a junk drawer or on a mantel in a household of screaming brats? Or sold off and snorted by mistake? No thank you.

Instead I want this to be my resting place:

Cemetery

Where trees look like demon rabbits…

Rabbit Tree

Where armless Cindy needs help picking her crotch wedgie…

Armless Cindy

Where groundhogs dig you an escape route for when it’s time to resurrect…

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And where I can eat pizza with George because the party never stops…

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Never stops…

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[Pictures are all my own… for once!]

TURNING DIRTY

Posted: December 30, 2012 in Darks, Just Life
Tags: , , , , ,

Clean

How is it possible that I can spend so much time during the week picking up after everyone, cleaning, and organizing piles of crap, but here I sit in a mess greater than when I started?

One of my 2013 goals is to become a fucking slob. Goodbye neat freak!

All I do is waste my time, energy and sanity trying to create a tolerable space for my creativity to feel welcome. At this point, I would rather just go to the urine-scented library or sit on the bathroom floor behind the toilet.

So for all of you with goals to clean your messy house and get organized in 2013, don’t bother!

Take it from me, the happiness of a clean space is fleeting.

May the mess be with you.

Dove Real Beauty

It’s the end of the year and like you, I have been reflecting on many things in hopes of making several changes in 2013. However, I can’t shake off one question:

Why is it so difficult to find a package of all black panties?

Is it because women like me who prefer to shop for panties in bulk are not assumed sexy or naughty, so we are stuck with the white load?

Yet, somehow it makes sense that I should wear dainty bright blossoms on my huge ass or little girl patterns like polka dots and pastel paisleys. Do I really need to embrace the innocence of my youth by stretching gorgeous butterflies over my privates? Must my underwear really match the colors of the season?

Seriously, these sorts of things make no sense to me and all I want is a package of twenty black undies with a nice durable waistband to last the year. Not some frilly little strings barely stitched together that unravels and tangles with the legs of my jeans in the wash.

Sure, a girl should have endless pink and frilly options, but can we also have the option of solid darkness?

That five count package of wholesome white panties only screams, “Hey, I’m sterile!”

Therefore, 2013, my cotton crotch is riding on you. Don’t let me down.

There’s a movie where someone says to someone else that if they want to get their edge back they need to go back to the beginning (or something similar). I’ll let you figure out which movie and who says what to whom because it’s not one of my favorites, but the line does spark a few interesting questions.

Does the beginning mean back to the basics, back to training, craft and grueling practice?

Or does it mean the discipline of hunting down our sinister thoughts in the night and scrawling indecipherable fascinations across the flesh of our own hands? Going back to the roughness of creativity and the domination of words until our minds become submissive, supine with only the body of a drained pen at our fingertips; pages overflowing and laden on our chest like an unconscious lover, rising and falling with our every breath.

Was that the Big Bang?

If you need your edge back then what does your beginning look like?

WRITER ON THE EDGE

Posted: October 25, 2012 in Darks, Just Life
Tags: , , , ,

Tonight I am in trouble.

The dark side is calling me and I think you all know what this means.

I’m teetering on the edge, ready to fall into an abyss of self-gratification, and drown in the mass of my own words.

I keep trying to beat this vicious dog down with a stick to the nose, but its teeth are locked and I am bleeding.

Some people hear voices and get medication. I hear stories and have no pills. My insanity is my sanity.

I teeter between what I dreamt for myself and the place where I am currently stationed. Somehow they don’t match up, but they’re expected to work together as a team.

Last night I went to bed at 5 p.m. and pulled the covers over my head so I could cry about everything. I cried on and off all night until my alarm went off at 6 a.m. and I didn’t feel any better.

Lately I feel more like a shadow than a person, much less a writer. Unnoticed, just there, always attached to the motion of others.

I feel incredibly stuck and uninspired no matter the actions I take to move forward as someone with someplace to arrive.

I’m also feeling guilty. I’ve read over my posts dating back to May, which is like three, and realize that I’ve been battling with myself for half the year. WTF? What are my followers thinking? Up until May I had some fun things to share, sure some moody bits here and there, but I know everyone prefers my fun side and I try to deliver. However, I’m in a funk here people!

What can I write about that might interest you other than this melancholy crap I keep posting? I have a bunch of ideas trapped in my mind, but I can’t seem to break through this negative spirit. I need a good yank, a sign, or gust of wind to push me off the edge.

Somebody please help me.

 

 

I’m in a battle and it appears to be with myself.

Have you ever watched a group of girls fist fight after school? There’s always the one who runs into it flailing her arms and feet, screaming like a crazy person and gets the crowd chanting on her behalf. That’s also the one who almost always looses in the end.

Sure she catches her opponent off guard and takes her down with a few wild punches, but her sense of early victory sets her up for failure. She’s shown all her moves, spent all her energy and gave up the fight in an exchange for a few high-fives with the cool kids.

The other girl stays on the ground with a bloody nose or fat lip, scratched face, swollen eye or all of the above. She’s breathing through a tight chest, feeling her humility, and though she feels her fright numb her body, her weight like lead—she slowly begins to rise.

The crowd’s attention shifts, their cheers of initial excitement turn to rumbles of curiosity. Oh no, she’s not getting up, what’s she going to do?

Without a word she grabs her batterers hair from behind, bringing her down to her knees and lets her flail around trying to escape until she is exhausted. She holds her in place until she is satisfied with the crowds change of victor because it’s the beat down fighter who gets up to win that inspires something in us all.

No one talks the next day about who won first– only who won in the end.

And though I’m not holding a clump of hair in my fist quite yet, I’m breathing through my humility, feeling numb, and preparing to rise.

I believe if you can survive your own beatings you can survive anything.

The red head has an expression that makes me laugh. What is she thinking?