sometimes, late at night, i close my eyes . . . thinking that finally, sleep will come
and i can still see you
as vividly as you were that night, lying there
with your eyes half closed
i can hear your laboured, apnatic breathing . . . so loudly you snore
the smell of death, emanating from your pores
your breath . . .
and i think to my self, how can this be
i know that i will never understand how an emerging butterfly, outgrowing the womb of her coccoon
at once, young and wise, and foolish
how freedom beckoned you in her whispers, how her melodies became your swan song

sometimes, i see my self lying there and my jealousy enrages me, stabbing at the heart of the pain i feel, in the wake of the mess you left me with
in these moments, i feel punctured and torn
wishing i could just flay myself, searing and scorching, embedding the scars of what i could not know . . . the rage and the fire, unquenched
for what i must have needed to see
i had not known that THIS is the substance of things hoped for, that THIS is the evidence of things not seen . . . your resurrection, . . . mine
we all resurrect
we are all reborn

but sometimes
when i'm lying awake at night
and i can not sleep
i feel so . . . angry inside, such rage . . .
i want to take you in my arms and throttle you until you bleed
for that is rage . . . and that is what you have inspired
within me
rage is the substance of things spat upon, and the evidence pain not seen

did you know rage
i wish you could
i wish you could talk through your pain, and let it take you into rage
it's not so scary, not like people say
i wish i could have showed you

i don't wish that you were still alive because i know that that is not what you wanted
i wish you . . . freedom, and i wish you peace
and i also wish you some of what you left me with
not that it's much, but
i think that you deserve to have to carry some of it too


forgot the camera, BUT

nobody pissed me off
eye didn't kill, or even maim, anyone
and . . . the game was awesome, we didn't have to give anybody a ride anywhere, and i've still got chocolate at the end of the day

very successful day, in deed
eye wanna take pictures today
cuz he looks really handsome



i got two pieces of good news in the last 24

first, i'm definitely going to dominica this summer, which is way too awesome. it's only for a week and i don't even need a passport, but just the opportunity to go . . .

it's a mission trip, which i've always cast a rather wary eye on . . .

missionaries, that's what they called themselves when they came here, stole our land, and decimated our tribes before they went back cross the water and manipulated our tribesmen to sell them our people as chattel. god, i hate the whiteman. y'know them ones we shoulda kilt soon's they stepped foot off their boats uninvited. damn niggers, every one of'em, and the only thing missionary about'em was the way they fucked--and i'd hardly consider what they do as fuckin. hell, way they do it, it ain't no wonder they call it a 'sin'. but i digress . . .

i just hope this doesn't turn out to be one of those kinda mission trips. but we'll see . . . we'll see.

i dunno most of the people on this trip--just two, maybe three. that should be interesting, too.

secondly, i may have a parttime job at the seminary i'll be going to in a few years. that, too, would be rather sweet. 15 for 20, very nice. i'm hoping to snag most of the de stuff.

ah, and my lover is taking me to powwow next week. how sweetly wonderful he is. he's workin on some new artwork for the house. he tells me his ideas, but he knows he's speakin greek, just like i do when i'm talkin about hair products and skin moisturizers to him. we just sorta politely listen and nod and say uh-huh. i like that unspoken arrangement. aims is goin, too--to powwow, i mean-- and her wife also. her wife's really pissed at me, and rightfully so but i don't give a shit. it ain't on me. but she also recognizes that this is powwow, so what the fuck if she's there.

this must be my year for travelin. there's dominica and the two mini-vacs mylove and i are taking, then there's mine and aims' road trip, and then there's conference too (which may or may not include one of the mvs). in fact, i'm wanting a new digital and i'll take the laptop so i can hook up on the road. damn, do they have wifi in dominica? gotta check.

i must be a grownup now, cuz i'm actually gonna get a passport. scary prospect . . . entrusting the FATASS with all my innanashunal travul plansnall. but what the fuck, i wanna see the world, so there ya go

well, i have missed sleeping next to my beloved these past few nights, so since i'm sleened enough it's lites out


and last but not least . . . [cue drumroll]

heeeeerrrreeeee sheeeeeeeeeee iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis
miiiiiiiiiiiiiiss umAIRikaaaaaaaaaaaaah

is she a doll or what?

i think it's the or what, m'self

i think these are from www.worth1000.com, courtesy of my good friend aims

i thought i's finished, but then aims sent me this stuff

i jes gotta share this--it's too dam funny t'keep it t'm'self
it's called


more to follow . . .


yanno, it's a good thing i don't do grudgefucks*


see, there's this situation . . .

this girl, haven't known her long, but she's with this friend of mine, right? well newbie chick is really startin to piss me off--just a little snippy thing, damn barbie doll i could break in two before i even laid a hand on'er. she's attempting to assert her little ass into far too much of my territory, and that just ain't good. if u know anything about leos with scorps rising, yanno that territorial doesn't even begin to explain it. i'm trying to be patient with her, but rx don't mean doctor--it means cure. and nothin says cure like a good olfashioned grudgefuck. cuz then, there's my friend that barbiebitch is with. now, her . . . k, for the truly reals, i could seriously enjoy a good fuckbuddy session with her, no strings attached. would she? u betta yer sweet ass she would, and would give her left tit just to see me nekkid. this i know for sure . . . but i won't. i'm (working on) being good. i'm a christian, after all

however, barbie doesn't know a few things. like me, for example. she doesn't know that if she doesn't quit fuckin with me, i'm gonna start fuckin back. and she doesn't know that she really doesn't want me in her face. and what she really doesn't know is that one of my favorite ways to kill somebody is to grudgefuck their lover and then drop'em both without a second thought. she's under the delusion that won't means can't--and it don't. it just means won't, and won't can become will, have, and can-again at any moment. she just doesn't know me . . . but maybe it's time she got a glimpse. ya think?

i hate it when people misjudge me. i try to be so nice, specially at church. but when they fuck with you and they go to your church, what's your recourse?

yanno, people don't seem to realize--although i do try to warn'em, specially when they piss me off--that i've been a punk a helluva lot longer than i've been a christian, and some shit just never changes. the distinct pleasure i take in a good grudgefuck is one of those things that don't ever--and won't ever--change. grudgefuckin is my second-most favorite kinda fuckin--always has been, always will be. and the more pissed off i am, the more i get off on it

the last girl i grudgefucked . . . she'd never ejaculated before. she was my favorite.

me: u want we should teach little barbie a lesson
me2: now now we all christians. we all supposed to forgive
me: so if i forgive her, then can we . . .
me2: nonono, yer missin the whole concept. forgiveness means ya don't get even
me: oh
me2: yea, sux don't it
me: but what if . . .
me2: don't start with them hypotheticals. they're pathetic and beneath us
me: fuck
me2: no, grudgefuck. let's think about it some more

i miss grudgefuckin
wonder if i still got that tape i had
it should be on there

Joke of the Day (JOTD) courtesy of Aims :-)

Some people are like Slinkies... Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

Stspreservus and bless all the little pygmy chillun livin in the tundra aymayun


THIS is how ewe deal with'em when they piss ewe off

Dear Mr. [Bigwhig]:

My name is [Your Name] and I am a now-former [Company {this one was to Verizon}] customer. I am sure that you have a very busy schedule, so I will attempt to be brief. I have experienced several difficulties at the hands of Verizon's local office and my problem still has not been resolved. I thought it best to contact someone who might be able to resolve this situation.

On [Specific Date], I signed up for Verizon service at our home, [Your Address] in [City ST]. Our phone service worked fine, until [fill in event]. We lost service on or about [Date]. I contacted Verizon via the Internet, and your company sent a techician who checked our inside wiring, our inside equipment, and your outside equipment. The technician said that our equipment and wiring were fine. He said that the problem was with some box or switch or other, up on one of Verizon's telephone poles. He said that he replaced the faulty equipment. We both rechecked the service and it had come back on.

A few weeks, and a couple of [events], later we, again, experienced problems with our service. We reported this. During the interim, we also signed up for your wire and maintenance plan, so that we would be protected, regardless of where the problem was. This time, when we reported a no-service complaint, we never even saw a technician. The Verizon representatives said that a technician came out and reported that the line was fine; however we never saw or heard from anyone--even though on the online form, I requested a specific date and time to speak with the technician personally. Sir, we still did not have service.

I reported a no-service complaint again on [Date]--for the third time in less than two months. I received an email that said that a technician had come out and determined that the telephone line was fine. However, again, we never saw this technician, nor were we informed of what date or time s/he would be here.

[SPECIAL NOTE: It is NEVER okay for a Verizon rep to check ANYTHING without making contact with you, the customer.]

Today, I received another email--one that advised me to contact Verizon at (xxx) 954-6400. This is your business office, so I called. During the next hour or so, I was transferred from your business office to repair--which was where I'd intended to call--to billing to collections and back to the business office. Each time, I was told that there was "nothing [the representative] could do". Finally, I was able to speak to a supervisor. H/She, however, proved to be even more confusing than anyone else I'd spoken with.

First she said that the problem was pre-existing; however, if the problem was not pre-existing from [Date] through [Date] , I fail to understand how it could be determined as a pre-existing condition on [Date] or [Date]. I signed up for the Verizon maintenance plan; however, I was unaware that this maintenance plan did not take effect for 30 days and that it does not cover pre-existing conditions. But even this does not make sense--we had no pre-existing conditions. The technician whom I did see and speak with told me that our equipment and wiring were fine.

Another thing I do not understand is this: How is it that the technician we did see was able to check our equipment, but the others that we were only told about were not? Our equipment is new and the wiring in the site for the Verizon service--a recently-added sunroom--is also pretty new. Where on earth could we have a pre-existing condition indoors? And how can a technician determine that the problem is an indoor pre-existing condition--without examining the indoor equipment and wiring?

This situation has proven to be very frustrating, to say the least. Our service has been disconnected due to non-payment. Mr. [Bigwhig], would you go to a grocery store and hand the cashier money if you were not receiving any food? In one of my no-service complaints, I indicated that we were not going to pay our bill until we received regular, uninterrupted telephone service. I don't think that's asking too much. I also indicated that I believed we were owed approximately ten days of credit. I think that's fair because to be honest, if I said that we received regular, uninterrupted service for even half the time we've been signed up with Verizon, Sir, I would be being very generous.

Mr. [Bigwhig], I am not a person who seeks to take advantage of anyone. I am a single parent who is returning to college and earning my first bachelor's degree, I am a deacon in my church, and I am a safe and responsible citizen. That said, I will NOT pay a bill for service that I am not receiving, and I will NOT stand for a corporation whose employees refuse to give the service they expect to be paid for. Any intervention you can provide would be most appreciated. If this situation is not resolved, I will no longer employ Verizon for any of my local, long-distance, or Internet connection needs--and it will not matter to me whether my name is cleared; as far as I'm concerned, having a bad name with a dishonest company cancels any detrimental effects I may incur as a result.

Thank you, and have a pleasant day.


Sissies'n'bros, nothin scares Verizon like the letters VOIP. I sent this email on Friday. This morning I got two calls, each from a different Verizon manager--and neither number started with that 954 shit. The second caller also left his cell phone number. I expect that our land line service will change very soon, very soon, and I expect that the bill in question will be renegotiated.

So, here's the lesson, kids ---> When the local yokels piss you off, don't do that "work your way up" shit. Nonono sweetiecakes, you start at the TOP cuz that's where you get IMMEDIATE results, specially if ya know where it'll hurt most when ya hit'em.

That's all for today, my sweet little cherry plums . . .



i've got a kid

what a shock, right?

well anyway, he's not such a kid anymore--he's 20 years old. that's a fuckin trip all by itself. but, he's livin life on his own terms for the first time in his life. it's such a beautiful thing to watch. i get such a kick outta sittin back and watchin my boy navigate. i think he's gonna be a nomad. a fuckin rich nomad, but a nomad all the same. he may settle down, but i don't think so. he's so ready to fly . . . haha i've gotta laugh because when he takes flight, there won't be no stoppin him.

he's grown very close to my mother, which is also a thing of beauty to watch. she's happy when he comes home from college; he's taken to staying with her during his breaks and that is really, really sweet. he's a sweet kid, and his ma's proud.

i have to be in church in six hours. thank God it ain't four. or three.

stspreservus and bless all the little pygmy children livin in the tundra. amen.


our lady of coppernum

she's a beauty too

mama's new little baby

a gift from my beloved--early birthday present
purdy, ain't she


us just in

so me and loverboi just got in from choir rehearsal
( . . . stop that snickerin u 2 . . . )

we're doin our fav-o-rite thang, runnin round upstairs nekkid as jaybirds (do jaybirds really git nekkid?) and eatin hot fudge sundys. empty nest shore do feel good, i'ont care what they tellya. ya raise the little crumbcatchers and soon's they hit bigpeopleschool, ya strip yer clothes off and run round like there ain't nobody but u, God, and the neighbors next door. they're so damn funny

we got this one--frankie's his name. he's been so fuckin hot to figger out us since the day we moved in. he's fuckin creepy. we gotta gun, never you worry. sumbitch hop that fence, he'll never remember hoppin back, you can take that there to the bank. and the fucked up thang--for him anyway--is that he's the one neighbor who can't see shit--he gotta wear bifocals and his covered carport obscures his view of my bedroom window. sometimes fate just hands you a nice little puh just when you least spect it.

so we just got in and we run round like banshees til my lover gits tired and i take sleepy drugs. that's usually bout ahourorso apart.

i try to be good. i'm in the choir. i'm even a deacon.
well, sometimes
but i think God likes me cuz i started sayin a stspreservus prayer for all the lil pygmy childern livin in the tundra
and cuz sometimes i eat all my veggies
lessen they the human kind. they don't taste good like greenbeens
but mostly cuz i don't kill nobody
lessen they cross me

and yknow i notice sumthin too
all them peepole who hurt me and fucked me over, they lives always turn into just pure bullshit. u ever notice that bout yer fucked-me-overs? well there maybe one who excaped, but i don't think so. fact, last time i talked to her, her life was worse than shit. it was like . . . doubledipshit--which is what she was for leavin me like she did. but aint' that afuckintrip--i sometimes gotta say a bigger stspreservus prayer before i talk to'em. sometimes i don't tho. shit's fuckin hilarius

but, mok . . . we ain't evil
is we

stspreservme and bless all the little pygmy children livin in the tundra


and then a moment later

This is one of my favorite pictures.

My friend JMichael made it. He's at www.ide-a.net. I've always loved his work. There's also a these two butterflies, one on redstone and one on blackstone. JMichael didn't make those. Those were a gift. I can't find the blackstone one and my heart breaks. It was my favorite of the two.

I have these weirdly dark thoughts, but my therapist says that they're normal--at least, she says, they're normal for me (whatever that means). She says she won't have me locked away if I tell her about them, but that's just what she says. Forgive her, for she knows not what she does. I wrote this poem once called father-forgive-them. Or something like that. It's in someplace I can't pull out yet. She doesn't know about that either. She knows that I only tell her about the pretty thoughts and the pretty pictures and the pretty poems. The ugly ones, though, are the most beautiful of all. Just like the butterfly on the blackstone. Just like "veintree" right there. Striking, isn't it?

I have a digital camera, so now I can take pictures of my copper lady and my redstone butterfly. I have to find the blackstone butterfly soon. Otherwise, I'll start having those beautiful thoughts again.

Well, that's a lie.
I never stopped.

I have to go now. I'm going to visit my mother. It's late for Mother's Day, but that's okay. She's expecting me.


she don't remember who she is or where she's at
she's only got this moment
it keeps eluding her, this moment
she's tried sneakin up on it
but it withers within her grasp
she tried, too, to call it forth
but it doesn't have a name
it doesn't want to be owned
she tried listening for it
it becomes silent in her ear
she's tried waiting for it
but things waited for never come

somebody told her part of her name
but she forgot it, so long ago
in her periphery she sees the nothingness of her life
how it washes by under her fading oak tree
the hammering never ceases
she wakes

her name is gone
what's left is this moment
as soon as the light hits
and it is no more


my lover made this graven image, back when s/he was twelve
it's made out of liquid copper and black, this copper lady with her copperypointed nipple saluting her audience
i wanted her in the bedroom
we settled on the dining room instead
it's a good choice cause people'll see it in there, soon's they walk in
whereas in our bedroom, she won't get nearly as much attention
she's not a whore though
she's copper
all copper and black

funny to think that my lover made this a long time before i was even in my daddy's slowdripdownthepantleg
i think, how can that be--s/he knowing at twelve what i . . . well, that's a lie (only if i expect me to believe it)
i knew
i just didn't tell nobody
not even me
still, though

so i'm deciding what wall i want the copper lady on
i know
i'll have her where she can be reflected in the giant mirror
then we can see her as if she has two pointycoppernipples saluting her troops
i think i'd like that
side views are good but full frontal is by far the best
even in simulation stimulation

i wonder if i can scan my copper lady
i've been thinking a lot, these past weeks, about who and what i am, about where i am, and about why i am the way i am

i wasn't always this way

i used to not be okay with being pissed, angry at the world--my self, my parents, God, and a few other folks. i used to bury a lot and lose my whole self in other peoples' shit. mostly i felt guilty, too, cuz i came when those bastards raped me. i thought i was just some twisted up little fuck, only here because there was nowhere else for me to be

i'm better now

in my time with you, i learned who i was and who i wanted to be
with an unblinking eye, i took long looks in the mirror at my past
i used your mind as my playground, to figure out my own self
i listened
and i talked
and then i listened some more
i made the best damned decisions
and i fucked up the best damned moments
it was never boring
was it

or maybe y'don't
if i could do one thing
i would say thank you
you gave me nothing and you gave me the world
you let me belong my self to you and in doing so, you gave me back to my self and you let me know that no one had the right to take me away from me

pretty fucked up that someone would need to learn that
but what the hell, everybody's gotta learn something

because of what i learned in my talks with you, i know what i will and what i won't
and nobody gets me to fuck-you unless i wanna get there
and i get there whenever i feel like it
nobody fucks me anymore unless i say it's okay
and i don't say it's okay unless i get to fuck back
i loved being the only one who wasn't afraid of you
i learned words from you, and i learned how to use'em
i also learned about lying
but that wasn't from you
i learned a great lesson that day
i learned how to smoke cigars and say niggerniggernigger and laugh my ass off, and i learned how to piss people off just by pulling out a mirror
i was a child, i was a woman
i was fucking happy

i hope happiness is a condition for you now
if i could want anything and have it be so, it would be that you would be the happiest fucker on the planet
second only to me, of course
let's not forget who's doing the talking here

i dunno why i needed to say this
but i did
i guess i just woke up this way

the people in my world get better and better, just because of my having known you
ain't it a trip
ain't that a fuckin riot

cheers, love


aimlessly blundering, i
fall down the chute and run for cover
i'm the rabbit
snares are a bitch when they're the ones with the teeth
and none of the bushes'll burn quite the way you wan'em to
yo, jew lookin at me
pretty word
hard to say
when you're not the one with a two inch spike grindin in your asscavity
or maybe it's hard when you are
it's been so long . . .

so i'm standing atop this roof
tryin to get a god's eyeview
but all i get is nothin
and all i see is you
i forgot what year it was yesterday
and how your skin tastes when i pluck it outta my fingernails
i flushed it before i forgot
so it wouldn't add to the dust i've already collected

dead butterfly


fallin behind, in the midst of catchin up

sounds like an old, sad country song, don't it
almost makes me wanna buy a beer to cry in

sometimes that happens to me, that fallin behind thing

i heard this great line for the second time, just today
she said that nostalgia ain't what it used to be
for instance, i have this friend who's been on my mind lately. i think it's still a friend. it seems like it would be maybe.

anyway, there are these moments when sweet nostalgia slips in, and she feels just as nice as she would, i guess, if she were real. those are the moments when the objects in the rearview mirror seem closer than they are. i love that line, too.

but i've gotta be careful. i've got shit to do too.


once i had this dream
i was in a bubble with a bunch of other people
i was the tokin breed, if you know what i mean
and allasudden i noticed that they was all talkin funny
and just as soon as i knew that, i realized
i was the only one talkin normal
for real?
for real
so i pulled me over
i know it was me pullin me over cuz i been practicin focusin on my hands when i'm asleep and it was my hands that was pullin me over
and i said wtf?

what would scooby do



so i'm back with the gospel choir now
which means that i am singing some of the the things that conflict within me
that's okay though. conflixion is good for the soul.

i've been thinkin about my dad lately, yesterday especially. i was cutting meat into cubes and i remembered the way he used to stand just behind me, when i was about six or eight or so. no, . . . maybe about seven. anyway, i'd be up on a chair, cause i was too short to reach the counter with a knife in my hand. i was on my knees, though, so it was more like prayin at the kitchen counter. and my dad, he had these knives. all kindsa knives, big ones, small ones . . . ones that fit in your mouth. heh

i think this is where i got my love of knives and swords, but knives especially. anyway, he'd stand just over my shoulder, and give me directions--cut right here, or use this knife, or pull your fingers back . . . --it was so cool. he taught me how to cut up meat that way. we were always doing a roast, slicing it and cubing it for stew. my mom made the best beef stew--carrots, potatoes, onions . . . mouth waters just thinkin about it.

but with my dad standing over my shoulder, that's how i learned to use a knife. he was good--a chef in the navy just before i was born. i am the product of two food service-type people, and i discovered last year that we kitchen kids have neuroses that others don't tend to. chiefly, our kitchens and bathrooms must be spotless, and we get very pissed when someone comes behind us after we've cleaned and dirty up shit and leave it in the sink. that's been almost a deal-breaker for me and d; i don't tolerate dirty stuff in the kitchen unless i leave it there.

sometimes, i hear my dad in my head and i'll have these conversations with him where i'll tell him--like i did as a kid--no, dad, wait, just watch this. he did every time. and he always rubbed his chin and said, 'well, okay', when it worked--cause it always worked. i have his instincts in the kitchen and if i weren't going to seminary, i'd be going to chef school, which i might anyway later on. although most curriculums look far too theoretical for me--far too recipeish and step-by-step for my taste--it still might be fun. my stepmom the preacher used to say that that was his way of getting women, cook'em fabulous meals to hook'em, then marry'em and never set foot back in the kitchen. my dad . . . everywhere we lived, there was a girlfriend not too far away. i met one once. i was a mean little bitch to her too. that was fun.

finally found out what squidbillies are the other day. i don't keep up much, never have that way. sounds like something interesting, but not for now. i got stuff to do.

finally took my midterm at about 1130, turned it in at seven to midnight just now (er, twopointfive hours ago). i did okay. i skipped an assignment cause it was a stupid stupid assignment, so before the test i had a b. my gpa is important to me, as my kid says. got my dean's list letter last week. that was cool.

i'm headed to the dominican republic in two months. first mission trip. i'm rather excited. i'd never been out of the contiguous fifty--and not even in all of them--before summer oh four. that was the summer of puerto rico. such beautiful country. i'll be teaching for a week at one of the schools near santo domingo. better learn spanish quick. one of the perks, of course, is that this will look good on my app to wesley in a few years. but i'm going because i really do want to help and because it will add a dimension of reality to my life that's not present at present. it'll be good for me to get my hands dirty. it's a short trip, only about ten days or so, but five days in pr felt like a month so i expect this trip to be similar. i'll be working in dr just like pr, only in a different millieu.

i'm glad i'm not with one of those bible-thumpin hell-raisin churches. no matter what they say about us, they can't say that we don't give a shit and they can't say that we don't take care of our own. our kids grow up intelligent, wanted, and loved. and safe. some of us raise queer kids. some of us don't. but most of us queer parents wouldn't even be here if our straight parents hadn't raised us first. it's always funny and sad to me when straight parents reject their queer kids; they don't seem to realize where that queer kid got the courage and the insight it takes to live true to how you feel.

i look at it this way: every queer kid who tells me that s/he is queer will always get the same response as if s/he had said, 'i think i'm breathing'. queer happens, just like shit, birth, and death.

well, i gotta scare up some cash for the trip to dr.




we're grillin 'cause it's so beautiful outside. we've done this every saturday since jf moved out a month or so ago.

d's head between my thighs was awesome last night, and i'm planning on a repeat performance after dinner. i love it when i get some.

so, today i didn't get pissed, didn't want to kill anyone, didn't even for one second (til now) think of the freakshow i live in, and it's allright

i've gotta take a midterm. i should do that now.


i used to be beautiful once

well, maybe not beautiful
prolly just cute or somethin


so, do i think it's a coincidence that just after i posted that blog about the freaks runnin the country

damn phone

so, a coincidence that i'm at church and there's cops parked outside my house? guess it would be but i don't believe in coincidence (said the athiest to the God). buncha fuckin thought police

y'know the longer i live here, the more i almost hate being in america. it's hard to not capitalize that a, but this is not the america dreamt up by grown men who still flew kites in thunderstorms. the only thing we've done right in the last fifty or sixty years is end jim crow for black people . . . african americans, whatever. but we've got a whole new set of jim crow now, don't we

me and my friend were just talkin about those thoughts you get when somebody's really up yer ass but you've gotta hold it in cuz you've gotta wife, a kid . . . and how much fun those thoughts are to entertain and enjoy at those peculiar times when, instead of being smart and away, they're RIGHTFUCKINHERE. a lilla poke here, a lilla slice there . . . oh what fun it is to ride, ain't it just

my friend has a friend who's never had such thoughts, 'til now. they're so cute when they're little. all skerred and ful'o'woe'n'worry. hate that constipated feelin. and then all of a sudden GUSH. that's the part that feels the best. that's when you know that you're hittin the right spot. i was like that--the ful part--for the better part of thirty years. then allasudden, one day . . . GUSH, and then i was right every since. ay mayun


it was time to go to church, so i left abruptly, and it's good i did.
that's a tough reconciliation, the love and the rage. the rage i feel . . . whenever i'm outside. enough to make a monk go agoraphobic, ya know what i mean. that's what i feel like sometimes

but then i read the newspaper, and it just goes on and on about how that drunk freak in the -- oh shit, better not say . . . bunch a'friggin cowards, sending boys and girls off to fight wars that they keep their own selves out of. i think that if you declare a war, you oughta fight it, or else keep your fat trap shut and leave other people the hell alone. and how the hell can we "rebuild" something we shoulda never tore down in the first place? there's a reason why other countries basically say fuck you when we -- as represented by that piece of shit happening -- tell them to correct their human rights violations: because they're shitty people treating everyone else like shit. they are the nastiest, foulest shitholes . . . well, next to fred phelps, who i'd love to spend about five minutes of quality time with. and yaknow, just as true as it is for every other drip, this shit's tricklin down quick as splat.

anyway, this is some of the kinda stuff i think about when i'm left to my own devices. i need a therapist. hell, maybe i need my mother's tit. well, nah. can't miss what you never had, and i get enough tit whenever i want -- with none of the guilt. thank God. speaking of Whom, i wonder what God thinks when God reads some of this stuff. He can't be offended, and yes, He's a He to me and if that ain't so for you then don't bitch about the fact that it is so for me. anyway, pregnant pause. i like pregnant pauses.

so, what does God think about all this bitchin and complainin and whining insufferably as i do? i know He'd tell me if i asked Him, which is why i don't. i've learned that you never ever ask questions that you don't want the answers to. i dunno if i'm more troubled by the thought that God's laughing His ass off ('course why would God need an ass to laugh off? He's God, right?) or the thought that it's some sort of sin, which by the way i've had a recent epiphany on--just about two nights before my afore-mentioned friend kicked the bucket. seems to me, being a . . . well, an okay Christian as i do, that when Christ came into the world and died, He took all of the sin in the world, took it through hell, then He laid those sins--or Himself, I think--at the foot of the Father, who pardoned all. so if God does see this as sinful, well, bitchin and complainin and whining insufferably as i do ought to be pardoned as well, seeins how the last "new" sin committed before Christ's dyin and all was suicide. which i also found out that it's the catholics who started that whole two-unforgivable-sins crap, but that's for another time. anyway, so everything up to and including suicide is . . . pardonable, by God at least. by me, not so much. but then who am i? nothing and no one

except a bitchy gripey punk with an axe to grind

we were talkin, in my church class tonight, about these new parents today and how what-the-hell-are-they-doing we think of them. some of these people shouldn't raise gerbils, much less these eighteen-year-gifts some of us actually know how to wrangle with. what the hell is so hard about saying no and not givin a shit if you get a i hate you for your trouble? so what--i figure as long as the little survival machine gets pissed at you, you're doin your job right. were YOU always happy with YOUR parents? how'd that work for ya? worked just fine for me. buncha dumbasses. sesame street JUNIOR? you must be SERIOUSLY unbalanced if you can't just hang out with your six-month-old til it falls asleep, gets hungry, or shits its diaper. what in THE hell can baby big bird teach your kid that you can't? you can't sing, talk to, tickle your own kid without HELP from a FREAKIN TV CHARACTER?? enough to make me lose my Jesus (i like that line)

anyway, my SO's in bed and i am to get some tonight

hasta luges

what if they knew

what if they knew that my mother was the only thing standing between me and the death of her oldest child, and maybe some of the younger ones too

what if they knew that i'd really like to beat the shit out of my friend who botched her own fake fucking suicide--except she died

i really wanna call her a fucking bitch, but it wouldn't do any good anyway. she's fuckin dead

what if all the slugmonkeys and the fuckanoodles went to hell and came back again

what if i did

what if they knew i wanted to send them there

would they still send me to seminary

if they knew what i really think inside

like, what if they knew that every night i lie in bed or i sit at this screen and i think about chains and ropes and steel and my long black knife everytime i think about each one who pisses me off and fucks up my day

or that i lie when i say i don't and i don't when i say i do

what if they knew that my worst fear is having them know