Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Red, Soldiers, & Fire Writings

Candles

I love candles. Many times a single candle has altered the course of my life.

Last night I lit a red candle and BAM!! All these realizations about sex started flooding me. I saw how it merges two people’s energy & if the man doesn’t value your survival & material well being as his own you best steer clear, cause he will dilute your energy. The energy you need to survive. Especially for someone like me who feels precarious in her own survival to begin with.

Wanting a man to invest in you materially isn’t selfish…. why would you merge your material body with someone who doesn’t love you that much? I invest in Slippers materially and take responsibility for her life. Even tho I suck at survival it isn’t that hard to expand your sense of self to include someone else. This should be the minimum sort of love a person has before you risk merging with them.

Cause for me, if I have sex with someone I become very attached. My mind and emotions are constantly drifting towards them. Why would you want to spend all day thinking about someone who wouldn’t even buy you groceries? It doesn’t make any sense. Until you find someone who at least loves you that much you should hold your energy inside cause you’ll need it. Cause I think survival is hard for females. At least for me.

It’s is hard for me to think practically, logically, selfishly and strategically which is how you need to think for survival. How would a man feel if he was expected to jack off to purple rectangles? It’s not how he’s wired up.

But men are more selfish & strategic by nature. (Not to mention that their testicles are 2 extra brains devoted to survival.) It’s what makes it dangerous to be intimate with a man unless his sense of self has expanded to include you. Because although men are designed to be selfish, they also have the ability to expand their sense of self to include wife, children, family, clan, country etc. In this way they are selfish and unselfish at the same time.

But don’t place your well being at the mercy of a man who sense of self does not include you. Because to people outside this sense of self they are ruthless.

This hit me like lightning last night. I was lighting a red candle to help me be better at surviving because I don’t know what I’m going to do for money yet. I lost my last job for not conning people hard enough & the two jobs before that were both lost for crying on the job due to smells. I’m sure there is something I can do but it always seems to require being something other than my nature. Just trying to get my brain to think about what I could do ends up with staring into space as no thoughts arise. My mind is wired to be hyperaware of what is, not to strategize a path forward.

But the red candle showed me that the first step to surviving is not forming relationships which don’t facilitate your survival. Cause why would you merge with someone not vested in you? How can it lead to anything good?

I’ve always been so afraid of being a gold digger that I sort of became the reverse. But really there is nothing wrong with a man investing in you materially. I invest in Slippers materially. I’m not going to be enjoying a delicious meal while she is hungry. That would be sick. To care about a loved one’s physical well being is the most basic form of love. If someone doesn’t love you in the most basic way WHY would you allow your mind & heart to center around them? It’s self abandonment.

It may be nobody’s responsibility to take care of me but it is not my responsibility to suck their dick either. It doesn’t really matter if someone claims to like or love you. Actions speak louder than words and if they can’t love me -at a bare minimum- like I love Slippers then being with them will dilute my raw power which I cannot afford.

I have to put myself first until I find somebody that puts me first.

Thank you red candle. I will add candles to the list of things that have always been my friends… colors, candles. End of list.

Categories
Astrology Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

Bells

Why do people say hell is red and fiery? When really it is gray and icy with each person held alone under a cold metal bell. Pumped full of pain medication, they breath, feel no pain and think thoughts of their own well being. They are glad the bell protects them. They have 100,000 dollars plus a gold brick and they are glad no one will steal it. They know no one can lift the heavy bell to find them. They have won the game of life. Every day tasty meals are dropped into the bell. Anything they choose. They eat with relish. Winning! When they relieve themselves, the byproducts magically disappear. Hell is sanitary. People never cry there. They think they are smiling and maybe they are. Who knows? No one can see them.

Pain is when you go to Heaven. Looking down, you see everything you missed. St Fanci compared entering heaven to having both your legs sawed off with a rusty blade. Pain is the price of admission.

Stabbed in the chest by remorse. You never saw the beauty of everything until it was too late. And now in heaven you’re face to face with everything you wanted to avoid.

The people you least want to see are your greeting committee, standing there waiting in white robes. Those you wanted to impress stand behind you, noticing how you’ve shit your white pants.

Everyone you ghosted, neglected, abandoned, wait for you there with arms outstretched. They hug you and the memories of how you hurt them return. The clarity is excruciating because in heaven there are no clouds, fog or shadows.

And why did you do it? Why were you such an asshole?

Because there was some wound you didn’t want to feel and now it is probed with a million forceps and scalpels. Your mind explodes in an infinite sun of pain. In heaven there are no pain killers.

I finally got this poster I really wanted. It means so much to me I just don’t know what or why.

What is the relevance of this? I don’t know. In life, I am hanging in there. I got a job as a phone psychic and felt I was really in my element. Then I got fired. I was keeping people on the line for an average of 22 minutes rather than 35 minutes like they wanted. There is a bell that rings at 20 minutes and you’re sposed to keep people on for a while after that, because the rates get jacked up. But the callers want to hang up once they hear the bell so they don’t end up with a huge bill.

My psychic hotline name was Isabel Harlon. I’m gonna start my own psychic reading business now.

So money is hard.

And love is hard too because I don’t understand it. I feel like a retard in math class. A bunch of squiggles on the board and I have no idea what anything means. I was good at math but could never understand it which drove me nuts. I couldn’t figure out what numbers WERE. What the fuck is a one? A zero? Are they things themselves or ways of seeing things? The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

Slippers in her new cage. I am cage training her so she will be calm when I leave the house. To my surprise, she loves it!

Sometimes I read books about love and it makes things worse because there are always more and more things you aren’t supposed to do because they will emasculate men. Words you aren’t supposed to say- like can would but. Tenses you aren’t supposed to use. If you follow the rules he will love you forever! But if you can’t…. well, no one to blame but yourself for what happens next.

And I don’t want to emasculate anyone. Rip off their dick and leave them with a bloody stump. But following all these rules feels impossible, especially when one of the rules is to be yourself. And you are supposed to be vulnerable and show your emotions, the problem is there’s only one emotion you are supposed to feel- pleased. But the more bound up I feel the harder this mild & flavorless state is to achieve.

Somewhere I must find the strength to take a solemn vow that I won’t abandon myself for love anymore. Because I love romance so much. But romance comes from being yourself and feeling the chemical reaction of self touching the world. Romance comes from the beauty of your own emotions welling up to surprise you. If men need you to be completely colorless and drained of life just to be in their presence then what is the point? Money? Or just avoiding a wound- the infinite pain of being abandoned? Love is one of the bells of hell. Blocking the pain while keeping you dead inside.

I need to find the strength to choose myself but I don’t know how. I don’t feel that strength anywhere.

Slippers at an open mic. Until I train her to be okay at home, I have to take her everywhere.
The face Slippers makes when she wants a snack.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

The Heart Protector

Did you know your Heart has a friend who follows him through life with only one goal- to protect? This friend is called The Heart Protector.

When you get heart broken or betrayed The Heart Protector can sink into depression. Where did he go wrong? How did he let his friend down?

Maybe he learns something, makes sense of his mistakes & goes back to work.

Or maybe he’s not sure what he did wrong. He moves into a state of hyper vigilance to ensure this never happens again. He builds new walls thick and crusty. The Heart lives inside these walls & starts to be deprived of light.

The Heart Protector builds walls in many ways. He may become paranoid & carry a magnifying glass looking for tiny red flags. He may become cynical & tell himself Love doesn’t exist. He may even reach the point of believing that Knights & Unicorns never walked the earth.

He can make you critical. Pointing out flaws in anyone who gets close. He can make you queasy at the thought of one day walking hand and hand with someone wearing matching pajamas.

He gives you reasons to reject people before they reject you. He fills your legs with adrenaline and tells you to run. Run to the river and drown yourself. He has a million ways of protecting his friend.

Recently my Heart Protector has been too tight & its hard to sing. I can’t catch my breath. I don’t want to go out and see people. I do it anyway but a part of me stays inside. I don’t want to write songs because there’s nothing to say. And no one to hear me.

I don’t know what I am supposed to have learned from my experiences or what I did wrong. I don’t know how to not let the same thing happen again. The Heart Protector is in a state of confusion. What to do? What to do?

So like the genius I am I’ve been trying to learn songs to make other people like me. My friend Arthur plays Sweet Home Alabama with me and Country Roads take me home. We play a gig which requires carrying 500 pounds of equipment for miles with the help of a grocery cart, setting up, playing for two hours, taking it down & carrying it back home. We make about 3 dollars each. I’m a bit worried about survival.

I can only hope popularity will help me survive. I want to reflect the culture back to itself so people will like me. Confederate flags are popular here. So are guns, knives, dicks, motorcycles, alcohol, drugs and nature.

Downtown Charleston West Virginia
A West Virginia Birthday cake. Do you see those two round cakes above it? It turns out they were boob cakes and I ate a slice when offered having no idea what I was eating. I am still trying to come to terms with this.
The view from a West Virginia bar. If you combined this pic with one of a man driving 100 mph off a cliff in a motorized easy chair while high on mushrooms it would pretty much sum up the area.
Giving a redneck hello to a guy(?) in a bar. My Yankee friends always assume the people down here are close minded. They don’t understand they are weirder than fuck.
Burning a red candle in a desperate attempt to stave off the cold. The mug is resting on a tin of chewing tobacco.
I finally had to decorate my bedroom because it was feeling too much like a prison cell. The theme is Friends. I am now expecting Dinosaurs and Elephants to come into my life.
Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Uncategorized Writings

Bracing Myself

Sometimes I think men are about changing the outer world while women are about changing on the inside to find the magic in what is.

I feel art is a feminine activity…. it lets people transform by seeing beauty in new things. To step outside the judgments which cage their perceptions. Art that simply caters to current tastes dulls the senses like being hooked up to a masturbation machine. Artists have to follow their own muse oblivious to the taste of the people.

The point is not to please nor to shock. But to deliver a fresh stream of water that people can choose to align their psyche with should they need it. The fresh input allows inner things to reconfigure and helps flush out the gunk.

It’s the same with thoughts. Fresh perspectives have value, even if you don’t happen to need that perspective at the moment. At least it will be there offering you a mental alternative should you ever get stuck in the future.

Whether songs are good or bad and perspectives right or wrong seems besides the point. They are crayons you can add to your crayon box just in case. A color you dislike now may appeal in the future.

I’m saying all this because I want to write about hillbillies and am bracing myself for the backlash. I have yet to recover my nerve from when people attacked me for writing about poor people. It doesn’t matter that I was praising poor people & pointing out that they might be fairies in disguise. In fact people seemed angry that I wasn’t describing the poor as miserable beings leading a pointless existence.

I internalized these attacks to where I became afraid to see my own experience of poverty in a magical light. I wish I could return to that lens though. It made me feel safe and uplifted.

But when autumn came I went into panic mode…. I must figure out how to make a living now or I’m going to die! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! And the more I panic the more I can’t think at all.

So I may just have to accept the possibility that I will end up living under a bridge getting stabbed to death by a mugger because so far no better plan has come to mind.

Maybe if I had the confidence to stay on my own wavelength rather than trying to be Tarzan the Dentist I could think more clearly. Maybe a possibility for how to survive would come to mind, maybe something I could actually do.

Cause the more I try to be a lumberjack the more my brain seizes and my body freezes and I can’t function at all.

All my life I’ve felt this guilt about not being a lumberjack, a gladiator, a professional boxer. I’m never hearty, tough, dirty and hard scrabble enough to please the people around me.

James was the first person to accept me as I was and that caused a lot of my psychological problems to clear up. I stopped needing to match the color of my ice cream to the color of my shoes. I could tolerate a wider range of colors, sounds and smells which let me function more normally.

But none of this happened because he was trying to change me. Its because he accepted me as I was. If I needed white ice cream topped with white sauce and white sprinkles he would help me find it until eventually I didn’t need it anymore. He always told me to trust myself and no matter how far out my preferences were he never tried to force me into conventional ways of being. Paradoxically this made me feel more at peace with conventions until I could see them as sources of comfort. Because I’d become comfortable with myself.

But now that I’m facing annihilation the panic returns that I must become someone else to survive. A gladiator. A lesbian. A mailman. A criminal. I must shut the fuck up and find something heavy to lift at once. Then I’ll be safe.

A baby walrus I found at a flea market. I listed him for sale on eBay like a damn slave. I am wondering if I can become a stuffed animals dealer.
A quilted bear I also found and listed.
A mustard package from biscuit world…. something about this color scheme really blew me away… it looks so warm and grounded yet also inviting adventure…. maybe these are the colors of the future?
I ate a plate of poison mushrooms, projectile vomited them over my whole apartment & ended up in the ER. They were jack o lantern mushrooms & I can only hope I gained some special jack o lantern powers from them.
A stone a man gave me. Is he a keeper?
Downtown Charleston WV. I like it. But I’m not certain if it likes me. I feel I don’t have any of the traits that are valued here, like being super tough and down to earth.

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs On My Own

A Star that Always Rises

Look around you now you see so many new horizons
Fallen far into a circle sky of blue.
With his body on you like a mountain falls and rises
And his mouth become the river rolling through.

But look again- there’s a star that always rises
Flying high over an ocean filled with blue.
And will you swear cause I heard them say
A day will come when he returns for you.

With the shadows falling how his hair curls like an injun
And the sweat is burning paths upon his face.
But you dread when this will end to leave you in suspension
Walking circles in a dark and foreign place.

But look again- there’s a star that always rises
Flying high over an ocean filled with blue.
And will you swear cause I heard them say
A day will come when he returns for you.

Please don’t hurt me.
Say you won’t hurt me.
Please don’t no matter what I do.

Will you say you won’t hurt me?
Never desert me?
Although I break you black and blue?

Could you climb up the hill?
Could you climb it at night?
To the air where it’s higher than stars?
That’s where you’ll find a world that’s ours.

But look again- there’s a star that always rises
Flying high over an ocean filled with blue.
And will you swear that you love me cause
A day will come when he returns for you.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

The Violet Box

Having lost all roots I crave the feeling of security. A taste of home. Home is partially this sense of safety in our minds released by certain colors, smells, sounds and vibrations. Probably ones that remind you of whatever brought you peace in childhood.

For me it is violets, dandelions, buttercups, green grass, clouds and skies. Lace handkerchiefs and tea sets painted with flowers. Stories about bears, knights and frogs setting out on adventures. Candies in glass dishes and cookies with pictures pressed into them.

Safety is walking with my grandmother into a restaurant where we place matching orders for a fish sandwich and glass of chocolate milk. These are brought to us by a waiter in coattails with a sprig of parsley on the side. She gives me little gifts on these outings. A tiny diamond pressed into a golden shell. We discuss scented soaps and bubble baths. Then return to her house to look through her collection of porcelain dogs. She lets me choose one to keep.

Security is sitting on the sofa with my mom as she reads me books. Animals in formal clothing risk everything for friendship. They set off across vast landscapes to chase dreams and fulfill noble ideals. She reads to me in the formal living room where everything is shiny, polish and floral. The piano sits to my left. He listens. Glen the koala bear sits on my lap. The stories go straight to his heart since he is an animal too. I am wearing clothes my mother made me and they are stitched with scenes of animals. The yellow sun is shining through the window.

Security is the heart shaped box painted with violets I kept on my dresser. Everyday I climb a chair to touch its smooth surface and then stroke the cactus who lives next to him. He grows inside a porcelain pot the shape of a cat. I talk to the cactus and fill him with a sense of love and self-worth to face the day ahead. I talk to everything around me to give them strength and encouragement. My animals, my dolls, my knights, my scented soaps. I touch them with my finger while explaining to them how special they are. How important their life is. I do this with plants, worms, and human babies as well. Sometimes it gets exhausting.

The other vibe from childhood was sports. Sports, sports, sports, competitive games & competition. Life was a competitive sport where victory was fleeting and humiliation eternal. I never resonated with this part.

But the female side was all about beauty. All my female relatives loved to decorate and shop for beautiful things. I did too. It filled me with a sense of awe. I spent a week contemplating if I should buy a tiny glass snake. I finally decided I should and took him home to place him on my Cherokee drum so he could dance while I played it. Glass, porcelain, and cotton are soothing to me. When things are clean, prim, old fashioned and expensive I feel safe.

Not that I live this way. But at least in my mind I can return to that porcelain heart box. Then a sense of optimism & power overtakes me. The world cannot change me.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia men Music & Songs On My Own Red, Soldiers, & Fire

Care About Me

Saturday night inside a one horse town
He’s blowing in like a breeze into a tin roadhouse
The game is pretty easy when you choose them right
All you need is twenty dollars and a saturday night oh.

Cause you wanna be high oh
And you wanna feel free
But you dont care about me.

Cause when it’s easy to come you come
And when I bleed you go
That’s just the way that things are
I know.

I’m bleeding bullets like a horse put down
For the last three weeks I’ve been popping them out.
Blood in the kitchen and blood on the sheets
Blood down my neck when I walk in the streets but

It was all just a game yeah
Something fun and carefree
And you don’t care about me.

Cause when it’s easy to come you come
And when I bleed you go
That’s just the way that things are
I know.

The thing about men is when you let them win
They dance around in a circle and come back again.
But things is pretty different when someone gotta lose
Then theys putting on their shoes.

Cause men need to be high.
Men need to feel free.
And you don’t care about me.

Cause when it’s easy to come you come
And when I bleed you go
That’s just the way that things are
I know.

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

A Time To Be Blue

Summer is over. I feel so sad. It was beautiful, all the green and sun melting everything down. I gave myself those three months to live as an idiotic welfare queen while adjusting to single life. Summer is all about hearts and love. I wish it could last forever.

But now comes the fall. A time for brains and being serious. Its color will be blue. I’m afraid I won’t cut it in this crisp new world. Only 9 months until the women’s shelter stops paying for my home. I need good ideas to enter my brain, but they don’t.

I haven’t crisped yet. I’m trying but the sun is still hot and yellow, melting brains down and hearts feel like fire. The sky is so blue, the EBT cupcakes so delicious. Everything green and frothy. I want to roll in the grass like a pig.

The world is a green paradise but beneath it a dark soil of fear, pain and panic. I bat it down with stress gummies & cough syrup. I say “It is what it is” when disturbing thoughts enter. This locks them in a magical box. I can’t face life head on yet. I’m not safe.

And until I get smart I won’t be safe. I need to think clearly and formulate a plan. But life is a bowl of puzzles and I can’t solve one of them. The second I use my brain I start to cry. I feel like my initial goal of becoming a millionaire this fall is not going to happen.

So I’m choosing a smaller goal. To become a good communicator and learn how to clearly express my needs and desires. To express my will. Which is hard because I’m not always sure if I have one.

When you’re a wife, you don’t need a will. Being willess is almost an asset since it gives you increased flexibility like a body with no bones. But then fate dumps you on the streets and you are expected to have a will. A will as strong as any man’s. People don’t realize wills can’t pop up overnight like a forest.

The only time I am sure of my will is when I am hungry or in extreme pain. Cause I have the will to survive. But even then speaking up on behalf of myself feels like sticking my hand in a blender. I am terrified of displeasing the people around me. This isn’t the same as wanting people to like me. I’m willing to be hated to give the people what they want. Cause sometimes they want a bad guy. They would generally prefer to keep the good guy role for themselves.

Wanting to please & wanting to live up to social expectations are two different worlds. People are rarely in the mood to admire someone. More commonly they need someone to feel superior to. This is where I excel.

I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Throwing myself under the bus to appease a hot spot in someone else’s psyche. If a friend needed to feel fast, I’d pretend to be slow. I’d lose contests on purpose so the other person could win. I’d perform horribly in plays so someone special in the audience could have the satisfaction of knowing I sucked. I don’t know why. Its just this feeling of terror that I can only be safe by giving people what they want.

I have my finger in the undercurrent of every dynamic. It makes me act strange because those undercurrents are intense. They are made up of things people don’t want to acknowledge. When you touch them they cause weird things to leap out of your mouth as though you are possessed. Like a touching a wire. But I need to release that underlying pressure to feel safe. If there is an undercurrent of anger I try to be the person it can be released upon. Then things feel safe again.

I don’t know how to stop doing this. So I’ll put that puzzle back in the bowl for now. And focus on the immediate task. To clearly express my needs and the desires to the extent that I am aware of them. Even when it seems certain to lead to pain and disaster. Perhaps as I express these bits of will, larger chunks of will will start drifting into my consciousness.

Every morning I’ll tell myself that as I speak up for myself, new doors open for me.

Two blue stones that I’ll keep in my pocket. I hope they teach me how to express myself.
Hillbilly diamonds found on a sidewalk. I hope they’ll make me rich.
Vines climb a barbed wire fence. I wish I could climb it too and reach those lights on the other side.

Mama I ain’t gonna lie. I gone done bad things.
Feeding bits of stick to ducks at night. Summer is so woozy. But you don’t see the bad part. I got here on a motorcycle. Somebody help me.


Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs On My Own Purple, Magic & Sorcerers

Please Get To The Part

High as dust and I’m walking home
Try to breath but I’m never gonna get it right.
Cuz I know that when I get home then I’m all alone
To face another spooky night.

I know. People tell me everything come and go.
People tell me everything’s far then near no fear my dear
Was is will be but they don’t get it.

Please get to the part where you hurt me.
Please get to the part where you break me down and cry.

In the day you can act that way
Like its all okay and nothings gonna cut me.
Smile and drink like you never think
Like you never feel and nothings gonna drag you home.

Midnight crawling on the graves in the moonlight
Wait for him to tell you goodbye
You’d cry but you’re just too high
Then the open sky fall down upon you.

Please get to the part where you hurt me.
Please get to the part where you break me down and cry.

So many skies
What are those things that move whenever I open my eyes?
So many dreams
I need to find a world where I can be weak so I try to breath but I can’t find it.

Please get to the part where you hurt me.
Please get to the part where you take me down and cry.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Uncategorized Writings

Sausage Links, Chains & Patties

Sometimes it is hard to write songs or even blog posts because I lose myself so easily and then I’m not on the right wavelength to tap the muse I want to tap.

And I know why. Because I have certain traits that aren’t socially acceptable, but when I detach from these traits I lose myself and have nothing to say.

There is a pressure to be everything at once but you can’t be. You have to pick your poison and then align with those people who can accept you as you are.

I have certain traits that are socially unacceptable- such as talking about dicks too much- but these traits are actually to cover up a set of traits even more socially unacceptable.

I read in a book once that everyone has a fake personality designed to cover their true weaknesses and this is definitely true for me. The bold act meek & the meek act bold.

Supposedly though, if you drop your compensating mask & allow your true self to shine through you will get much luckier. That is what I read in the book. But in my case it is easier said than done since my true self is a clear blob. How can I express that?

Anyway, let’s talk about sausages. They are my safe place.

What is a sausage?

A dick?

A man?

To me, a sausage is a paradise. The feeling of a moment stretching out in all directions. That bubble of eternity is one link on the sausage chain.

Or sometimes a sausage is a world set apart from other worlds. You are in the ocean and everything is blue, the ocean and the sky, like a blue pearl. That pearl is one link on the sausage chain.

I used to think women contained worlds and men lived inside them. But now I’m wondering if it is the reverse and all realities are created inside men’s dicks plus the dicks of giant men who live in the sky.

Men seem like magical beings to me, for better or worse.

They can change your sense of yourself until you are certain you are a worm.

Or they can lift you out of this world altogether into a link of the sausage chain you have never seen before.

Either way, don’t panic. There is a new link behind every bend and the chain goes on forever.

A cloud? Or a man disguised as a cloud? Men will take the form of whatever you want to see until you chomp the bait.
Mushrooms continue to grow in front of the house where I used to live. James had the locks changed so I can’t see my dogs anymore. Thinking about this hurts too much so I think about sausages instead.

Before changing the locks he started putting weird signs on the door every day when it was my time to see them.
He was allowed to choose anytime for me to see them. 1 hour 3x a week. But no matter what time, it would never be good.
I hope they know I have not forgotten them.

On a happy note- an EBT dinner. I can have all the food I want now, although fresh fruits & vegetables are hard to come by.
A tip jar. I’ve started playing music by myself since I broke up with my bass player. He thought he should be able to dicktate which songs I was and wasn’t allowed to play even in his absence. This seemed to me like an overreach. I miss the deep watery sounds of the bass though. And having someone who could drive and set up equipment.
Meat sent these to boost my confidence. Dust of Slut, Essence of Testicles, Lez Vibes & Self-Doubt Eliminator. But I find Essence of Testicles works for almost every situation. I’ve always been a huge believer in dick and ball magic.
I did a gofundme to raise 11 dollars so I could buy this poster. I don’t know why it speaks to me. And I don’t know if I should hang it in the kitchen as a welcome or the bedroom as a warning. To myself. To never trust in no one else. Except it takes trust to reach paradise.
Fur sausage. My doggies inhabit their own link of Sausage Time. We will find a way to see each other again.
A bouquet for the poor.
Clouds above the Lettuce Patch for the Poor, plus a ball. But the lettuces have grown tall and thin and don’t seem edible anymore.