First bring the needle out Tighten up the tourniquet And now you feel the waters flow And now the whole world grows so wet
And now how blood is beautiful Liquid ruby through your veins and I will love you fire to fire Desire. You make me feel pain.
Falling back again With your eyes an inch a way And somehow turn from day to night Then somehow turn from night to day
And now you light your pipe again And now you speak your words they’re never true You feel the room spin round and round Theres only me and you and now
How red is beautiful Liquid ruby through my veins And I, I feel the world dissolve resolve You make me feel pain.
First bring the needle out Slide it through my eye oh I oh I How I could live for this So high above the world I fly I fly
I’ll love you fire to fire And I will love you flame to flame And I oh will I marry you, I do You make me feel pain.
* I have another song named Paradise too. Is that okay? Actually Paradise is one of my favorite words & I am thinking I might write a bunch more songs with this name if it doesn’t present practical problems….
Fuck me. Normally I’m somewhat average in terms of efficiency. Under crisis in August I rose up to become a top 10 performer. Mid September my balloon began deflating and now my life consists of staring at a mug until I finally get up and walk into a wall. Technically I still get a bit done but am nowhere near recommended levels of crispness for my weight range.
Is this a normal response to someone’s mind being overloaded by things they don’t want to think about? An early sign of AIDS? Right now I need to be calling the prosecutor’s office, visiting the courthouse, wrapping packages and taking them to the post office, doing some secretary work for a famous herbalist, cleaning the house since the front door is made of glass, stopping my plants from dying, cooking dinner so the meat doesn’t go bad, playing with the dogs to keep them from sliding into depression, plus I really need to buy a coat and some pants since the temperature keeps dropping and I gotta get these things and more done by six when the sun goes down.
Cause then I have my night time stuff to do.
But rather than performing the tasks essential to survival (in the end we all die anyway, right?) maybe I’ll just sit here drinking coffee and tell you how my empowermints are going.
The most important thing is that I completed my illegal drug empowermint. This was sort of the jewel in my empowermint crown to the extent that I kinda of feel I’ve peaked and have nowhere to go but down. Maybe that’s why I’ve been tailspinning. My whole life I’ve wondered how people obtain illegal drugs when there is no clear road to obtaining them. You can’t buy them in a store, you can’t ask people if they sell them, so how is everyone is high? Well it turns out the answer is friends.
I’d decided that friends were the next realm of empowermint anyway. You can know how to dig ditches and start a campfire but without any friends you gotta hard hoe to row. And I literally knew no one of flesh and blood. Now I know a few.
And I really, really want to write about them. But I don’t know if that’s rude. I’ve always avoided being friends with writers for this exact reason. Just like I’ve avoided being friends with musicians because they have no morals. And tall people because their heads are too far away from earth. And dark haired people because they are wusses. Thin people are harsh and intolerant. Fat people just chuckle when you want to talk about something serious. People with large heads are obsessed with conspiracies. Small heads look weird. Long necks lack commitment. Short neck means tiny brain. Men can be dangerous or break your heart. Women might assume you’re a lesbian and you end up having to eat their pussy just to be polite. There’s a reason to avoid everyone.
I almost feel I’ve gotten too many ideas about life stuck in my head and now I need to clear a few out. Men who eat pasta are gay. Men who avoid pasta are gayer. Drugs are bad because they’re illegal. Hot dogs are bad cause I once found a short thick hair in one. Bars are bad because ghosts live in them and they can get stuck in your hair then follow you home. Honey mustard dressing is bad cause if you eat it you’ll attract men who like to be done up the ass. Red attracts violence. Purple insanity. Black death. White can make you so spiritual that you attract dark sluts who give you aids. Orange can make you attract fun loving sluts who also give you aids. Gold will turn you into a man. Silver softens your brain. The world is full of things to be avoided.
More than ever I feel like a black checker all alone on a checker board. My player has decided he’ll use me to make his next move. He doesn’t have many checkers left. But whichever direction he moves me in I’m gonna get jumped. Maybe this is why I keep walking into walls.
I’m adddicted to you Like a bullet I fly I feel red in my head And a fire in my mind Could you tell me what the ring around your neck is for?
Could I knock you around? Can I call on the phone? Let me come on your feet Let me come in your home Let’s get it done I don’t know what we could be waiting for If you gotta a minute I could oooo yeah!
I’m addicted to you I got something inside It needs somewhere to go Wanna go for a ride? I could tell you’re an original & maybe more
Could there be other men? Well there maybe could be But right now it feels like You got something i need What’s in your hand I don’t know what you could be waiting for If you gotta minute I could ooooo yeah!
I’m addicted to you Wanna push you around Put my hands on your neck Falling into the ground I could swirl you in a bucket knock it on the floor
Beating onto your chest Feeling something inside And now I gotta go Something don’t feel right Maybe this was just a slip a cok and nothing more Only for a minute I could oooo yeah!
This is not a picture of two women in love- it’s a picture of my brain. Two lobes disconnected each three burkas deep kept confused by a smattering of hearts.
Feel the fire inside again I try Try to let it burn and walk away Keep my eyes upon your feet don’t speak I promise to do what you say
But what did you said about time man? I can’t remember the words Backwards and silver and fine man That was the message I heard
And I’m coming to you empty You not coming for me
Look into you eyes again I try Try to let you leave why would I care Just a vacuum in my chest and head swims Battered around by the air
What can I say you’re a hard man You don’t need anyone’s words Nothing like me I’m so soft man Swallowing all that I’ve heard
And I’m coming to you empty You not coming for me
Want to reach your arm and grab your hand Everything you are it seems so true Like a soldier you complete and I flow Round at the bottom of you
Swirl backwards and silver and fine Everything that you believe man Is just the reflection of time
An what did they said about time man? Can you remember the words? Backwards and silver and fine man Swallowing all that it heard
And I’m coming to you empty You not coming for me
Place your finger on the window seal tap it three times three. Lift your eyes towards the skies and tell me what you see.
I can see him blowing in again, glowering like the corn. Wrap the black around me I won’t take it anymore.
Do you think I’ll feel this way again? Do you think I’ll feel the same? Black clouds coming down and all I can feel again is rain.
Half of life is memory. Half of life is storm. Tell yourself it’s changing when it’s only shifting form.
Half of life is far away, misty and unclear. Feel the fog surround you but that’s only when he’s near.
Do you think you’ll feel this way again? Do you think you’ll feel the same? Black strings coming down and all that I can feel is rain.
You’ll let me know somehow the ways That you’ll allow you know I never disappoint. A cloud for you I’ll be a fog a mystery To fade then vanish to a point.
Place your hand upon my forehead now Turn me three times round. Stars behind my eyes and then I’m falling on the ground.
Take the handkerchief away from me- I know where he goes. I know where the bodies lie and I know all the little things they hold.
Do you think you’ll feel this way again? Do you think you’ll feel the same? Black strings coming down and all that I can feel is rain.
I feel embarrassed by this song but it is a dream song & I just try to write those down without judgement. So I understand if you don’t want to throw a nickel into my jar, but if you do here it is…
My practilife is going ok. An ongoing issue is transportation. I walk in the day (busses cost money without saving much time) but at night don’t know how to calculate the odds of danger. One friend sent me a taser which allows you to electrocute people if they get too close. Another said a crossbody bag keeps you safe from muggers so I bought one. I’ve never needed a purse before since I had no keys, phone or wallet. Now I mumble keys phone wallet… keys phone wallet….to myself one hundred times a day. You keep these three on you at all times.
I tried to select a crossbody bag that says Professional Crisp. The one that arrived looks more like Back to Preschool. This is a problem because people keep asking if I’m autistic. Pretty sure this is code for retarded. So Not Retarded is the main message I want my clothes to send.
I know it is bad to use the word retarded. And cool- almost trendy at the moment- to be autistic. Just one more reason I don’t want to be seen that way. Not to mention that it *won’t* be cool anymore once the wheel of the gods turn a bit further. I’m trying to prepare for the future by building a competent Can Do persona. You should too.
But back to the purse- not only does its shape seem dimwitted, its color is too noticeable. I thought it was light colored when I bought it. My goal for now is to blend in. There are too many holes in my skill set to completely avoid a retarded feeling. But I can avoid becoming a Famous Retarded Person. I don’t want people pointing me out as they drive by in their cars.
Maybe I shouldn’t care though because the other weak spot in my practivitization is that I don’t know anyone where I live. I have learned though that long distance friendships are very real. Not only did facebook friends send me enough money to make it through the initial crisis, they also patiently explained how everything in the practiworld works & even called 911 for me when I couldn’t figure out how to do it.
I couldn’t breath & thought I was going to lose consciousness. But when the cops and ambulance arrived a few minutes later then I could breath and felt so bad for wasting their time even though they were really kind. They asked me if I wanted to get into the ambulance just in case. But being laid out horizontally & placed in the back of a mini van is actually one of my worst nightmares. I associate it with being retarded.
So anyway, I am not sure how to meat people where I live. Friends have suggested open mics. But can me and musicians be friends? I feel like we’re oil & water. It’s a bro culture. You aren’t supposed to care about things smelling bad and being covered in goo. Worse than a bro culture, though, cause it specifically revolves around young, lazy men with no moral compass. Still, I’m trying to be open minded. I might have bad ideas about musicians that it’s time to release.. I’ll try to meet some just in case we get along. Maybe I’d like doing drugs. My facebook friends are always high.
Or maybe astrology readings would be better. Then I’d be dealing mostly with women. And you really get to know people when you read for them. I like the feeling of becoming no one & focusing on someone else’s problems. People’s lives are so much messier than anyone lets on. Realizing this has made me more socially comfortable.
And if you’re wondering how I’m currently able to survive, it’s mostly through my new identity as Arabian Merchant. Selling on ebay. It’s a decent fit for me because shopping is my one true vice. And I’m finding most things in my bulging vault of possessions have gone up in value since I bought them. I’m able to make a profit while clearing space for future shopping. I’m like a fat person who finally got a tapeworm. Now mama eats what she wants.
One of my side hustles is offering legal advice and the question I get most is “Should I call the cops?”
Once I would have said yes. I like cops because they are protective. However, I’ve come to realize the answer is no.
Cops are not themselves. They are teeth in a giant mouth. The mouth of the legal system. You don’t want to end up in its belly. You don’t want to end up like me.
How I wish I could go back in time just a couple weeks and change my fate by refusing to speak to them.
But I am so used to speaking my mind in worlds where there are no consequences. It’s what I do. I didn’t know that if you flap your jaws in the presence of cops your whole life can change in an instant.
I wanted to talk to them. I was distraught, semi hysterical. I couldn’t stop crying. But I didn’t want anything to happen. I asked them if it was safe to talk to them. They said it was. Nothing would happen. I was so dumb back then. I didn’t know the role of cops is to move food from the mouth into the belly.
Next thing James is in jail. Not what I wanted. I pleaded with the cops, telling them they would be punishing me more than anyone. Without James I literally had zero access to money, phone, transportation etc (100% of his funds are in crypto which I don’t know how to access.) Do you have any friends or family? No. Well, don’t worry, there are plenty of resources to assist you. Don’t worry. There are so many resources out there. Just call this number and they’ll take care of you.
I called the number. They said they maybe I could have two bus passes if I promised to use them for something important and not to go gallivanting around town.
Every step along the way I am told not to worry- there are so many resources available. They are protecting me. I say being homeless doesn’t feel like protection. They say well maybe they can get me a discount on a counseling session. I say I don’t need mental help. They say well maybe we could get you into a pottery class at the helping hands center. Do you like crafts?
I am The Victim. Everywhere I go there are Victim’s Advocates. They pull me into little chambers where there are crayons and coloring books. They give me hugs and stare into my eyes with caring looks. I try to explain that I’m neither retarded nor insane. My concerns are material. I don’t want to be homeless. They tell me my life is worth more than my home. Yeah, but I really don’t want to be sitting out on the sidewalk with no place to go. I have two dogs. Honey, I understand that but we need to keep you safe. There are so many resources.
Oh really. The night the cops arrested James they didn’t want to take me back home for safety reasons. So they tried to find a women’s shelter to put me in. Every shelter within a hundred mile radius was full. Finally they found a shelter where I was allowed to be locked in a little room next to a trash can. I was hyperventilating & screams would come out because I didn’t want James to be arrested. There was a woman on the other side of the glass. She was laughing with her friend because she had asked me if I wanted her to call a paramedic and I didn’t know what one was.
The shelter was basically a female prison. They said I couldn’t enter the main building unless I was showered & put in a new outfit. Hard pass. There was one room where 20 women slept on bunks. Some women high on drugs were banging on the door to the trash room trying to get in.
A magistrate has ruled I can have no contact with James until his trial. Not even through a third party. And no financial support either. For my own protection. Because there are so many resources out there.
I will survive though. Facebook friends sent me money to get me through the first round of utilities being turned off. Selling my possessions on ebay is working better than expected. I found an extra mini part time job. But what if I didn’t have these things? What if I had kids rather than dogs? What if I hadn’t known to open a bank account the week before due to being an astrologer? Without that one piece in place I’d have no water or power. It makes me feel weird that putting me in peril is happening in the name of making me safe.
A lawyer said it’s cause they are terrified of women getting killed by their husbands cause then everyone gets in trouble. The magistrates, the cops, the mayors. Whereas if the women die in other ways, not their problem. After all there were plenty of resources out there.
So anyway, my legal advice is this- the cops are not your girlfriends. Think twice before spilling your guts because your whole life can change in an instant.
James gets out of jail. I may have given the impression in previous posts that he left me for another woman (I also received condolences on his death.) That was me trying to keep up appearances. He is out now but I’m not allowed to see him until his trial on October 25th at which I am expected to be a witness. Apparently this is the exception to the rule that you can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. I don’t know that it should be an exception however.
Also I must point out for legal reasons that this photo was not given to me by James. In truth it wasn’t.
