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.

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.

Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Plants and the Emerald Kingdom




Pikey, remember when we met and we kissed on a stone?Heart in a Box
We moved away, just the two of us, so far from home?

Do you remember when we wandered through the green fields together?
You held my hand, you promised you would hold it forever?

Summertime, you were there
You stood by side, shadows fell everywhere
like a dream, oh. like a dream, oh.

Gathering the hazelnuts that will help me to learn as I
Squint my eyes, far too many lies that I cannot discern

All the friends who used to play with me retreated for the season
The dreams that felt so pillowy dissolved into reason

Autumn came, gray and brown
You stood by my side as the leaves blew around
like a dream, oh. like a dream, oh.

You drew a map upon our wall showing how the land lies
You stocked up our basement with so many supplies
You made me walk through the gloomy woods for hours each day
You lit a fire, you told me you had something to say

Winter comes, don’t despair
You won’t see my face, but you know I’ll be there
like a dream, oh. like a dream, oh.

Pikey, can you hear me now, cause it’s hard to be brave?
Pikey, if I close my eyes can you see my hand wave?

People come with open arms; I don’t want to touch them
If you were here, you’d guard the door, with thick hands you’d crush them

Springtime, robin’s nest
Green shoots up again, little knife in my chest
like a dream, oh. like a dream, oh.


Download MP3: Pikey

Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Throne of Ice


I read somewhere that all serial killers must love two colors- purple and black. Black brings in the violence, and purple leads them to murder for reasons that are fanciful and grandiose.

Not that lovers of purple are more likely to be violent. If anything, they are probably less so. A few days ago, I got a dog named Lavender Slippers. Her favorite color is light purple and she is the most sweet and gentle dog ever. I imagine she has her fanciful side though, because every time she sleeps her legs make strange movements, as though she is dancing in a field of butterflies.

I could probably write a book on the color purple and the people who love it, since it is one of my favorite subjects to think about. But for now, I will just point out that you don’t really want evil and purple to get mixed up, unless you fancy results that are as theatrical as they are horrifying.


Throne of IceBeing

Throne of ice, throne of snow
When you go out
Nobody knows where you go
On your evening stroll.

Cobblestones and autumn lights
Fantasy takes purple flights
Nobody knows the beauty you bring
There is a world where you are king.

Your eyes are cruel
With signs of incipient insanity
Butterflies fly fly
Through the air you breathe.

Your mouth is water logged
Your tongue it swims and swirls in a
Purple flood to subsume your love
With blood, with blood.

You would wear lace if it weren’t out of place
Ruffles and bows, powder on your face
Necklaces and stacks of rings
There is a world where you are king.

Pain and ice, blood and blade
Nobody knows the choices you made
They weren’t there when the angel flew
To lay his visions over you.

Your eyes are cruel
With signs of incipient insanity
Butterflies fly fly
Through the air you breathe.

Your mouth is water logged
Your tongue it swims and swirls in a
Purple flood to subsume your love
With blood, with blood.

A purple scream, a careful slice
Lesser people pay the price
But you remember your moment of need
The whole world stood to watch you bleed.

They stood and watched on that autumn day
When you grew wings and you flew away
Away from the sounds of your own screams
You found a world where you are king.

Your eyes are cruel
With signs of incipient insanity
Butterflies fly fly
Through the air you breathe.

Your mouth is water logged
Your tongue it swims and swirls in a
Purple flood to subsume your love
With blood, with blood.


Download MP3Throne of Ice