Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

What is a dick?

Please forgive me if I make no sense. Right now the whole universe is bombarding my mercury- aka brain- and it has sped thought processes to where I can hardly function. Zillions of thoughts colliding into each other & all of them breaking into fragments. This will last a couple more years.

I can still write songs in this state, but songs come out like eggs. You have to let the emotional energy congeal again before laying the next one. In the meantime, there is still too much I need to express. Plus I am so alone & this blog is my closest friend.

So I am barfing out thoughtlets. To release them from my mind.

One strange thing about my mind is how it seems to have different pieces which live side by side, unknown to one another. I would notice this at school when I would get perfect scores on tests which- as far as I knew- I knew nothing about. Subjects like advanced math & science where you can’t fake it. Also, everything related to sex.

As a teen the last thing in the world I wanted was to be associated with sex or even being female. This could partially explain why I changed my name to Julian.

Buying female products was my worst nightmare. I would go to the store in disguise & wait til there were no people around. Later the products would be stored in a box hidden behind a dresser in a closet. I invented multiple codes for writing in my journal so that I could write in double code (a code within a code). But this wasn’t enough, so when they were finished my beautiful journals would have to be ripped to pieces and then burned. What was I writing about? Boys. Liking them was the most secretive & humiliating thing imaginable.


At the same time, however, I was- unknown to myself- constantly broadcasting sexual things in an inappropriate way. It was only many years later that the constant explicit nature of my actions became clear to me.

There was the way I would eat bananas in front of younger teenage boys. They would always ask me to eat them over and over again which I was happy to do since I brought 2 bananas with me to school every day. There was the time I plastered the school with a poem about 2 soft squishy balls which a man liked to play with. I really thought it was a poem about favorite toys and was bewildered by how people would crack up. There was my final art project at university which I thought was a tree, but in retrospect was a realistic picture of a dick sliding through a hole. There were the poems I wrote about people coming all over things and the look on the teachers faces when they read them. The times I would jump up on tables and start doing pelvic thrusts at family get togethers. Passing people notes that said “Do you want to make love?” Painting pictures of soldiers have sex with their dads and writing songs which (in retrospect) were obviously about people getting raped but at the time I thought they were songs about colors.

In my mind, almost everything was a color or a feeling. The literal meanings of things did not compute. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anyone to believe this because it doesn’t even make sense to me. How can someone know something and not know something at the same time?


I don’t know.

The End.

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Red, Soldiers, & Fire Videos

Bullets (Video)

I’ve been trying for a while to post something on here & written about 50 blog posts which I didn’t publish due to a desire for invisibility. I toggle between urges to be visible & invisible based on which seems the safest.

On the one hand, people knowing you exist makes you safe. It increases the odds that someone would notice if you went missing. Perhaps in extreme cases, someone would come to your aid. On the other hand, the more people know you exist the more enemies you have. And the more information they have about you, the more nooks & crannies for landing their little arrows. The wider you stretch out your personality, the larger the target becomes.

Still though, I consider it part of my destiny to try and trust in the soft mush of faceless unseen people & to believe that something good might emerge from that mush one day.

***

He points the gun at me
I say please don’t shoot
He says, ‘What makes you think I would do that to you?
After all that I’ve done that’s the way that you see me?
Then walk out that door cause you might as well leave me.’

Oh no…. my brain…..something cracking inside
Please I need to find darkness some place I can hide
Just climb under the bed, just lie there very still
I wish someone would find me but they never will.

Walking around it’s a daze in my mind now
The flowers are blooming, the sun is behind now
But inside it’s raining I can’t make it stop
And I bite on my tongue cause I need not to talk.

Oh no…. my head… something breaking inside
Now I need to find shelter some place I can hide
But behind every door there’s a man with a new gun
There’s no where to go if I had the strength to run.

Clouds in the sky I don’t think I can join you
So fluffy and free all the bullet pass through you
You’ve nothing to fear and you rain when you want to
I wish you saw me I need someone to talk to.

Oh no… my heart… something breaking inside
Can you hold it together until we can hide?
Just climb under the bed just lie there very still
I wish someone would find us but they never will.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia men My Life Story Writings

Falling in Love with Spiritual

I am not sure if this post is sexual and hence inappropriate or not sexual at all. It isn’t sexual to me. If it is sexual to you, then apologies. But there are things I am feeling compelled to talk. They are like giant bubbles rising up from my stomach and forcing their way out of my mouth. I may need to write a number of somewhat personal blog posts to get to the bottom of why I can’t stop talking about dicks. I don’t know where to begin, so I will just vomit up one little bubble about my life.

This is the story of how I fell in love with husband #1. Some of this has been shared before. So apologies for any repetition.

We will refer to this husband as Spiritual, because that was his name for part of the time I knew him. He goes by a different name now & this post is not intended to impact his reputation.

Spiritual was driving me to Michigan to attend a spiritual retreat. Spiritual was my spiritual guide, not my boyfriend. The eastern philosophies I was absorbing had taught me that obedience to a guru was the surest way to achieve enlightenment. God had contacted Spiritual and told him to be my guru. This seemed like a miracle, an answered prayer, since I had been praying for somebody to guide me.

Spiritual had made it clear that attending this retreat would be the key to getting rid of the ego. I had no idea what to expect. Getting in the car with a odd smelling male and going on an unknown retreat was not my cup of tea, but I had already accepted that the process of becoming enlightened was gonna suck. I was majoring in Tibetan buddhism & most of the stories of enlightenment involved eating shit, murdering people & doing all sorts of distasteful things. Crazy wisdom, they called it. But it was just the ego that found these things distasteful. Once you reached enlightenment, it was all worth it.

So we were speeding 80 mph down the highway in his van, when suddenly Spiritual said “There’s something we need to talk about…. THIS” and firmly grabbed my crotch, leaving his hand there. I froze. I tried to remember that it was just molecules touching molecules. It had no meaning. This is something I would tell myself when things were gross.

Then he pulled the car over to a rest stop. He said to get out of the car and stood there and said I needed to kiss him. I couldn’t do it. It’s like when you are trying to get yourself to eat a slug and you can’t. We stood there for the longest time. Finally he started screaming at me and I pecked him on the lips. We got back in the van.

We drove to his parents house. This was a shock to me, since I thought we were attending a spiritual retreat center. He introduced me as his girlfriend. I was confused. I thought he was my spiritual leader. I didn’t say anything. Then he went up to his parents room and lay on the floor naked. He said I needed to touch his whole body admiringly because he hadn’t been appreciated enough in his life. I did it.

Next, he said we needed to get married. Because he was Catholic and I had touched his naked body. (Catholicism had not come up before.) This idea repulsed me. I was still a teen and had no desire to be married, especially to him. So I agreed and started wearing his mother’s engagement ring.

As soon as we were engaged things changed instantaneously. He started yelling at me constantly. Making humiliating scenes every time we were out in public. He had yelled at me before (he called it giving me an ‘ego bat’), but now it was unrelenting. It never stopped. But still I fell in love with him. A cascade of molecules caused me to feel high when I touched his hand. I became very attached to him. Inseparable. It got to where I literally could not think a single thought without running it through him to see if it was true or false.

Technically him grabbing my crotch on the way to the spiritual retreat was not the first time we’d had physical contact.

After he became my spiritual guide, Spiritual told me that God had presented him with two choices. I must choose one or the other to stay on the path of enlightenment. Either ask my best male friend to “go down on me” or if I wouldn’t do that then Spiritual would need to perform the procedure.

This was far outside of my experiences and the thought of having to ask a male friend to do it would have been worse than eating a live heart. I would rather have killed myself. So I agreed that he would do it. On the appointed date he took me to a hotel room. I will spare you the details. But don’t worry- this is not an erotic story and it was not an erotic experience. I just lay there with most of my clothes on. I had had surgery on that part of my body as a kid and also many medical procedures. They hurt, but afterwards I got oatmeal cookies. This wasn’t too different. He stuck various things in me. I don’t remember what they all were. One was a blow pop. When I was a kid I would always get to choose a lollipop before the most painful procedures making them bittersweet.

He said he “came twice.” This didn’t have a precise meaning to me. He said it might be useful to touch other body parts. I said okay. That didn’t mean anything to me. I was just a bunch of molecules lying on a table on their way to achieving enlightenment. Afterwards I felt kind of relieved like how you feel when you are leaving the dentist office and are patting yourself on the back for being responsible. Poor Julien. What a doofus.

And not even that experience was unprecedented. It is just that I had this way of completely tuning out anything remotely sexual to the extent that it didn’t exist in my mind. I have told people before that I’ve never been hit on once in my life, but maybe it only seemed that way because my mind just wouldn’t process the sexual implications of any encounter regardless of how blatant they were.

Once for example, this guy kept putting my hand on his dick and I kept moving it off his dick. This didn’t register as sexual to me (despite being an adult), it just seemed like nonsensical behavior, as though someone was trying to touch my elbow with his nose. I didn’t want to touch the gross slimy slug but I didn’t see the male as sexually motivated.

So anyway, before I became his girlfriend or even his disciple, Spiritual insisted I hug him every time I saw him (which was not desired since he reeked of b.o.) and then he would sing this song, “You always give me a boner.” Then he would explain how he got a boner each time he hugged me. Obviously this should have been a warning sign as to what would happen if you got in a van with this guy. But I had changed a lot of diapers as a kid and babies sometimes had boners. So I just saw it in that light, not a sexual one.

And he would sometimes ask if I could remove undergarments so he could study their fabric due to his interest in fabrics. Luckily, I didn’t do that. If he had said it was necessary for spiritual reasons, I would have, but I didn’t want to do something icky just to increase his knowledge of textiles. He would also say weird things about how my br–sts seemed to be attached to my chest. I just filed this under molecules talking about molecules. Things that had no rhyme or reason. So many things in life, so many things people did, just seemed nonsensical to me. They had no explanation. Molecules talking about molecules.

And it worked both ways- I would frequently say and even act out sexually explicit things, like writing songs about rape that (in my mind) were songs about colors or turning in a giant picture of a dick for my final art project which in my mind was a picture of a tree. But this is a subject for another post.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Uncategorized Writings

Wife Head

It has been impossible to write on this blog recently, because I have fallen into wife consciousness.

Around a year ago, probably due to James’s inaccessibility, I started connecting my emotions to the faceless glob of possibility known as “The Public.” I enjoyed connecting with these invisible people on an emotional level and somehow felt they were my friends.

But then, around a month ago, a change of heart caused me to seek emotional fulfillment through James instead. This only led to my disappearance as an individual. After all, James is absorbed in technical things 99% of the time. Trying to connect with him by discussing feelings & relationship issues is a recipe for disaster (although he is great at helping me solve problems that don’t involve him).

Females connect by sharing negative feelings & problems. Men interpret this as criticism or a demand to fix something. So you open yourself up to receive empathy but instead get anger and defensiveness. Now you feel more needy and alone than before which makes you try still harder to connect. Before long it turns into a degenerative cycle with all your energy going into a circuit that returns pain.

Whereas with The Public, I can be more real. I can share feelings and always receive soft love in return- even if only in my imagination. The public is the moon- gooey, silver, magical, reflecting you back to yourself until you feel you exist.

But still- the thing about me is I am REALLY into being a wife. It is an unhealthy obsession. I don’t know how to give up on having a perfect ultimate connection and settle for something brisk, sporty and casual. But when you are too idealistic, it causes things to crash.

Plus, I just feel guilty about investing myself emotionally in any other direction. I feel guilty seeking fulfillment through writing a blog post or a song. It feels like I am giving up on love.

And wife consciousness makes it hard to express yourself anyway. While I am ok with making myself look bad- I sort of expect it- the idea of reflecting negatively on James feels like committing triple homicide.

And realistically there is little you can say beyond “Everything is Wonderful! I am so happy!” that doesn’t potentially cloud your husband’s reputation. If you say “Nice dicks, boys!” that could reflect badly on him. If you say “I hate my life- I am so miserable.” that could reflect badly on him. If you say “I love idiots!” that could reflect badly on him.

So I really don’t know what to do. As an artist, I have to straddle the crack between Stepford Julien & being real. Of course, James says he doesn’t want me to make him look good- he doesn’t care about that- but this is hard for me to believe. Making men look good is the whole reason society is fake, isn’t it?

If it was just women, we would be talking about our insecurities & failures all the time, but men- being soldiers- don’t do that. And so women- caring about men- become fake as a way of protecting them. That is why there are only Stepford *wives* & no Stepford singles.

If I was single, I could be transparent, but since I am married I must be opaque, like men are. I WANT to be opaque and fake to make James look good. As an expression of love. But I also need the moon juice that comes from transparency.

Even just writing this could make James look bad.

There is no way out.

I am doomed.

Ps. I hope I am making sense & there aren’t too manny spelling errors. My brain is pretty tired, due to the new dog, Patton, waking me up in the morning, while James’s schedule keeps me up into the wee hours of the night.

The new dog- Patton. I sort of wish I had named him Hazel because it sounds more vicious. But you shouldn’t switch beds midstream. He is a good dog but very demanding.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Plants and the Emerald Kingdom Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies

The hill was high.

A song from a dream I had in which there were two hills- one that was really steep and I thought, well MAYBE I can climb that, but on top of that there was yet another hill that was practically straight up and down, and I knew climbing it would be impossible. But it looked so beautiful.

The hill was high, I couldn’t climb
though I knew you were there.
A world of green surrounded me
it stretched out everywhere.

So I got back in my car and drove
to try and find a home.
I thought of you, the whole way through
it made me feel alone.

I thought of you and of the field
with the hill that was so high.
A temple built to something
that lives only in the sky

Everything is always high
and always far away.
I tell myself I must never stop and
I will get there someday.

Many gods and many men
have lived upon a crest.
Though the clouds pass over all of them
it is you I like the best.

All these hills and all these gods
and each man has his own.
Except for me, a tiny breeze
still searching for a home.

A tiny breeze who when she flies
is cut down by the winds.
They slice my heart and splay it
like a butterfly and then

Then I can scale these hills, but even so
my shadow looms so small
that to you it was just the same as though
I was never there at all.

Big men shadow over me
there is no other way
than to watch them with admiring eyes
through a film of gray.

For me there can be no other way for me
than to lie back on the ground
and to let the dreams wash over me
until a home is found.

A home that could be anywhere,
a home so hard to find.
Oh God, but please let it be somewhere real
not somewhere in my mind.

Someplace real, someplace strong
mountainous and grave
nothing flimsy like a butterfly
with her wings upon your leg.

Everyone has gods upon
these hills where claddows* fly.
Except for me, I have only you
and only in my mind.

I reached for you, but there was no use
the world was large and green.
It stretched out wide and endlessly
like the sky within a dream.

And who am I, but a dot so small
that no one else could see
as you passed me by invisibly
your shadow touching me?

As you passed me by just like a plant
pressed flat upon the ground
just a thing too small to be cared about
when hills are all around.

* A claddow is a cloud shadow.

Download MP3: The Hill Was High

Me, in my favorite activity, going for a car ride. Unfortunately, I don’t have a license, so car rides are a luxury. If I did have one, I would drive all day long. All my dreams include a segment where I am driving without a license & start to panic that the cops will pull me over.

Categories
Music & Songs Nashville Santa Fe Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Blessings from the Father

 

Ladies... this is a nude man. Naked man with black kidney.

 

I started painting nude women to please my husband, and then at some point I started painting nude men as a form of rebellion. It was very satisfying and I never went back. Even now when I see a “Cowboys in Shorts” calender it makes me feel giddy with feelings of freedom and power, like a bird flying out of its cage.

Not that by nature I like nude pictures of men anymore than the average person (who I know from experience is not fond of them!) But I do think that in a culture where women are frequently objectified (some call that a phallocracy), they are funny and refreshing.

Once I started hanging around my nude male paintings, however, they became a lot more than just refreshing. Once the shock value wore off, I started to find feelings of great comfort and safety in their presence. Nude men like these will never let anyone hurt you. And they are every bit as sensitive and caring as they are strong. They are true blue and have nothing to hide. They will be there for you forever and ever.

I guess through my own paintings I was able to envision men who were givers, not takers, and supportive rather than narcissistic. I don’t think this would have happened if I was painting men with clothes on.  It is through their musculature, organs, and the shape of their bodies that these men reveal their true natures. Sometimes a face can be a mask, but organs never lie.

Download MP3: Blessing from the Father