The last time I fell in love was 2010 I was laying next to the man who would become my husband, but we were just good friends at the time We had spent the night giggling an having nerf sword fights When I was trying to fall asleep and curled into his body I swear I could feel a deep, penetrating tingle flowing from his chest into mine. I didn’t know what it was But I knew it was special and I didn’t want it to stop.
It bugs me that if I mention to people “I really miss my husband, hes been out of town for nearly a week” they immediately roll their eyes and say “Well, isn’t that why your poly? So you have a replacement?”
I get it, single friends will never be super sympathetic to anyone in any relationship…
probably the funniest shit that happened today was my one humanities instructor mentioning/explaining Frida Kahlo’s polyamorous relationship with her husband and people in the class being like “wait, so, did they both cheat on each other? or, they were like, swingers????”
Well they aren’t the best example to follow But I do know all the names around her bed in casa azule are the women she’s boned in the aforementioned a bed
1. Stop faking your fucking orgasms. Society already tells young men that they run the fucking universe - if they can’t turn your cunt into a shooting star then for god’s sake, let them know about it.
2. Once you’ve stopped faking your fucking orgasms, use this newfound honesty throughout the rest of your life - stop ordering coffee you don’t actually like; stop sitting at a desk and allowing people to treat you like shit in the hopes that a meek attitude will earn you a promotion (it won’t); stop telling people they can finish your food when you’re not actually done yet. These may seem petty, but they add up, just like every orgasm you didn’t actually get to have.
3. If you wanna dance all night, dance all fucking night. Dance all night even if you have work in the morning. The worst that will happen is you’ll drink RedBull all day and look like a zombie - pass it off as a head cold to the real zombies you work with and flick through the embarrassing photos you’re being tagged in as you pretend to take a shit for some peace and quiet. I promise, you’ll remember dancing all night in ten years, not the suspicious way your boss looked at you that morning.
4. If your ass looks big in that, that’s a good thing.
5. You will never be as young as you are this second. Embrace it.
6. Embrace the fact that you’re going to get older. Ask your boyfriend if he will still love you when you’re seventy and your tits are down to your knees. Look forward to this time - seventy year old women are allowed to do pretty much whatever they want, and no-one can stop them. You can carry candy in your bag and not share it with a single soul. You can stay home all day and cross-stitch expletives onto handkerchiefs for your grandchildren and slip them under the table out of sight of the people you raised. You can drink whisky at 10am. Every phase of your life is going to be amazing for different reasons. Embrace that.
7. A lot of people will pretend to love Bukowski. Don’t pretend to love Bukowski if you don’t love Bukowski. It’s overplayed and no-one will mind if you actually like Virginia Andrews instead - the people who do mind are boring.
To have relationship woes I haven’t had since high school
When my marriage is so amazing
Mostly cause no one sympathizes and I’m used to it by now
Doesn’t feel any more fun though
And it makes me terrified of all cool people
I don’t mean anything by it I just haven’t asked yet. Thats rude of me isn’t it? I mean here you’ve taken the time out of your day, and life, to read my words and I haven’t even caught your name.
More important than formalities though
But back to my question.
who is it?
At the core of you, beyond the vaginal discomfort of (at least) one woman, what have you brought to the world? Hopefully, by the way, you’ve brought that woman, your mother, some flowers at one point. Because even if shes not in your life at this point, she gave you yours, so you gotta give the lady props for that much. But after that its on you
and whos that?
When you’re not busy reading the drivel of a dopey dudette what are you DOING?
what would you rather be doing? and what’s stopping you?
why haven’t you just sat down and written to me about all of this yet
and why don’t I know you?
is it because you don’t know you yet?
are you one of those lost young souls? the ones who know the feelings they want in their life
but not the goals to get them past that abstract path
What part of the weird web we call waking life are you living right now? I´m dying to know.
Well I´m dying either way
we all are.
but I’m still trying my best at this whole life thing
“Your attitude is everything. Believe in yourself and trust your material. To be a successful writer, write every single day, whether you feel like it or not. Never, never give up, and the world will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”—Alex Haley (via thatfilmdudekalen)
what if we just created a fandom for a tv show that doesn’t exist and we build it up really big and make a ton of inside jokes until the internet just accepts it as a real show and it starts getting included in polls and gets it’s own imdb page and a group of outsiders go crazy trying to find dl links
I love the girls of thrones What are you taking about
I don’t know you, of that much I’m sure. If this document finds you then my unwavering sense of hopefulness won’t have been an insane hallucination of ill-placed faith. This is the surviving record of happiness. In the first months since the end of the home-earths homeostasis there was a significant decline in candy and ice cream sales. The next joyful casualty was unmotivated play. I’m afraid the sparseness and ennui of today’s youth may be the truest indicator of the endtimes. They aren’t moved to rebel or succeed, they survive, as we all do, in these days between dreams. Soon after play stopped, all jungle gyms and swingsets were melted down and collected during the resource recall. Game systems soon followed and were converted into collective conscious consols, for the mandatory monthly group think of mass meditation. This helped the population more than I thought it would. It was true initially that kindness and fun for funs sake were not missed when empathy became implicit. True, the more competitive of humans began to lash out. Turning everyday tasks into be-all-end-all challenges. In the last days of order the Playgue first began to appear, mostly in the white-collar and upper/upper middle classes, and by the time it was identified as a threat, it was too late. They trabid for pleasure, and dissociated from all societal obligations. Fucking and feasting in a frenzy they terrorized upscale urban and suburban sprawls until the ultra competitive nature of capitalism consumed them.
This was when my hope began. Dreaming became communal. The lack of aggression left in the remaining population enhanced the effects of the CCCs and they now served as a monthly tune-in, keeping all of our dreams strung together in surreal this other-earth. Our lives revolved around this night-life and the waking world became a secondary necessity, active only when the meat around our selfs grew weak. Cities became sustainable again as people began living and dreaming in shifts, tending to one another and the goings on of the world in 8 hour cycles. Then 12. Then 20. It was around this time that laughter died. In dreaming, as you know, there is no need for expression. When you are in that state of true self, anything involved in the invocation of the all can feel any other things vibrations of varying emotions in an instant. Verbal and humor and puns were all but lost when communication too became empathic. Slowly, with unstable world to upkeep in our waking lives, and so much whimsy on other-earth, the physical interactions of humans on home-earth became something of legend, and eventually the population decreased for the first time since the Playgue.
Thus began the births of brain-children. With reserved to the dream life woman (and some more deeply attuned men) became pregnant with the imagination of their partner and, by the end of 100 nights of dreaming, would vomit out a strange amalgamation of ideas and D(ream)NA. These strange humanoids hung around their “parents” like lap dogs. Dreams disintegrated into a dizzying mash of ever expanding extended family visits and fantastic getaways to resorts of unreality. In their waking life the meat puppets toiled on. The sleeping shells of dreamers, as the physical form came to be regarded, would wither away around the souls of our elders. The ones who could, or would, make peace with the sum of their parts (imagined and actualized) would simply shake away the aged sacks of skin that held them and live, endlessly, in the collective unconscious in whatever form they fancied.
Needless to say they have become something of a nuisance, in that their fluid state of being has lead them to view morality as a bit of a bore. Really they saw morality as we knew it, to be flawed. When anything is possible why would one act simply as expected? What if your indiscriminate kindness resulted in you become an unwitting accessory to cruelty? These bodiless beings were so far into the flow of natural forces that balance, above all else, guided them. It must have been this commitment to ebbing between extremes that prompted the action that would destroy the closest thing to a utopia we as neohumas have ever known. These cosmically guided crohns brought a still quivering brain child into home-earth and deep, deep into the colossal heap of human shells forming in what was once one of the largest North American cities,the name of which had been forgotten years before. The child-like bundle of brightness quickly devoured the tower of bones and skin scraps and the Festering Forest grew from it’s feasting. If you have never ventured far into home-earth, you have no doubt smelt the strange metallic musk emanating from the Festering Forest. For miles it’s spread in all directions, overtaking the skeletal city that once lay in its place. What were once mostly-human corpses now knot and gnarl into a contorted crawling sprawl of pus and flesh. Barely recognizable, the bodies twisted into vague mockeries of tree-shapes. Its not until you are close enough to notice that the leave are rattling, not rustling, that the weight of what’s before you will truly settle upon your shoulders, (provided you have not yet given them up for a more effervescent existence). This place is the root of all evil. The nights in other-earth were short and filled with colour. Balance had brought us ghastly garden, and we would reap in terror all the wonders we had sown. Our empathy to one another had made nightmare a thing of the past in our dream world. Life truly was, but a dream, and so our world became a waking war on the senses.
Recently,the more spry elders bound by heart strings or something to their young pup-like children have been channeling their children into the core of their physical being at the moment of ascension. ReBirth. ReEvoloution. ReEaly it’s about time. We as neohumans have been content with swinging aimlessly between the polarities passed down by our elders. Now though, there is hope. Options beyond the extremes of positive and negative. If you are reading this, there is a chance, however slim, that you are the newness needed to see the Festering Forests evil defeated. I have seen the strange fruit wither and just once. A sound I made by mistake in an attempt to sing made the tender fleshy tenderals shrivel and shrink away from me with a shriek. The was a twitter of sorts, made in an effort to chase the choking lump of fear swallowing wouldn’t dislodge from my throat. I’ve read in ancient scripts that this thing, laughter is the best medicine, and if bright noises of anti-hate are what constitutes as laughter, i don’t think I am hallucinating this hope. Please. Do not settle into contentment. Please. To not fall pray to our inclination towards ease and effortless calm. Please pull away from the pre established pillars of society. Be awkward. Be odd. Be strange enough to erupt with that stuff that dreams are made of. Laughter. It’s proof of joy, of pure love and now, thats all that matters.
I wanted to ask,what fragrance do you use? I smelled your neck,when you hugged me after the show in Warsaw and it smelled pretty good :D
I can tell you exactly what that was. Warsaw was a pained vocal day, so I spent the entire pre-show rubbing my own neck with a massage bar from lush. it smells like cloves.
if you google for lush massage bars look for wiccy magic muscles - that’s the name of it. it has BEANS in it. I always have one on tour. heaven on my aching throat.
I’ve been meaning to wear perfume for decades but as a traveler with so much other important shit to do/bring/deal with, I can’t be fucked to do much more on a daily basis than put my greasy hair up in 9 bobby pins, paint my eyebrows on and hope that my 8th-day-in-a-row t-shirt is not overly offensive to my bus mates.
there are few things in this world that confuse me more than people
or rather how i am supposed to interact with them
some people i want to be near and bother incessantly with my quips and company i intentionally have to ignore so i don’t seem so desperate for their affection as to become undesirable. others who its easier to be mean to i find myself annoying with my strange persistent sentiments and silliness
why cant i just be brave enough to pounce on people?
mostly because there’s times i’ve been pounced on and none too happy about it
but other times a good poundable pounce is all thats needed for the cross hairs of chemistry and kindness to intersect and be happily badass for all times