whOreo

I never know what I will write until i get here. I dont write blogs anymore the way i used to, im no poet, wordsmith, writer of talent.. No passer by will mistake me for a "craftsman of my trade'.

Lets be honest here.. blunt really. i'm on a piece of crap lap top that is missing tiles and jumps backwards when I dont ask and gobbles up what i have typed out so fast there is no point in proofreading because it makes me want to pull out my hair

But it was FREE.


I have met the computer equivalent of myself. Minus the vibrating tongue bar. I had to type that 5 times. I really wanted to say tongue.

Is there a point here? A story? A process to my word spunk, the brain spoodge exploding onto my computer screen? Always. Just not always for mass consumption but really take what you will from this if you are still reading.

Some of us will do anything for any Oreo and some of us will do anything to get you that Oreo. And that is exactly how I met this lap top and can talk to you, or myself, tonight.

Its a life lesson. A read between the lines one, to be sure.


But thats the great thing about Oreos, you can take them apart and read them right in the middle.

missing her

I wore a dead girls perfume today, ten years gone by and I still smell your memories in my heart.

Blogging time out due to insanity

All the excuses, lame. All the new pills? Bitter. They dont make me feel smaller or taller, ask Alice anything at all. This computer likes to eat up my words an take them away, I need to set up the one that works and try to get out whats been happening because it makes me feel like I have a stutter in my fingers as well as my brain. Set backs and lies and triggers OH MY!

Its adding up, and I get angry. But Im coming back for more, I will always still be here. Fucking cockroach, thats me.

In Dreams

For Dylan the best arranged drag husband ever, because I do what I say I will...


In dreams I float..

I float in the water, my hair matted around me with the eyes of a dead girl who still watches and waits for it to come

Be still, never move

My house is the tallest tower that only witches enter, I live at the top and look down before I jump from the window and float on the breeze, then fly away as it swirls around my body

I am free, alive and wicked deep inside

In dreams I dance

I dance with vampires who kiss my red candy mouth, lips crushed like flower petals with the fragrance of lust

I dance with reckless abandon and passion with rhythm and heat that comes from knowing and wanting and allowing it to consume

I am white light, sex and yearning deep inside

In dreams I am a Goddess

In dreams you know the real me

In dreams, come try to find me

Sticky pieces

I don't sell my trust.

It's not something you will find me standing on a street corner with, set out on a blanket with shiny baubles and trinkets. Individually sealed packets of my trust, like potpourri, free with purchase.

It is a living and breathing thing. I see it, golden honey trust, sticky and sweet to taste. Few ever will and when I share it, if I share it, then you have the mythical Ambrosia of The Gods, tho you may not realize it as you lick it off your fingers.

This is the rarest part of me, and I keep it hidden and guarded, locked in its very own Ivory Tower. The light of day never finds its way to this part, this sticky piece of me. I cant afford to let it stick to you because some of it leaves, never to return to me and there is a limited supply. Once I let some out, even if I take it back, a little piece of me is gone forever and it wont be replenished.

So what is this now? My foolishness? My recklessness? All these years to grow wise and now my trust is stuck to you, and it is dark, and it is dirty from only those things that taint it... And I dont want it back. It belongs to you now. Sticky on your fingers and no longer golden. Will you still lick it off? Will it churn in your belly instead of fill you with warmth?

Or will you sell it to someone else? Tainted trust, half off. Can you wash it off and feel clean and forget it was ever there to begin with? As easily disposed of as it was to disregard?

Do I just take whats left back to my tower? Lock it away where I should of left it and relearn the lesson I thought I already had, and watch that golden sweet piece turn bitter and dark on its own, with no light or love..and become a shadow..a sticky piece that thrives in hidden places that is passed over with so little regard.

I do not sell my trust.

But I want it to stay alive.

Germ warfare

One thing that hasn't changed about me is my shockingly horrible immune system. Yes, I am sick, AGAIN.

I have held on the the ability to get not just one germ, but 37 different kinds at the same time and break out into every known illness, I think this time its Ebola with a touch of the Black Plague. I'm almost proud of myself.

If the fevers, chills, shivering, teeth chattering and violent muscle spasms would let me get some real rest I'm sure I would be bragging all day.

And what am I doing about this? Not. One. Damn. Thing.

I mean, besides whining. That I am a champ at. I take Advil or Tylenol every two hours, swapping them off so as to keep the fever down to a level of moderate delirium. I am bleaching down everything I touch at work and not letting people come near me. Toast and tea. And sucking it up and going to work.

But you know what, I CAN. And that fucking rocks the socks. Even when I feel that I am going to fall over and die any second because there is no way I will draw another breath or survive this round of coughing, I am not panicking. I am working. I am taking calls, doing my job and doing it well.. so really? Ebola? Fuck you buddy. I might be skirting death but I feel like I'm fucking bullet proof.

Same as it ever was

"Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the blue again, after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground"

Helloooooo internet!!

Sup?

I've missed you. Like a luvah. Like my companion that I spill my dark secrets to, who never judges, always listens to my every word as if I am simply fascinating and then goes the fuck home when I am tired. You are so good that way.

What have I been doing? Well thank you for asking!

Ive been working for a bank, training new bankers, taking phone calls and rocking the mutherfucking house like a boss for over a year now. Living on my own, kids moved out, off my panic meds, working out, losing weight, performing with Drag Kings, dating one of the performers (best boyfriend evah) and keeping busy with concerts, movies, open mic poetry nights (friends who do slam) and comedy. I have been LIVING. Really fucking living. I leave my house EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It has been glorious.

And now, currently? In. Love.

Oh yeah.

And has it all been peaches and cream? No. There have been struggles. Major set backs. Lost loved ones, human and furry. Hard times with the kids, still having hard times with the kids, doing some praying there.. but you know what?

I AM ALIVE.

Even 5 years ago, I wouldnt of said I was living. I was a shell. Now I see me. Every day when I look in the mirror I see more and more of me looking back.

I got a lifetime back in a year, lovely internet.

Once in a lifetime.

Same as it ever was.