yahslily

all night pt 2…my heart I would refuse

so many times i like to stay up alone and play on my phone almost never interacting cause i surely end attacking some poor lonely dude just trying to talk with no tact at all and i take it the wrong way and then i react with the burning hot fury of a thousand dying suns and nobody cares cause they know i’m not one they care to fuck with but then I pull a will smith and I become legend while I lean off of the edge and I realize that my name is not known all that well and that makes me jump back from the pit of hell the fire is hot but not yet i am not ready to go cause there’s yet so many here to show what i got…

what i got aint alot it’s really quite small and now you’ll hear my prefrontal cortex speak it’s not me not at all. ive tried my whole life to just shut that bitch down but that bitch got my throat and now im the clown…and i’m in a small car that I don’t want to drive with about six or 7 big tall lady guys all dressed in suits made of primary colors and yeah how they laugh but they hate one another and while they are laughing get stabbed in the back by their very best friend such a vicious attack but it’s all okay in their urban decay and their mac and their fucking too faced smashbox brigade.

ok…I’m now back to me and I can see that this e tv is not for me. Id rather the forensic files put in piles for me to swallow won’t be so hollow as the shit that’s on and everyone follows.

I’ve never been a leader or a follower, i’ve always been a swallower…to be honest.

just taking it in, with much chagrin and always much to my displeasure.

But see now I’m almost to the end of my life, I’ll never again be anyone’s wife, or anyone’s friend so a bitch cannot grin while I’m pulling that knife…and I’m honestly thankful to not do that again…I’ve had enough…this life has been rough and quite thankfully few were the cuffs that bound my arms and my legs but they still clamped down on my head and honestly if i could go back and choose which one I’d lose…

I’d guess it’d be my freedom cause to do it again, I won’t pretend that my heart I would refuse.

Advertisements

height

I had to stop drinking but I had to start back,   cause I’m always fucking feeling like I’m running in a pack of only fucking one and I got no fuckin gun, and got no fuckin fun and when I was young my dad called me son I thought it didn’t bother me until i was past  thirty then I started realizing that shit was kinda dirty, i wasn’t just a girl, I was a pretty ass girl, who had in her palm the whole entire world but i didn’t even know it and all i did was blow it and  when I turned 18 …DOPE was only chosen …my whole fucking life been a slow sUiCiDe all out in the open I didn’t try to hide…or so I thought but I was really fucking wrong and  Now I know all  the words to my poor swan song that so far never really seems to END and when I think it is HAS that really means BEGIN a whole new chapter with ONE LESS FRIEND  and i’m trapped with some lions and I’m in their den and they didn’t invite cause I’m NOT so polite sometimes I’m rowdy and sometimes I  fight and when that shit happens you better run from my sight… demons coming  outta me tends to fright so run away fast RUN AWAY FAST and run to the light I’ll meet ya when you get there after you fall from your

height….

 

Mostly Mine

The struggle brings the knowledge and the knowledge brings the fruit and the fruit is what you make of it, and my fruit is mostly truth.
Honesty is good but in many ways is bad cause when you start speaking it ears don’t get  glad in fact they really hate it honesty is a force for looks inside,  that same exact shit  is the stuff  that makes us hide. ..wearing a mask on every single day, different masks for different people even talking different ways. I was born with several masks, used to wear them all the time,  few I have left and this face is mostly mine.

That One Semester

I think out of all the repurcussions stemming from my childhood, the one that pisses me off the most is that I buried all of my talents.

I am a very creative person, I always have been.  I am both musically and artistically inclined.  I knew I was good at music because my parents forced me to be in the band in Jr. high, and I was excellent at it.  But because they forced me to do it, I became angry with it and I began to hate it, vehemently.

By the time I reached 8th grade, I had multiple superior awards from Solo and Ensemble festivals.  I could play the clarinet like nobody’s business, and I never even practiced, at home.

The summer before 8th grade, I tried out for drum major and I won.  I did practice my ass off to win that prize, but once football season hit and I was out on the field, or leading the band in the bleachers, I quit.

I only was drum major for one game.  It was just way too much spotlight on me leading the band nerds, when all I really wanted was to be free of that dorky shit and hang out with the cool kids.

I could kick my ass for that now….and I guess I do…and I guess I have, for a long time.

My step-mom finally relented on band when I got to high school, and I was set free.  The only reason they let me out of band was because they intended for me to go to LSU and there were several course requirements that had to be met and being in band would take away two credits a year that I could be putting toward Physics and Biology 2.

So…fast forward to High School Graduation…

I graduated with honors and I was, honestly, mind-blown about that.  I ended my high-school career with a 3.67 GPA, which was completely due to my diligent studying 9th and 10th grades.  By the time I got to the middle of my junior year, I was sneaking out, drinking, smoking weed and not giving a fuck about school.  I have no idea how I passed Algebra 2 or Physics my senior year.

But I did.

I was excited to go to college, but I wanted to get as far away from my parent’s house as possible.  I got accepted to every state school to which I applied and when I sat down with my dad to discuss where I would be attending he said to me, “Son, you have two choices.  You can either go to LSU or you can go to LSU.”

My blood boiled.

He said not only could I only go to LSU, but that I could not live in a dorm room, or anything cool like that, I would be living at Salem’s Lot and commuting.

I can’t lie, though, once I settled in my first semester at LSU, I loved it.  The school is huge, I didn’t know ANYONE, there were very friendly squirrels in the Quad, and I really, really enjoyed that one semester.

 

Let the blackness roll on
Mother’s cool reptilian womb
Ain’t so cold tonight
My fingers trace the exit wounds
By graveyard light
There’s bone dust in my throat and everything is DEAD
But it’s all right

Take it easy
You bleed so easy
Bleed me an ocean
Bleed me an ocean tonight
By electric graveyard light
Bleed me an ocean
Let me lie beneath the sky
Teach me how to die
Bleed me an ocean
As the blossom eats the butterfly
Can you feel the cold death
That rides along your spine
Let the blackness roll on
You bleed so easy
Let the blackness roll on
I was sexless in clouds again
I was chasing a cold, cold wind
I’ve become bored with flesh and bone again
The deepest alone
I was riding the turbulence
An ocean of Hades
It’s all downhill from here
On the outer nowhere
Let the blackness roll on
You bleed so easy
Let the blackness roll on
I was stoned to the drone
Of the blackness that hums
I’ve become bored with flesh and bone again
The endless hum of the highway drone
I was riding the turbulence
An ocean of Hades
The taste of dead sex on my tongue
On my tongue, yeah
Let the blackness roll on
You bleed so easy
Let the blackness roll on
You bleed so easy
Just like a rain drop
I was born baby to fall
And scale these prison walls
It was over before you were born
Sucked into the vacuum of this universal tomb
It was over before you were born
Sucked into the vacuum of this universal tomb
Old blossom dies
Like a young man breathes
The insects hum with their hunger and grieve
An icon of pale bone
Static white dream
Blind in the wilderness
Everybody scream
I couldn’t find my way
Out the door
We all died
Woke up on the floor
I ride the painted whore
She gives good universal scream, scream
I ride the painted whore
She gives good universal scream, scream
I ride the painted whore
She gives good universal scream, scream
I ride the painted whore
She gives good universal scream, scream

Lucifer’s Got Jokes

Ok, at the risk of completely making myself out be the things my ex in-laws, and others, imagine me to be….

I’m totally interested in magick and Gremoires and mysticism and Archangels and Goetia…basically GOD/YAH in all of HIS MIGHTY FORMS.

And…I do have a super-power or two.

Those were not easily acquired.  One does not become able to posses magic unless one proves itself responsible….and no, this is not a blanket statement, I understand that there are varying degrees of black magic…anyway…I was watching a guy on youtube earlier doing an evocation of Lucifer.

The video was playing the whole time I was putting on my make-up, and that takes about 40 minutes.

So, I guess I had Lucifer on the brain when I put my headphones on and asked Him to be my DJ (being the “DJ” is when I put all the hundreds of songs on my mp3 and hit “shuffle”)….and this is what Lucifer wants to play…

NO SHIT.

image

I love the dark side’s sense of humor…it’s much like my own.

Suicide Prevention

I keep seeing so many “suicicide prevention” blog topics, I am almost about to puke.

There is but ONE prevention for suicide and that is LOVE…UNCONDITIONAL FUCKING LOVE.

Unless a person is experiencing some serious-ass, off-the-wall hypomania, or like me, experience major depression mixed with sleep deprivation or some other mind-altering substance, they’re not going to just kill themselves out-of-the-blue.

People who kill themselves have wanted to kill themselves for a long time.

It takes a lot of strength and courage to kill yourself.

I haven’t looked at the statistics but I would be willing to bet that most successful suicides were preceded by a few fails, or “cries for help”, as I like to call them.

People these days for the most part, including myself, are self-absorbed assholes and that doesn’t make it easier for a person to decide NOT blow their brains out of their head.

We ALL HAVE WEIRD ASS ISSUES, these days.  

The people who appear to not have weird ass issues are the ones whose issues are really super-weird.

It’s just part of American culture now….issues…psychiatric issues.

Sorry, feminists, I love you all very much, but there is a noticeable link between the onset of feminism, the breakdown of the family unit and now, hoards and droves of people with emotional issues stemming from childhoods consisting of one-parent households..

Don’t get me wrong, I believe evolution had us heading in that direction, anyway…

The breakdown has to start.  

Order comes from chaos.

Our society is completely fucked up.

Everyone is ranting and raving about something.

I hear all the time, <WHINY VOICE>, “life isn’t fair!”.

The fuck it’s not.

Life is VERY fair and that’s what most people don’t understand, and if you don’t understand the problem, then you can’t fix it.

Love is the answer.

Love has always been the answer.

Try it….

….try for a day to not speak about a topic you have no first information about unless you first imagine yourself in the shoes of the person you want to condemn.

If you don’t know all of the facts of their life, from birth to present, which made them who they are today…then maybe don’t talk about them in a judgmental way.

Love them, anyway, no matter what hideous thing they are, or did.

You have done some pretty fucked up ass things in your life, too.

I know I have.

Witches And Rope Swings

I was so excited when my husband moved back into our home.  We had been separated for two years.  He moved in with his parents, and the kids and I stayed at our house.

When he moved out in 2009, our youngest child was only five months old.  We also had a one and half year old and a three-year old.  We also had my four-year old from a previous relationship and after my husband moved out, my oldest child, from my first marriage moved in with me.

Even though we were separated, I loved my husband very much and I was very faithful.  In fact, right before we separated I was “saved” and began attending church.  Since my husbands family consists, mostly, of STRICT SOUTHERN BAPTISTS, I thought that surely, that in Jesus saving me, his family would begin to like me.

I really did yearn for the love and approval of my in-laws but since I was a “wrong side of the tracks” girl, they never approved of me.

I never was really too sure of why they didn’t approve of me.  After all, my dad and my stepmother, who raised me are “upstanding citizens” of their community.  At that time, my step-mom was finishing her twenty-plus year career teaching at the biggest high school in the parish school district.  She even won the “teacher of the year” award, FOR THE ENTIRE PARISH, one time.

That was pretty impressive.

Nevertheless, my in-laws hated me from the second they met me and back then I was so green and naive about the ways of traditional small-town southern baptist wives, that it took me at least three years to catch on to the way my mother-in-law spoke to me.  I finally realized that every sweet, sweet thing she said to me was dripping with so much passive-aggression, that I believe if she didn’t live 25 miles away, the acid from her words would be able to traverse the distance, through the phone line, and melt my ears into a puddle.

For instance, absolutely every time she called me, she would open with, “Well, hey (my name), I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I laugh at how dumb I was then, because she usually only called me mid-afternoon.

When you have four small children…you don’t fucking sleep til mid-afternoon, unless you’re on heroin, and I wasn’t.

In retrospect, I am glad I gave her the benefit of the doubt..er….didn’t know she was totally insulting me, because my reaction was always as sweet as a fresh peach cobbler.

“Awwww, no ma’am!  Me and ******** and ***********  outside playing while ******** inside taking a nap?  How are you, today?  I’m so glad you called, I have been meanin to call you but it’s hard to get a moment to come up for air with all these children underfoot….I’m so sorry, Ms. poo”.

I don’t think I ever realized the degree of hatred my husband’s family had for me until                 July 4, 2011, right after my husband moved back into our family home.

I was invited for the very first year to my husband’s family reunion.  It was held at a really cool camp ground on the Tickfaw river.  All of the family was there and I was as sweet and polite as anyone could be.

And, I was genuinely sweet and polite.

There were several children there, including our three youngest children, and everyone was having a really good time.  The water felt good, the day was nice, and there was much shade and covered picnic tables.  There was also great food there.

There were also two rope swings.

One of the rope swings was obviously for children only, but the other was way up high.  To get to the high rope swing, you literally had to scale a wooded hill about 20 to 30 feet high.  My five-year old son and my four-year old daughter started scaling the cliff to get to that rope swing.

My “mommy” kicked in and I was thinking, “oh hell no…my baby ain’t jumping in there first!”

By the time I had made the trek up the mountain to stop him, he had already mounted the rope swing and was plunging into the water.  There were a couple of other boys who followed behind him.

I made it to the swing right as my four-year old was contemplating swinging off into the water. She was a bit scared, and we were so far up above the water, that I was scared, too.  My daughter’s fear wasn’t swaying her decision to jump.

I suggested that we swing together, but my husband, at the time, who was waiting below, in the river, emphatically told me, “NO!”, that would not end well.  I thought about it and considered it, and agreed with him.  We were so high that I was not sure if she would be able to hang on to my neck, or that I would be able to hold the rope with my slippery hands, while she was clinging like a spider monkey to my neck.

There was also the consideration that she would lose her grip and drop as soon as we made the jump.  The thought of me, basically dropping my daughter into the very shallow embankment below scared the holy hell out of me.

My daughter was adamant jumping from this rope swing and I eventually conceded to allow her to jump, but I was going to do it first, so I would know first-hand, into what she would be jumping.

The countdown from ten started in my head.  I was scared.  This damn swing was REALLY HIGH. I am usually never afraid to do things of this nature, but I had a bad feeling in my stomach at that moment.

I think I just pushed myself off before I even got to “3”.

I swung through the air, my hands gripping that rope like if I let go, I was plunging into Niagra Falls. When I reached the apex of the swing, I looked down and I wanted to let go, but…OH MY GOD, THE WATER WAS SO FAR DOWN….I balked.

The rope started coming back down to make it’s return and I knew I would look like an idiot if I didn’t let go, so I let go.

I remember looking down at the water while also seeing, in my peripheral vision, my hands coming apart, releasing the tight grip I had on the rope swing.

I could be crazy, and many say that I am, but I know when I looked down I saw those waters part like I was running from Pharaoh’s army, leading the Nation of Israel behind me, wondering how we was gonna get through the Red Sea before Pharaoh’s army caught us and slaughtered us.

“SPLASH”

I my feet entered the water with my body following.

We didn’t make it far.

I felt the slimy mud shoot between my toes at the same time the realization that my ankle just collapsed and then the white-noise pain…..

I literally landed in about 4 feet of water.

I crushed my ankle.

I remember being under the water and feeling like all I wanted was to inhale two lungs-full of nothing but water so that I would not have to return to the surface.

I used my right ankle to pull myself up and straighten my crumpled body.

When I came out of the water, everyone was looking at me.

That is it….just looking at me.

I had no mirror there, and I am not sure what expression my face was making, but I know it was one which conveyed some sort of near-death excruciating pain.  My kids saw it…so did my former husband.

It took him a second but he came and got me out of the water.  I felt like I was going to pass the fuck out, it hurt so bad.

When he carried me like a baby out of the water, my feelings of shame and weirdness at being in such a vulnerable position with him, almost topped the pain that was radiating from my entire leg.

By the time my former husband laid me on the river bank my ankle was swollen.  I was not crying, but I know I was whining like a bitch.  I hated doing it, but seriously, this was, to date, my worst injury ever, hands-down.

He asked me if I was going to be ‘ok’, and I said, “yes…of course”.

Some of the family members came to me to inquire how they could help me. Being the sweet, southern wife that I was, I politely declined….why?  I surely didn’t want to mess up everyone’s good time!  That’s not polite, at all!

In about ten minutes time, my ankle and foot were equal in size to my calf muscle, and I have pretty large calf-muscles.  At that point, I asked my former husband to place me in a more comfortable spot than the side of the river bank.

He had to carry me, because now, my leg was completely unusable. Since he has pretty severe back injuries, himself, and it was difficult for him to carry me from the front, I hopped around and let him piggy back me to our truck which was parked about 50 yards from the picnic area.

Since it was apparent that none of the family were going to insist I go to the emergency room, I let my former husband place me into the passenger seat of his truck and I watched as he returned to the family reunion, as if I had not just broken my leg.

I plugged my phone into the aux plug of my former husband’s truck and tried to listen to some music and take my mind off of my throbbing leg. This was a pretty hard task because I had to sit at a weird angle to keep my foot elevated, which was become more and more swollen with each passing minute.

Right about the time my skin started turning a very dark purple, my ankle not even in the “cankle” category anymore, now just resembling something from the leg of a mutant, my former husband’s cousin, Dusty walked over and asked me how I was feeling.

I wish I would have been able to come up with something less polite and sincerely sweet than what I said, which went something like, “Well…it’s hurting pretty bad, but Ima be ok!”.

Dusty and I spoke for a couple of minutes before I asked him if he would mind helping me get the truck bed.  I thought that if I could sit somewhere which afforded me the ability to stretchm leg out, comfortably, that it would lessen the pain.

Dusty agreed and I felt so bad as he used every ounce of man-strength he had to escort me to my desired destination.  I could no longer to bear any weight, whatsoever, on my left leg, and my right leg and ankle were beginning to throb now.  My right leg and ankle were probably damaged, as well.  I know this because three years later, I feel it.  But at the time,  my left leg injury usurped any and every pain I may have been feeling on any other part of my body.

The truck bed did not help me feel any better.  It really didn’t matter how I situated my leg, it was horrible.  I looked at my left ankle, in absolute amazement.  It looked like an ostrich had somehow climbed into my body an laid an egg right in my ankle.

It really was amazing.

Even though I had given birth to 5 healthy, full-term babies,  I never imagined something so small and dainty as a woman’s ankle, especially mine, could be so huge and abnormal.  The egg in my ankle was bigger than any of my children before 32 weeks, in utero.

My ankle was knocked up.

Dusty stayed and talked to me for thirty minutes to an hour.

Bless his heart, I knew his family rarely had anything nice to say about him, but I didn’t realize what a black sheep he was until he stood there that fourth f July day, talking to me, being sweet, keeping me company while my leg increasingly became a personified prop from a cheesy 80’s horry flick.

The party wrapped up and the women-folk started cleaning up the plastic dishes and utensils about two and half hours after they cast their spell to make the waters part.

I was not taken to see a doctor until two days later.

The attending physician, who appeared to be in his early 60’s, stated, “This is the worst sprain I have ever seen in all of my years practicing”.

Although, NOT A BONE WAS BROKEN, every tendon and ligament from my knee down stretched then snapped, like rubber bands.

I was in a wheelchair for almost six weeks.

The tendons are still in a pile at my ankle.

Most days my ankle hurts and I just ignore it.

On the days right before a rain, it REALLY HURTS…and it makes me feel old, all predicting the weather and shit.

But…

I CAN STILL MOONWALK, BIOTCHES!!!

BULLSHIT

So…I’m gonna rant…

Why is it fucking politcally correct to assume David Carradine died from auto erotic asphyxiation, but not Robin Williams?

I love Robin Williams as much as anyone else who doesn’t really know him or love him, but

MY GOD!

I just checked Godlike and ATS and both only have ONE FUCKING THREAD ON THIS.

Firecrackers

I need to “go to work”, but I hate my job.  It is nice that I can work from home because otherwise there would be no work for me.

I hate to leave my house.  I absolutely hate it, for any reason.

I am not very sure why I hate it so much.

My Mimi used to tell me how this one time she had agoraphobia for four years and couldn’t leave any further than the perimeter of her yard.

She said it was because, one day, when my uncle was young, he rigged firecrackers to every one of her kitchen cabinets so that when she opened one, all of them exploded.

Mimi said after that was when she got real nervous.

Nobody tied firecrackers to my kitchen cabinets…I think they just tied them to my brain.