Glory holes

Good morning, sunshine! I’m solar powered

1600 words, Started writing at 7:25am / ready to publish, 10:10 am. FUck ya.

Good morning world. It’s 9th December, 2018. 7:25am. When you live in on this side of the meridian line, it can seem like we live in the future. But really, it’s just the time zone of the calculated by the degree the sun is located in the sky and the angle to which the earth is tilted on it’s axis and stuff. It’s whatever time it is right now FOR ME, and the clock will say a different time for you if you lived anywhere else in the world.

Last night my pretend son, Baby Marshmello, asked me about the authors I have gotten to write for/with me here on mmmother. I told him that I’m the only author who writes here on my mega monolithic mothership. It’s only me! Look at the username thingy! See? I mean that doesn’t mean anything on the internet anyway, but I dunno. I don’t have any other log in identities on WordPress. I do, however, have a bunch of other blogs (I’ve created 13 in total, this one plus 12 other PRIVATE, authorised access ONLY) and there are 2 that I am a contributor.

If you have access to any of my other bloggy blogs, know this for sure:

  • you’ll never know unless you actively ask questions.
  • I can’t answer questions that I don’t know are for me.
  • I’m all about open and active participation. You may join in, or not, that is totally up to you. But there’s no point getting all befuddled or cranky or upset if I don’t live up to expectations that I didn’t know you had put on me.

I declare myself as carrying different names PUBLICLY here because it gives me a temporary air of confidence, it bolsters and fortifies my resolve to just do whatever the hell it is that I do here. And what that means for you, my dear audience, is that you’re going to have to get used to the whole “WTF is K on about…?!” sensation that I evoke in heads of the people around me in the real world. My friends who I’ve distanced myself from, because I feel that I’m toxic.

Just get on with the show… Today, 9th Dec, ’18…


Let’s back back to business, we can defeat the huns later on. I wanna conjure my musical ragtag band, my personal big 4, where I am Rapunzel and I am singing a song for you. Thanks Hic, Jack, and Meri. If I didn’t have the 3 of you at my back, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to just go on with blogging at all.

I woke up this morning, Jain was asleep beside me and I just wanted to hug him. He’s like a bear -massive (compared to me), super strong, hairy, fierce, intimidating, and absolutely cuddly. I also call him my bunny, because I think bunnies are cute. I mashed up from his two pet names “honey bunny” (rhyme), and “baby bear” (alliteration) and so I call him my BUNNY BEAR because he’s like a heroic hare who will fuck you up if I set him on to you and your existence.


The above picture is from Rise of the Guardians, I fucking love that film. Anyway, imagine my husband is a combo of Bunnymund AND North, rolled up into a single human being. See Sandy in between the two of them? That’s me, too! I’m small, yellowish, golden, and a perpetual fucking dreamer (regardless if I’m awake or sleeping). I’m trying to get their attention to fucking PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION! AT THE THING! THAT IS GOING ON OVER THERE! FUCK YOU! LOOK!

I got out of bed, made a sammich and listened to the song “gimmie a sign”. Because i fucking love music, sharing and swapping songs with people and this is a song I received. SO? FUUUUCKKK…. I fucking boogied and danced away but when the song was over.. It’s always a give and take in life, there’s always a reciprocal response whether you mean one or not (the absence of a response will be interpretted as one, regardless). So I fretted my brain, plucking synaptic strings, desperately fingering my files in search of the best song to leave behind.

It’s fucking impossible to make decisions because making a decision means you actively force other tugboats to follow you when perhaps they only joined your ship because of your destination.

If you’ve only just joined me, welcome to my mothershit. I mean, mother-ship. This is your captain speaking, reminding you that this is just a thingy I’ve made here on the internet. I exist off of the internet. I exist in the real world. K pilots this fucking thing, but K doesn’t LIVE HERE. This MODERN-MYSTIC-MOTHER is a vehicle, a containership, to contain all of the different thingys of me (Kim Lane). Whatever you see, read, or hear anywhere on the internet isn’t real no matter how much we want it to be. Because reality exists in the physical world around us.

I couldn’t respond to the song at all. Not directly anyway. Because different people would interpret it differently, and there is such a slew of emotions and intention and desire and whatever… I want to do a shit ton of stuff, and I want to do specific stuff with specific people. There are specific people I would do anything, ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING, just for them. Because I love them. I want to do stuff for the people I love. But there are different types of love. And people just don’t seem to understand that!


FFS. I fucking hate everyone and everything. Just at the very same time I absolutely love everything and everyone. You’re all a bunch of fucking lecherous parasites. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that so long as YOU CAN ADMIT IT. In fact, parasites can be beneficial and a symbiotic relationship forms between the host and the thingy. But there must be a clear distinction and DELINEATION in the power dymanic. Like in KINK. I’m the mother fucking everything, and you are all in me. Why? Because I’m the letter K.

This year I discovered a shit ton of stuff. I learned the truth of the reality of good and evil, right and wrong, god and satan, science and fantasy, fact and fiction. reality and hallucination. I did it without prayer, I did so without jesus, god can go fuck himself and he can use the crucifix as his vampire slaying dildo.

I feel like my blog posts just keep getting longer and longer because UGH. I have to write about EVERYTHING I WANT TO DO EVER, BUT ONLY IN SO MANY DISCRETE WORDS.

  • I want to make music, I want to sing songs.
  • Any genre, it doesn’t matter. I want to sing it. Or try to anyway.
  • I want to do covers, because we all have our favourite songs we know and love.
  • I want to write original stuff, stuff that we can credit as being completely OUR OWN…
  • Parodies, mash-ups, covers, tributes, renditions, versions… whatever the fuck. It’s all good, but it’d be nice to have even an EP worth of original, personal tracks.

Yes, I love mysticism. Yes, I read tarot cards, I enjoy numerology, astrology, and giving commentary on philosophical and psychological phenomena. I thoroughly enjoy talking to people. I want to be there for them and with them. Through whatever, anything, everything.

  • I don’t want others to hate themselves.
  • I want to facilitate healing and helping.
  • I don’t want to deceive other people, nor will I perpetuate any fucking falsehoods and lies.
  • I tell the truth as I see it. I always fucking have. But instead of getting the shits and stuff, please clarify if I didn’t make sense about something. I am happy to listen and be corrected, even if I do feel hurt and attacked, I don’t want to be spreading the wrong or false information!
  • If it is merely a matter of personal opinion, then let it be that.
  • Everything I write is completely absolutely my personal opinion of everything. Notice my complete lack of cited resources?! See?! Because I fucking make shit up as I go along. That’s my way.


The Kim Lane Way (noun):

  1. Doing whatever the fuck she wants, whilst simultaneously trying to not actively hurt the people around her with her fucking shenanigns and tomfoolery.
  2. Fucking whatever the fuck, whenever, however, whomever, whichever. Fuck it.
  3. Named after it’s trailblazing freakstar, Kim Lane. Me. I’m alive, not dead, even if I choose to write in first or third person narration.

You know what. It’s been almost 3 hours since I started fucking writing this post because LIFE GETS IN THE FUCKING WAY. (I love my family, I’m just shitty that it’s when I’ve started writing something that’s when they need something. UGH TIMING IS THE WORST) SO yeah, 3 hours, 1500 words, and fuck it. I’m going to close this post with another song. So whattya have it. You got 2 songs for the price of 1 blog post today. Lucky F.Duckly.

And here are the lyrics.

BTW. I’m very purposeful in all that I do. I am highly selective. So whatever I put here? On MMMOTHER? Whatever way you choose to interpret it, I’ll say yes. You’re right. (but as likely as your interpretation is, it is unlikely to be represent the complete picture I attempted to convey.)

Join my mothership for regular updates about whatever I feel like and stuff. Join my cult for a religious and spiritual reckoning (butthole raping).

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