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PART 4: SCrMtn interluke where hey it’s the sea monkeys

15 December 2018, 6:31 am. Motherfucking lets include links and list it. Sunken battleships descending the horizon and don’t forget to breathe. We are not swimming.

The story so far. I gave you the song skullcrusher mountain because I’m looking for Sara Layton AND Barney Stinson. I keep fucking losing my placement and shit because my long ass fucking hair keeps getting in the way, so had to chop it off. Doing that means that people mistake me for Ariel. I’m afraid of the depths of the sea for some reason. And so that’s why we’re here now. The only way for me to move past my fucking fears is to barrelroll into them and take them down head on. I’m sorry you’ve all been caught in my wake. But… well fuck it. I’m still going. LOL. sigh… yeah.


Let’s remember why we’re here. Why I am here. Why I am writing and I haven’t fucking gotten to the fucking hair pie part yet.

I am the sun. The universe is called the solar system because the sun’s name is SOL. I joke I am solar powered because cloud cover and rain make me SAD, not depressed and suicidal (although I would probably be if I lived any further from the equator; the poles). The sun energies me like an energiser bunny. The sun makes me happy.

  • My darling husband, Jain, he calls me Jewel. Because I am the shining gem on his lordship crown. He’s my earthly master and I fucking love him like no one else.
  • My dearest soldier, Jade, he bequeathed me the name Eartha Kitt and I fucking cried for reasons. It made me really really appreciated and happy.
  • I am submissive, but I’m not a slave. Sort of. I mean.. I am a slave. FUCK. Err.. I’m a slave to myself and my passions… I am my own slave. And I can’t stand that thought or idea so I am activating my switchblade sharp acuity and taking back the helm of my own head. I am a captain (phonetically speaking – K).

I’m a fucking bratty rebellious hellion running helter skelter, gathering all the pieces of my broken toys. I am sorry I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserved. I didn’t realise your value back then. I am a grown woman now and I am fucking fixing my shit, trying to piece it all back together, while simultaneously trying to maintain whatever in the present and also build/construct a scaffolded skeleton for my future and the following generations.


11th December 2018, 8:49 am. There are just so many damn monkies running around in my mind, it’s actually kind of hilarious. I don’t know why. But I’ve got a damn train filled with them and I am just going to pick this one. Because it’s probably my favourite of the lot that I already had, without adding more monkeys. Sorry, don’t mean to be cagey.

I even saved a bunch of images because mother fucker, I’ve learned to keep hard copies and records of my trails. My tracks for my trains of thoughts. Laying the foundational footsteps for you to follow me. Retrace my steps so you know how I got here. My signs and signals and significant signifiers will be but guides for you all to choose to follow me on my whatever circular, spherical, metatronial game cube… Or you can choose to follow your own path. Wherever your own curiosity leads you.


I don’t want to spend much time here so I won’t say much. But I will show you the path I travelled. How I got here, swam around and instead of dying and drowning, I was able to make my way back out. Because it’s fucking just science. I use my conscious co-pilot (ie, my grey brain matter) to navigate my subliminal soul-searching conscience through the metaphorical sea of souls. I am not literally the sun. I am not literally the earth. It pains me to think of myself as a person because people are fucking parasitic shitty shit-kickers. People equal shit. ANd I don’t want to be shit. I want to be something else, anything else. An inanimate, anthropomorphised fake thing that is either more or less than person. I’m human But because people keep fucking harping on about gender, I’m ashamed to call myself fucking even just human. I’d rather be a demon and associate with shitty fuckwits who do nothing but waste my time and the time of everyone else around them.

I am patient though. I mean, I teach as my profession. I don’t mind explaining stuff. And teaching. So long as we have a chance to make the fun stuff that I wanted to do, too. You know? I don’t want to be part of the program anymore. I am not an NPC. I am a real fucking existent entity. I am real. I want to make music. And act. And tell stories. And play.


Before 2002/2003, I had dreams to be an theatre actress. I’m over the top, and am awkward as heck so I knew film and television performances weren’t for me. I was a bonafide CAPA GEEK. I loved to play and pretend shit. I wished magic was real. I didn’t know how to DM RPG campaigns or sessions of anything, but I was super enthusiastic about playing along and giving anything a fucking go. Everything. Anything. Whatever the thing was that was presented before me. I fucking did it all. I haven’t done everything though.

Rule #34 – if you can imagine it, there’s probably already a porno made about it.

Yes. If you can imagine it, I probably have a fucking real true story to tell you about it, too. Because if I haven’t personally experienced it, I fucking rest assure you, I probably (personally) know someone who has.

SO yeah. Fuck aye. I’m totally the whore of Babylon. I’m your little babelfish, and you’re hitchhiking my way through my galaxy. Fuckers. Enjoy your ride or not, IDGAF.  I love who I love, and like what I like. The rest of you cretin can fuck off and take a hike. Dr Seuss that one, bitch face.


7:41 am – picking the images and inserting them befittingly. That was what took the longest. Writing shit out of my arse doesn’t make it a good fucking story. That’s why I’m a teacher, not a writer. I can’t do whatever the fuck well enough to make a living off of it.

The education system isn’t fun. It’s trite. It’s where I belong though. To help out where I am needed. But I want the freedom of financial security to justify remaining as a casually employed teacher. I currently have no fucking clue what will happen next year. The kids AND my colleagues have been asking me. And I have the same answer: I don’t know.


This is part one // part two // part three // part four // part five of my skull crushing mountain making series.

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