(Originally posted 16 October 2018 in series of 3 parts. 3300+ words.)
I really really like word play. I like words. I think of it like “words” is my Prince William and he is fucking me in the mouth, or either of my other holes (queef and fart).
No, I don’t think Prince Wills is particularly attractive, Harry is the better looking of the two. But eh. Don’t really care for the royals, I like my boys to be BAD!!
I really am quite contradictory but it’s more contrarian, like a naughty librarian. I think deceptive appearances are exceptionally tantalising because you never know what to expect. Are they being serious? Are they a joke? Are the beautiful on inside or outside, neither or both?
You see, nothing really matters anyway. We’re all just trying to get by in life, and society seems to FORCE PUSH their own personal priorities onto EVERYBODY. There is always a war of some kind, and I know that I can never stop all wars. That is totally not even what I give a shit about. But… I was recently reprimanded for my choice of words, rather than the sentiment I was trying to express. And then when I was upset about it, she (completely naturally, nothing against her at all) tried to soothe me and explain herself.
I appreciate her reaching out to me like that, and giving up her personal experience as to why she acted in such a manner. That allowed me to heal, and realise that she wasn’t attacking me… She was attacking the version of herself that she saw in me. Because she didn’t know me, she just went with what she felt passionate about. Good for her, I hope she has all the success she deserves. That’s not my problem.
I guess… one of the things that has really fucking sucked in my life has been me. I know I’ve spoken about this particular person over wordpress with my beautiful friend Maranda.. (insert keyboard detective montage here)
It took some damned digging but I finally fucking found the wordpress comment chat thingy. And I will copy and paste that shit in here!
(boom, it’s magically now right before your eyes)
Oct 6, 2018 – Thoughts on growing up with autism
(on Maranda’s blog)
I’m going to pretend you know what I’m talking about because it’s easier than having to link and recap all the shit for your tiny brain to compute and comprehend all the stuff about the stuffs. Sara was fucking smart. She may be my intended audience? But not really… because as a teacher, I know people need shit explained to them and re-explained to them, and provided with visual graphic organisers, and exercises and activities and blah blah blah etc. FUCK AYE. INFURIATING TO HAVE TO DECONSTRUCT THEIR WHOLE EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND TO FIGURE OUT WHY THEY DON’T KNOW HOW TO SUSPEND DISBELIEF FOR A SECOND OR 2.
Sorry. Educational rant in the wrong place. This is Memory Lane, not the Soapbox Stand.
I get incredibly worked up over things that I feel very emotionally connected to.
- educational systems, methods of teaching and learning, dispersal & the dissemination of knowledge
- my list is pointless because it’s just the same shit over and over again
- people – i give a shit about people
- love – everyone is able to give and receive love
- freedom – freedom of choice, freedom of expression, but not free from consequences. all freedom – for and against. do whatever you want, get whatever you get
- shut the fuck up because I’m in lecture mode.
- honesty – be honest from the start. be straight up. don’t fuck around with political correctness. waste of time. pointless ego wanking
In 2005 I went to Adelaide to see the industrial goth band Zeitgeist with my boyfriend Kris and my gal Sara. These are the 2 people who were mentioned in this post, although I didn’t say their names. Because names are important and they are powerful. I’m comfortable saying their names now as they are people in my past, they are not people I speak to or know now. Maybe if I say their names and who knows, maybe they find out “wtf why is my name mentioned here?” this blog, it might give them some context or information that might help them let go of their… perception about me. And help me heal me… Because I’m sorry I’m a fuck up. I really am. I stuff people around and have caused grievous amount of hurt.. intentional, and unintentional.
Remember how I’ve got this really poor sense of self worth and self perception? It’s because I always end up fucking over the people I care about the most. I loved every single one of my friends, and every one of my ex lovers, and I also love other stuff. But that “love” I feel for each of those individual people or things or whatever, they’re not all equal. As in… the type of love is not the same.
When I say “love”, I mean that I enjoy the experience of knowing and feeling and appreciating and seeing and hearing and EVERYTHING EVERY-DAMNED-THING about that person. Or thing. I am unreserved in how much I enjoy them. I don’t hold back when I say love. When I say I love someone or something… to me it means that for all the good, bad, ugly, anything, it’s part of me. I recognise myself in that person, or thing, and I can see part of me in it or them. (let’s go with people, it’s too confusing to talk about loving proper nouns, common nouns and abstract nouns. I am referring to nouns here.)
Sara was my muse. She was totally fucking amazing at just being her, and I admired her. I also treated her like shit because I was a shitty person. If I’m not mindful about my words and actions, I tend to just fuck shit up around me… I thought for the longest time that “everyone else is too sensitive” but have come to realise that maybe I’m too brusque.
I need to reserve parts of myself for certain spheres. For the internet? It’s all out in the open to demonstrate self mastery can be achieved, but it’s not easy. It’s ugly. It’s fucking humilating. But… I mean…
It’s not rocket science and it’s not special elite wisdom. It’s what magicians want you to pay them for. I only want you to pay me money to read tarot cards so I can keep researching linguistic origins. I think it’s fun.
And it has helped me to find god. By revealing his fucking divine name. I found it. And it made me so fucking angry when I found it.
God’s name is: I AM.
MOTHER FUCKER. THAT MOTHER FUCKING FUCKER. It has been under everyone’s noses this whole time and we have been looking out towards the stars, in towards our navels, thinking thinking thinking “what is life?” whatever. IT IS THIS SIMPLE.
You are, exactly the way that you are. Because you chose to be that way. Whether you want to apply magic esoteric knowledge to that? Sure. If not? Sure.
You are in control of your own universe. You are the centre of your own universe. But you know how fucking infinite the universe is? And how much empty space is in it?? That’s the “invisible” “psychic” “esoteric:” stuff. That’s the magic. The emptiness between the bodies, the atoms, the spaces between the words. You shouldn’t have to pay for that.
That’s everywhere. That’s common knowledge.
I have a scientific BODY. No matter how much magicky woo stuff I ever tried, never saw shit. Nothing fucking happened. UNLESS I changed my perspective.
Perhaps I couldn’t see anything because I didn’t want to? Or because I wasn’t supposed to? Or I didn’t need to?
See? Lots of questions.
But, I believed that there was still something. And it was possible to be proven. Because … I just needed to know more. I needed a better analogy or metaphor. How do you explain something that hasn’t been explained before?
Do you see my dilemma?
I think I will do one more of this zygote thingy posts because… I don’t know how many times I need to say I’m sorry. I am a serious fuck up. I have fucked over so many people that I fucking loved. But, I was also fucked over by a whole bunch of other people.
I don’t know if I could ever forgive my ultimate nemesis. Maybe one day, but that’s not today. And I don’t know how I’d feel about ever forgiving that fucking bitch ever. Because… if she’s not the enemy, then I’d only have myself to blame…
- I like words, check.
- I like naming things, check.
- I like a bunch of stuff, double check.
- I want to join in, I don’t like missing out, check check.
- Even if I don’t want to join in, it’s still nice to be asked. Check your priveledge.
Memory Lane 2005 – From Zygote to Zeitgeist
let’s english teacher the shit out of everything and kil kil killllllllllllll all that we love and all that is holy.
- K – me. Protagonist. Yay! Meta-Misfit Extraordinaire with the banging boyfriend and the baby bat bestie. Miscellaneous whatever, anytime ALL THE TIME. Ka-o-tic.
- Sara – baby bat bestie. gal pal. Leo star sign. Scottish ancestry. Ultimate queen of freedom of self expression. English Wizard. Outer crazy, inner peace.
- Kris – huge dick. Bit chubby. Player player. Self conscious of public appearances. Smoker who couldn’t understand why I smoked?
- Adelaide, the city of churches
- Some random Kava cafe across the hotel from us.
- Sexually assaulting the statues, especially the ones along Rundle Mall.
I have a whole heap of photos that I totally want to share because I think we were so cool back then. We didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of us. And would even think up ways we could piss off the general public EVEN MORE than we already did.
Why? BECAUSE IT WAS FUNNY.
Sara and I were serial self harmers and had like… these really toxic views of ourselves. When one of us would start to fucking spiral, the other one always reigned the other in. I let her down because I kind of… I don’t know. Wanted to get on with life maybe? It’s not… straight forward as that. We essentially greww apart which is normal. But I miss her and I’ve been trying to find her for.. maybe a couple of years? Just to check in on her. To see how she’s going.
Because after every time I just went off and did my own thing, sick of her shit (I love her, remember, I say stuff in the heat of the moment because thats how I feel at the moment. Let the overall message be remembered, not the semantics of this lesson). Ok, so after I’d be sick of her shit I’d go and do whatever. And SOMEHOW, some-fucking-who-the-hell-knows-why-how… We’d manage to end up circling back and meeting again, even with out new aliases and shit. I’d sense it was her… but wouldn’t say anything, and then she’d say it was me and I’d be like “whoa!!!”
I thought I found her? She seemed so so so damned familiar. Everything fucking fit. EXCEPT. No. She said it wasn’t her. SO? So that’s it.
But that coinciding with the whole “just put stuff from the website on your blog” schedule,.. It was the last of my personal essays (that’s weren’t about me directly overly so). It was the start of an eventual book I’d like to make some day. But I don’t know what the book would be about. Just.. all the people I like? That influenced me? Yeah! No idea how I’d structure it just yet… But… I asked, and was told no. And that made me realise that I had to PUT THE WORD OUT, that I miss Sara.
I want to know that she’s okay. And I want to hear it from her. She might even have a different name (we were so into changing our names, because we thought it was fun, she was a writer, and I was a performance artist).
She was witchy, artistic, creative, “a bit much in the head” (like me), history of mental illness, tall, with SUPER TRANSLUSCENT SKIN it was so white she could stand next to something and her skin would take on that colour.
She always did whatever and I miss that. I wanted to be like her, but not the same as her. I wanted to be free to do whatever and not feel bound by other people’s expectations. She was much more… more on the “not physical” plane. I was all down here. Just.. here. Where I am now. Wherever my body is, that’s it. I feel trapped by space and by time. Rooted singularly to the spot. With no psychic ability or claim to fame. To me everything, yes even life, it was all a game and I just wanted to have fun and… not miss out. It was like all the fucking awesome shit happened everywhere except for wherever I was.
Some people have trouble keeping up with my train of thought? I struggled to keep up with hers. She was always like 10 steps ahead and I just wanted to be part of it. Whatever it was. I didn’t even care if it was real half the time. I just wanted it to be real because I hated my own life. I hated myself and my own limitations.
I don’t know if she really hated herself, but I think she did. That’s why she did all the stuff that she did. Because we treat ourselves the way we feel we deserve to be treated. And the way we treat others .. I don’t know. I’m imperfect, I’m full of sin, and I don’t particularly care if god smites the shit out of me. I would! I don’t like me at all.
But I’ve lived a fairly fortunate life. I had food, shelter, amenities, parents who loved each other, and lived in a house my dad built. I never went wanting, except for friends and companionship. We weren’t rich either, just standard middle class or something like that.
So, I guess am lucky. It just sprouts from me. Take whatever gifts come from it. It’s like I leave a yellow brick road wherever I walk. People follow it thinking “oh my god, this is the way” and when they find me… I don’t know. I’m just.. trying to find my emerald city? Fuck those directional witches “good evil rah rah” descriptions. They’re useless and liars and ineffectual.
Maybe because I know those types of folks. They’re liars and bootleggers and bullshit MONEY MAKING artists. I’m A SPIN DOCTOR and you know it. I’m not hiding anything, I have a PHOSPHORESCENT DOCTORATE IN BULLSHIT SPINNING. From what the University of Kalliope. See? I’m a self made master from my completely self made educational institution. Why wouldn’t you trust me? I’m a doctor.
Summary review of the key dot points? KSKASS.
Interpretation? Kiss K’s ASS. Because IDGAF.
Moral of the story: I dunno. Love each other. Be kind to each other. Recognise the awesome of each other. You make your own magic by being your true self. From self confidence and love and honour, magic just fucking happens and it radiates.