Purple Haze

love that song.

some day i will figure out how to get my groove on and capture it in a way that pleases me artistically.

for now, these shots in purple lace, in a haze, will have to please. i shot them with valentines day in mind. current 2016 work. imagine that.

i am valentine less this year. sigh.

another.

deeper sigh.

ugh.

not sure i have the energy to give someone right now.

did i just say that ?

i have been dabbling at online dating and i have to tell you

i am finding it rather exhausting.

perhaps i am more wounded than I thought.

well,

at least there are purple panties.

of this set?? i love the black and white one best.

over at Flickr ( been there lately?? Same me, different image sharing – by design i use it to point here – but i love it there as much as I love it here – another dose of folks enthusiastic about me work)

anyway — over there I am discussing my not so good side.

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Heart Up

one of the worst things to say in a blog post is that you are sorry for not posting.  absence on a blog = blog suicide. posting is what keeps it alive. content helps it thrive. the good thing about an established blog like this one is the loyalty of its followers. if something new isn’t happening, most of you click back and find something retro to enjoy. it shows up on my dashboard here and i can see what you’ve been up to. the activity really makes me smile. thank you.

i have been lacking here.

for those in withdrawl…not to worry.  AN is here now.

i took a week off and travelled east to see my daughter.  it had been a long year without her vibe and hugs. the trip was my christmas present. we are lucky because we both don’t need a bunch of entertainment to enjoy each others company, i am like that myself in most things. a good meal takes me a long way, a sunset, the chatter of my daughter just rocks. my son surprised me and also flew in.  it had not been as long between visits with him, and he arrived all banged up from a hit and run. poor guy. there we three were, his ankle on ice, me broke as toast and she preparing for a move. yup, in the midst of all known as my visit she moved.  Chaos, emotions, not enough time, tons of hugs and moving dust. my trip was short, awesome and wonderful.

I got back to a wicked wicked cold. me thinks two over the top full long plane rides with other people didn’t help. so many people in such a small space. ick.

on day one of my cold i looked at a studio apt.

on day 4 i handed them a bunch of cash

holy crap i am so out of here.

i move in 10 days.

i teach tomorrow night.

i might have a date this weekend.

my chest hurts now, the cold has landed there.

could life – at least mine be any more of a roller coaster ride?

the moving fund to get me west.

is long depleted.

the move me again fund

while rather meager, i pulled out of my ass these last 3 months by not paying some other bills, eating carefully within a budget, and not buying a single thing.

me thinks i have the labor and the small truck covered.

i will have to save for a kitchen table and chairs

the green chair needs an overhaul and since that will be my only chair.

i will save up for that as well,

sigh.

here we go again.

packing.

i will try and take something new

heart it all up for ya.

for now, last years red and pink vibe.

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Dear OKStupid

dear okstupid. your so called algorithm sucks. when i set a filter seeking someone within a certain geography – i’d like you to acknowledge that. men from turkey, jordon, romania, ireland etc., are SO not going to move my dating life forward.  when i set a filter for a specific age and you send me volumes of 19 yr olds, what exactly am i supposed to do with that? do woman my age really go for teens? lastly – it seems that all the available men are in canada. maybe i should move there?  i need to start a get AN a passport fund.

i woke up to the dark this morning. 2 hours later it is still dark. i feel anxious today, grumbly. when it is this dark – it takes me time to get my mojo going. by then i have every light on and then it’s dark again. like dark dark.

i can’t really complain i mean yes it is raining again.

but it isn’t snow.

and something about that is a pretty cool thing.

although if one is snowed in.

its a good excuse for homemade soup and nudity.

sigh.

yesterday i braided my hair.

love how it looks wet, strands woven and shiny.

i hoped to have the remnants of braid bumps.

they don’t come out the way i envision them.

i despise how yellow this bathroom light is.

a few more things:

my kids treated me to a trip – i get to see my daughter next week. its been a year, and all i can think about is hugging her.

i have secured a really sweet gig as a collage artist. i am selling originals from my journal and i have made prints also. my opening as a new vendor is the 5th.  this opportunity was made possible financially by freelance work i did at the end of 2015 for an exhibitionist. needless to say i am quite pleased. in addition to showing, i also get to teach. I adore facilitating collage workshops and have wanted to have that become a bit of an income stream for me.  dry run next month. wish me luck.

the other day i drove a hand written note to the owners of the studio i applied for. tomorrow is a week since I saw the place and waiting for the news of it being mine is killing me. please let me get on with my life space. please.

the moon is full soon

hear me howl.

there. i feel better.

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actually no. it’s way better in black and white.

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A Work Day

one time the babysitter of my kids wrote a poem titled – things only the babysitter knows. it was really a sweet piece of our life from her perspective. sometimes i think to myself the things only a roommate knows. in my own living space. meaning mine. or someone i was swapping spit with i did things the way i did things. my spaces always looked lived in.  but in an aesthetic, pleasing sort of way.  as a guest in someones home – i’d wear my best behavior hat. make the bed, keep tidy, don’t leave hairs in the shower. not sure why i think of my grandmother when i write that but you better wear your best behavior hat when over there.  intense.   i think now as a roommate i want to set an example – if i keep my place neat, perhaps you will too. i don’t feel very relaxed here, but i am keeping up my end of the bargain. i think keeping too neat at the moment is a layer of nervous energy. or a fuck you, or as a way to think i am better?  sortof bitchy, when you think about it.  i have been collecting images of deplorable roommate behavior. things only the roommate knows. part of me feels like i should lighten up, we all do the best we can, the other part of me wishes that we talked about things, the passive aggressive style she chooses as a way to communicate just rubs me the wrong way. the other part of me wishes that when she trims her bangs, that she not leave all those hairs all over the bathroom sink we share. i know she told me she is moving. i can’t wait until we no longer live together. i’ll be damned if i will somehow try and find a way to live on my own. in my own space.  i am trying to find things to like about her. my work at home space isn’t mine. during the day i find the light in the living room and sit on a lawn chair, or at my drawing table. when she is home i retreat to my solo space – my green chair in my bedroom. it’s not quiet claustrophobic, but i have not felt an ounce of inkling to photograph it.

the old days.

working from home.

before west.

before the cave.

where all of this began.

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With Dirty Teeth And Heaving Breasts

sometimes i have this sense that my past lives have me corseted.

that my heaving breasts are being stared at or lusted for, that i am on my knees on a dirt floor with a worn hem and bare feet, and that whatever proper bottom garments i was supposed to be wearing are heaped in a dusty corner somewhere. I can imagine myself sitting on a stool, the sun is streaming in, i pause to steep myself in it, strands of my disheveled hair are glistening. it feels delicious and warm. i know this scene somehow. that i have been in it many a time.

i don’t know my corset history well enough to know which time period i am laced up in, i just know that a swell of breast excites me, and that periods of time where woman are adorned in layers of clothing that accentuate the breasts fascinate me and give me a sense of deja vu.

in my very real past there is a man who hurt me in a large way. details are too private. while I don’t have the ability to bring someone harm, nor do i ever act in a get even sort of way. there are thoughts that i have had about this one person that wish something terrible for him.  these vengeful thoughts have showed up in a dream that repeats itself. the violent dream has me feel that the subconsciousness of it will find its way. karmic justice. that evil gets its due.

the thing is, i was not the only one who he violated, as a matter of fact he took from way too many. a man with no boundaries. don’t get me started on the injustice of it all.

the dream is set in a village. the narrow streets are of mud from days of rain. this day is sunny, fluffy white cloud blue sky bright. it’s hot. there is a crowd of sweaty, very dirty, exaggerated full breasted woman. working class woman. thousands of them. they are gathering with a purpose. there is a platform, there are buckets of tar, feathers, and there is a leader. she has a large knife. She is shouting a call to action, spit is splaying, nostrils are flaring. the knife in her close fisted hand above her head is glistening in the sunlight. the filthy crowd parts and the man is being pushed down main street toward the platform. the woman are spitting on him, pulling his hair out, grabbing at the rags he is wearing until he is naked. something about the dream had this part playing over and over, breasts are again larger than they should be, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.  his face shows horror. he is erect. in the dream i am an observer, part of the crowd. i hear the leader shout how dare you have an erection. and i feel myself shout along …how dare you. how dare you. how dare you. A group of woman grab and carry him over their shoulders – their breasts are now exposed, bare and swinging, he’s erect, everyone is sweaty and really angry. the crowd roars as he is tied to the poles on the platform. he is screaming. fighting the tension of the ropes. first the tar, one bucket pour, another follows.  the view shifts to above the platform, it seems small – there is this nude erect male with hoards of large breasted woman  surrounding the platform and ranting – the feathers follow, feathers all over him, sticking to him, covering him, feathers flying – he’s still erect. the leader walks through the crowd, sun now setting, golden glow covers the entire scene. her fisted hand swings the knife back and forth ….he realizes what is about to happen.  he falls to his knees. one woman holds his head of hair pulling his head back, another holds that erect cock and SLICE, she chops it off.  Blood sprays – she is covered with is blood – he is screaming. She cuts his throat next.  One hears his last gurgling breath.  The crowd starts to applaud and cheer. They are jubilant.

it’s just a dream folks.

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Mine Just Ticks

someone recently asked me why i am single.

he went on to say that i am so dynamic and have so much to offer.  i should be flooded with suitors.  sweet of him to say …

the only answer i have ever had when someone asks me that, is to say what some have told me.  “you are too much” they say. i never know what that means exactly, except that to them, something about me …is simply too much. i could speculate. I find that is much like when folks operate in silence or are poor communicators – that I am filling in the blanks with not enough information. i never get it right.  i have asked those who say this about me.  what is too much? a variety of answers follow: your questions, your intensity, your passion, your need for attention.  While those answers seem like detailed replies – i feel none of them are very specific.

they say that many a man can not manage a strong woman.  i seem to exude a confidence, an independence, a will and mind of my own.  those who say this to me would not describe me as the fragile and vulnerable being i know myself to be. sure i am resilient, yes i have gumption. my love life lacks the richness it deserves

i have been watching epic historical romantic films lately. probably not a good idea – they fill my head with silly notions, stunning european scenery, and costuming that sexy fantasy is made up of.

in one of the films a man share with a woman he longed and lusted for this commentary:

“Your heart beats fiercely – mine just ticks. I can’t begin to feed what hungers you “

maybe men who meet me think this of me…

it’s been a little quiet over here.

i have missed you.

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