In Case You Thought I Was Weird

this happened 12 years ago.

the entity came to me in the middle of the night.

it did not ask permission to touch me.

but it did.

the entity took.

in essence it was like rape.

however giving and adoring,

it took and

it left me shaken.

shaken i tell you.

there is a part of me that says it was a dream.

i dream vividly. and often. i remember my dreams

but a part of me that knows the physical potential of an entity

and thinks perhaps this was a spiritual lover.

weird. i know

but if you have known of entities before ….

not so weird.

the details are extremely sexual.

arousing, physically palpable, the attention left me breathless.

imagine that you are asleep.

you are awakened by kisses and gentle caresses

still in a sleep daze

the attention becomes more sexual

finger probing

oral

sexual and very pleasuring.

except noone is physically there.

your imagination can not fill in the blanks that have left you

remarkably aroused,

i would then awake, breathless with my legs splayed open

hungry

it happened over and over

for months.

it got to the point where i said

no.

i said, i don’t know who you are

you do not have my permission

to touch me.

i do not want you to do this.

it scared me.

to frame where my heart and mind were at the time.

my nest was about to be empty.

financially I was going to hit a brick wall

i had lost use of my right hand

my adrenals were fatigued.

this fatigue showed up

in my body.

physical manifestation of…

i was completely falling apart

my second marriage was ending.

betrayal in many many forms are what ended it.

i was the victim of maliciousness.

sociopathic.

i felt embarrassed by its failing. he fooled many. so so many. i was a fool

i felt mortified about being single again

i did not believe that i was of value

as a person

or as a woman

i felt a loss in my life

like a grief so crushing

that i lost a good portion of time

to tears.

and an inability to cope.

at the time i lived in a magical attic apartment of a queen anne victorian home

the energy in the space was kind.

visually magical.

crooked in a vintage way that pleased me.

like syrup on a plate of pancakes would pool on one side of the plate crooked.

i loved that apt.

that place was also a transition place

for all the things mentioned above.

this was two years before i bought my first home.

many many things to get to the other side of at that time

this was the year i lost 100lbs.

my nude photography began here,

in therapy, i did not have to defend the reality of this creature who touched me

i did not have to justify

i did not have to explain

i did have to be real though

about how violated i felt.

and,

that the patterns of my life

include many many who TAKE.

my therapist suggested that i shift the taking feeling

to one of adoring.

that i was attractive

and adored.

fair.

and so.

i affirmed my …me, myself and I

as beautiful.

a self worth practice

that I have instilled ever since.

i am affirmed of that beauty

by adoring fans here.

even if who i was 12 years ago

is different.

very different then who i am now.

and even if my self confidence is low.

these are not the best images.

i was just figuring out this little digital camera

which later,

if you recall. i dropped

and it died.

now, the light in this place would have offered some magic for self captures.

a good portion of these belongings are now long gone. sold. memories.

my breasts don’t look like this anymore either. this was my very first nude capture.

what a memory.

 

 

 

 

When We Meet

lets see if any of you read this

recent posts have offered a variety of talking points

conversations aren’t happening.

whatever happened to conversations?

a certain someone needs to be heard.

sometimes fans reach out to me and get personal.

they then imply that we will meet.

in theory. why not meet?

i’ve met a few of you over this last decade.

in hindsight, not sure i should have…

further commentary on that …complicated. my part of it included.

the flurry of meeting was lovely. romantic. and indulgent.

friendship sustainable?

no.

the truth is most men are really not in a position to make a meet happen.

or more importantly they can not sustain a meet once it’s occurred

reasons for that lack of ready might include: uh – married, so so very many of you are married, financially not able – since meeting is at your expense, or the real reason: lack of intention.

this lack of intention i further describe as placating

as telling or saying what one thinks i want to hear.

men will say anything to have sex with me.

am I being arrogant in saying this??

or can the truth of it resonate?

men say to themselves. “give me some of that” 

i fall sometimes for the idea of meeting.

of having the attention i deserve

the feeling of cherish

the excitement of it all.

vs the reality.

the reality is something very different.

i am thinking at the moment of this writing of one very particular man.

i liked his appearance.

i liked his mind.

i liked how he paid attention to me.

he got me.

he knew which buttons to push.

he was sexy and he knew it.

simply.

i wanted to meet him.

he said he wanted to meet me.

In the throws of it all

my MIND met him in a variety of circumstances.

the fantasy of which

was delightful in one breath.

and, not so delightful in another.

i felt frustrated by what i couldn’t have.

i can’t go into a fantasy without visual appeal

can you??

i have taken up with a man or two and didn’t give their appearance much thought.

they were kind, and attentive to me.

they wanted to meet me.

i want folks to try me on.

i feel we should give others a chance.

they were very disappointed when I wasn’t attracted upon meeting them.

which felt pretty awful for both of us.

now, i think it’s of value to have a vetting process.

my fans say that they are very attracted to me.

even without my sharing my face.

you tell me that my images provoke.

men say they fantasize about me all the time

men imagine themselves with me

within my photography.

which i appreciate hearing actually

rather powerful.

or they tell me that my images are fodder for masturbation.

SIGH

 ( none of you use fodder and masturbation in the same sentence.  ) 

it’s to be expected i guess. after all i am nude. online!!

for me in reverse so to speak, it’s not your dick/cock that i want to be a part of.

( if i had a dollar for all the men that send me images of their anatomy. i’d have no financial problems )

UGH. please don’t do that.

again, do not send me images of your anatomy.

your hard whatever is the last thing I want to see.

i want to see YOU. your eyes, your lips, your hands. a beard and mustache if you have one…the shoes you are wearing.

show me something that that i can be drawn to

and then it’s your mind that i fall for.

how you GET me.

how you treat me.

what you are curious about.

how you desire me.

and then it’s WHO you are in the world.

are you up to something or are you bored and apathetic?

often the above goes to a sexual place.

makes sense when all the pieces are there.

i can’t really do the sex thing all by itself these days.

not like i use to.

it’s not enough

sex is not enough.

i ache

ACHE

for connection

a connection that cares.

or a connection that can sustain a care.

Fans care.

in their own way.

how they act on it is…

well, it’s what it is.

or isn’t. mostly.

i’ve said fleeting many times here.

men come and go.

whhhhooosh they are in touch, enthusiastically.

and then poof. they are gone. as quickly as they reached out to me.

most simply don’t have time for me.

or the energy.

or the reality.

most are not looking for something personal

they want something distracting. entertaining. immediate

they are hungry in their own way.

a meet. a real one?? shifts things.

a meet makes it real.

or if when we meet and it is in our minds

its a fantasy.

The plane was delayed. The airport was bustling. Around me the mix of people swarmed accordingly. some coming, some going. many arriving, more just getting to the next place. a blur. Airports are probably my most favorite people watching place. It’s how I survive the waiting. I make up stories about the folks before me. I began people watch story making as a young girl. I spent way too much time in airports. There goes mr and mrs green. here comes sir tall, flower dress lady has too much makeup on. oh, look…those two are kissing again. how lovely they are. i’ve never written my narrative down in the midst of a wait. perhaps i should sometime. i have had a banter with another or two where we narrate together. mr tall is nervous i say, the other then says, the battery on his phone died.  he’s sweating i say, he needs another coffee the other adds. And so it goes. 

I am meeting a stranger at the airport today. a handsome stranger. and I am very nervous. I told him to be in the moment when we meet. To pocket his cell phone and let the meet be. I don’t need to know you are getting off the plane. I will be there to meet you. Just know that I am waiting. I find the management of a phone and travel frustrating. I get that they can be useful. I completely get that. I just find them distracting. Folks forget to simply be. The plane will land. You will get off the plane and I will be there to meet you. I am a person of my word. 

90 minutes later the arrival is announced. He is here. Oh my gosh he is here!  I position myself out of the way, but stand in a place where I hope to be the first person you see once you walk into the arrival area. One by one others arrive. Delays make many anxious. Connections are now altered.

I see you first. Sauntering, casual, tossled hair…you are good looking. I like that. you look for me. I like that too. Our eyes meet. You stop. We grin as wide as grins can be. A pause in time. A moment for sure. You step up your pace. I feel a blush coming on as you near. You notice. and you say, oh my gosh you are blushing! I say, I am!! I then say HI there! You say HI. Your eyes are bright and warm. Inviting. Your right hand reaches for the hair at the base of my neck, you are taller then i expected, you smell of gum. and you pull me to you. you whisper in my ear. you are beautiful, you say. you are so beautiful. you’ve taken my breath away. You see me struggling as to what to say next. you kiss me. gently. lip to lip. touch. want, curious. i feel all of you near me, the kiss finds its way to hungry. Our lips are a good fit. I tremble. You say, wow. I grin. you grin back. we hold on to each other.

in my fantasy, i replay the kiss over and over and over.  in my collection of fantasies, there are lots of kisses. in my memory of real meets, those kisses get replayed in my mind as well.   

what a goof i am. what a hopeless romantic.

some kisses don’t make the instant replay. those kisses are not memorable. i hate that. some men are very good at replicating that first kiss. it’s like they get that a first kiss is worth repeating. i once met a man, older than I who had never kissed someone before. i was an eager lover back then. he said are all women this enthusiastic about kissing. I said, i have no idea. you tell me. this is when i found out he was a virgin. many years later he will tell me. a man always remembers their first time. You were that first for everything for me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did They Love You?

did you have a home?

a home with a mom and a dad? 

did they love you?

she asked. 

i bet many can reply yes to that question.

I think as my parents first born that i will always have the newness and novelty of those early years

but when life got real.

they both checked out of the love equation.

i was 5.

I never should have had you kids he once said.

additional and not so loving commentary echo within my emotional brain.

i had my reckoning with ideas of him in the late 90’s

she said,  you love your father.

i thought surely i can find the loving moments.

i had been telling the stories of the bad times.

she said,  remember the love and hold onto that — that’s what is best to heal from.

good advice.

i did that.

sometimes though …

i don’t.

a trigger like fathers day or something else might get to me.

and then i go there. i go to the he doesn’t love me place.

and feel like a shit.

this is ALL on my mind right now because this week was a transition week for me.

making work space here i stumbled upon this book.

wait, let me step back ….

the ebb and flow of an artists life is that you build an emotional momentum to the launch of an exhibit. and then it ends. your heart and soul becomes yesterday’s news. when one creative door closes another opens. yet there is always this feeling. oh, it’s over now. kerplunk. anti-climactic. 

the “bottom fell out” feeling doesn’t last, but that always there part is something you have to get to the other side of. i am good at it. it’s the nature of what i do

a year ago my art life had a transition. i reached a point of feeling almost buried alive in art work. i shifted direction to a learning phase and got excited. i began stitching.

metaphorically the zag and zig was a lot like me – i was piecing myself together again.

i like the way it feels to stitch this way. the way i feel knowing i could be less broken somehow. scarred but together vs in pieces lying on the floor

the last few days i cleared/rearranged two surfaces. making room for two shows that were coming down. one rather large show. AND i was making what’s next decisions

ideas. so many ideas.

is that what clean dishes and a making a bed are for?

a putting of things in their place?? a sense of order?

a clearing of the mind?

as I mentioned before – i found this book.

it’s something that made the shelf of my now small collection

but a book that i’d not entirely read.

I am in this book. as a subject. ME!

the chapter i am in is titled. shame. the hole in wholeness.

the book is about passion.

i was interviewed at the age of 53. 2013

those are the early years of my work here at AN.

my self love work.

the book is 466 pages long and rather heady.

to me, heady means over my head cerebral. the sortof book that would take me a lifetime to relate to and understand all of it’s bibliography. a smarty pants read.

to the authors admirable merit. he brings history, art, science, psychology and philosophy into the context of it’s chapters.

the chapter that has me in it, was one of many he interviewed who rediscovered or reignited passion in their lives.

i sat with this chapter again. and took some notes, and those thoughts are on my mind.

i have to consider that i did not assimilate my part of the book to it’s entirety.

i never read the whole thing.

by the time i bought it.

i was losing my home

there was that space of time gone by called mr cowboy.

UGH

am i really a passionate being?

he writes, passion is our eagerness for union. life altering and unorthodox explorations of the holes in our soul.

he said i had something called dysmorphia or an unhealthy preoccupation with body flaws.  i am not sure how obsessed i was with what was wrong with my body.

i did find that the looking through a camera lens offered a different perspective. my personal perspective didn’t see the same beauty. 

going back into some of my personal history. anything that had to do with my personal sexuality, was always put in it’s place.

shame.

he described it as toxic shame. our very being is toxic at it’s core. it’s wrong. we are fundamentally flawed. this cripples our ability to affirm ourselves.

this limits our ability to engage with another intimately. we fear that in doing so — the other may see our flaws. 

i akin this thought now with aging. when you get to this part of your life. the emotional deck of cards is stacked against you. there are just too many to lay out on the table.

i wear my life on my sleeve. faults and all. i guess i feel weary of trying to make sense of it all.

shame he says, makes us cringe. shame leaves footprints on our lives.

if you take the above back to my childhood words like criticism, contempt, abuse, neglect ridicule, hostility, public humiliation, emotional rigidity were mentioned. all stem from shame.

he felt i came to terms with my shame by self-portraiture

i said, the camera is much more confident than I am

i asked, where have “I” been all my life?

further i shared, I strive in my life to be cherished.

my personal million dollar statement.

isn’t it weird to read the words you have said with others thoughts and impressions wrapped around them ?

my entire self preserving methodology is to garner attention to find cherish for myself.

to reassure the myself, i and me in the equation.

i said, self esteem isn’t necessarily an inside job. it can get a serious boost from external validation. 

there were times during my blog years here were i felt brazen, bold and proud.

i had surpassed shame.

it’s brilliant

I did that with the help of all of you!!

Without the audience here, my strength in self would have lost its way.

One other layer to all of the above. this was not part of the book. more so i think of part of what keeps me sane …is social phobia, agoraphobic or introversion

i think at many levels i’ve had socially awkward going for me my entire life.

i could make a very good list about all of that.

its not just recent times and trauma that make covet safety from my home.

it’s the way i am.

it protects me.

image 4 skin wattle. what a word. wtf.

 

 

 

 

The Blur

best to simply say that the weekend just past was a blur

there was no nudity

and

inside my emotional brain

it was pretty crowded.

i dealt with a yikes of a work month end,

that remedied itself this morning.

the panic dance was real.

this morning i looked at nudes that i shot in the month of june 6 years ago.

i do that.

2013

i will post those at some point. you will like them

they were taken at the beginnings of my using lightroom software

what an amazing shift acquiring that software was for me

what a spire the software was to my creativity.

very defining.

very confident building

some really good work.

i was way more steeped in things then. projects, learning, getting laid etc

out more i guess.

more outgoing

in the month of june 2013 there were two spontaneous meets with men.

both while traveling.

do you track those stories in your head. the trysts you have?

the ones that are gone immediately thereafter?

what about the ones that want to have more of you.

i am friends still with one.

he’s found his other since.

the sex was a mistake

we agreed on that the next day.

we had a recent virtual conversation about music he had mixed for my stay.

he was very thoughtful about my visit.

one song in particular made be cry

unexpectedly

it was just one of those songs that expressed what i was about at the time.

he remembered that.

in current times he’s a champion for  my art.

he thinks my work now has turned an important corner

i put myself out there then.

i couch surfed.

i had patience for online dating.

i flirted. or at least i tried ( i think i suck at flirting )

is it better to get laid?

or not?

i decided to photograph some nudes this morning.

neck wattles, liver spots, bearded whatever, my bralette has a big hole in it

i thought to myself

what if i can’t find the love anymore.

yes, its better if this post remain a blur

Decide

one of the most prevailing symptoms of this particular spiral of mine is indecision.  

self coping manifests itself in sometimes not deciding. 

it shows up when i least expect it

and it knocks me flat. 

places/things where decision making is perhaps important 

include of all things: 

self care. bathing, laundry, dishes, housework ( should i wash my hair or not. well, maybe i can go one more day, but perhaps it would be better if i washed it today. i could just put it in a ponytail. oh just get in the shower already. often i simply don’t wash my hair )

I recently shared this detail with another and overwhelm was something she knows as well. for the very first time someone validated this concern. we both have similar chemistry health challenges. most of the time when i try and explain things. people go blank in their ability to relate

the grocery store.  sometimes i can’t get out of the car to actually get some groceries. this is true. i have needed to shop and left the parking lot with nothing to bring home. with my budget, grocery shopping is the largest and most overwhelming decision making place on the planet for me. i take my fridge to empty to avoid having to make more decisions. doesn’t really make sense does it.

spending money. my lifestyle is seriously not rocket science. my fear of making a math mistake has me wait to make financial decisions that are beyond my obligatory responsibilities until I am clear i’ve met them with no errors. this means i won’t buy a cup of coffee.

i am sharing this here now because i have noone to talk to at the moment.

this sounding board is a safe place for an emotional sorting

perhaps not

i don’t know anymore.

i really don’t know.

see? indecision.

another place that decision making hits me is with artist statements. art decisions.my art life. projects. lists and lists of ideas because my mind right now is an idea maniac. so much so, i feel buried in them. yet i am remarkably inspired by them as well.

i will say this before you think something terrible about me. most of the time my bed is made, dishes are done, i am not starving, my hair is not some grease laden thing on my head. i do need to vacuum. whatever right?? in the scheme of life …mine in particular?? who the fuck cares.

i was thinking recently about the history of decisions in my life.

i think this speculation is why i am authoring this post.

perhaps my deciding isn’t part of this chemistry cocktail after all?

what if i have been in one form or another in a spiral my whole life?

what if THIS is my normal?

what if my coping is actually a personal brilliance of sorts?

i am not alone in deciding things.

others decide in quirky ways too.

some decisions are bad for me, some are good for me and some are self protective.

some of my personal decisions over the span of my life

are filled with gumption

spired by loyalty and love

or some decisions are a way to check out of some serious bullshit in my life.

there is no decision police here.

this is my life.

make of it what you will.

These five are stories of sorts that I keep coming back to. The exemplify what i am trying to explain but in a broader sense of it all, they are very individual to me.

i don’t do division. in third grade i decided that doing division in math class was not my thing. i did not do a single division problem until the 12th grade. I skipped them. Nobody noticed. well noone noticed until mrs donovan

i don’t do mornings all my life i have struggled with mornings. obviously i’ve gotten by. but not without great angst. when i became a single mom and developed my home business. i took on the concept of what is a perfect day for me and why. not for the sake of look good or some sort of  perfection. more so about what works.  this is when i began to look at my day to day for me. not by another and their standards. lately, mornings have been more difficult for a different reason. my brain doesn’t turn on. it does eventually. and when it does. it’s like oh. there you are. so. lately i have just been allowing what is best for me vs trying to fit into a morning person mold. oddly – my morning writing is sometimes my best time to write. it’s a zone of sorts

monday is pajama day when i return from a trip i schedule at least one re-entry day. i just don’t shoot out of the canon that fast when returning to reality. the same goes for weekends. tuesday is my monday. i work exclusively from home on mondays. no out of the house appointments. on purpose. monday is one of my most productive work days. in my pajama’s

is this all there is i think i’ve tried to explain this before. some profess that dining alone or other being out in the world alone is brave. that doing alone overcomes something, the do it anyway phrase comes to mind. since i have been alone for over a decade now, i do many many things alone. however i had this one experience where i put out all this effort to be with the crowd. albeit alone in this crowd, and once there i thought to myself “is this all there is??” I was not having a good time. I felt like a ray of light was shining on me. ALONE. I left. Steeped in a despair that I could not shake. I don’t do the alone in a crowd anymore. i don’t go it alone on a path in the woods thing or alone at an event thing. I’d actually rather not go. then go by myself. the “is this all there is” crushes me every time. i think to myself. i don’t even know why i am here.

writing is evil as a teenager i wrote in a journal for school and found my inner voice. i sketched my dreams, i told stories of my family life and boyfriend that were pretty private. My need to write was fierce. I had so much to say. and so much to sort. My parents/family invaded that space. and at one point, to teach me a lesson they had me burn my journals at the bottom of our suburban driveway. you have to imagine this in your mind. they – my parents and siblings watching near the garage door. me at the curb and a fire burning my thoughts. i didn’t write again for over 20 years. My parents at one point said to me. NEVER write personal things down for others to see. I emphatically remember thinking to myself “what did you write down that you are so embarrassed about?” My parents were both very narcissistic and paranoid. Their past lives is a huge mystery to me. An unexplained chapter. I didn’t agree with them about writing. When I found my voice again. I felt reborn. I had so much to say. I am clear that being here is part of that. I have found that when i reveal inner soul. personal drama, triumphs, fears or anything that is real and authentic, at least to me. The response is not only caring. it’s applauding. it’s also cathartic. if one theme of my life is to be understood, in all that life can offer that is misunderstood, perhaps writing is a found way to get there.

i have one more decision/story mulling in my mind about men. it does not have the same clarity as these do. so i left it out.

i don’t get a lot of response to my collage work here.  it’s a big part of my life and these pieces showed up this week in my memories feed. i felt like they illustrated for me what I am trying to portray.

my readership here often tell me they enjoy my writing. thank you for reading. 

 

 

 

 

 

Stitched

in an effort to refresh some perhaps tired collage work.

i’ve added stitching to a few that have some nudity in them.

the first i left all the threads dangling.

a look i especially like.

a current solo installation is nothing but work that has dangling threads.

hanging as is, alone on a clip of sorts. like a pants hanger or something

the threads catch the breeze

a bit like if a strand of hair might brush one’s cheek or shoulder.

sexy.

the other two, the threads are clipped.

tighter.

and appropriate for the art.

i think the stitches add a nice element of tension

should I upgrade the others??

i would love to sell these

A Year Ago

April 2018. 

i do this thing where i cull retro shots during the week and then share them on thursday in my social media circles.

this image sharing strategy began back in blog/blogging days for my work/work

it’s a way to offer a sampling of my creative work on a consistent basis

an authentic branding of sorts.

most, if not all sales for both collage and photography happen in a posting instant.

“i want that” they say.

add that i take and make at such a high pitch

i am sure the volume alone overwhelms.

i have not done that sortof sharing with my AN work.

i don’t really get a vibe that photography sales will happen here.

i mean it hasn’t so far.

perhaps i could be doing something different.

my fear is an image file will end up somewhere i don’t want it to.

i wish i could recall who.

who was the flickr person who advised me to add story to my nudes?

give them more he said. or something like that

he was right.

i might lean on the story part a lot more than i should.

wearing my heart and my life on my sleeve as they say

but who are they.

or who is the should police?

i don’t really give a shit.

i am having a strong memory moment with all of these.

it was a year ago that i had a coffee meet

with mr montana.

he. quite like mr biker was a 2015 okstupid connection.

and he, much like mr biker took years to meet me.

the day i met him was a whirl of a day for me in other ways

my building was being painted and my windows were covered in plastic ( for over 2 weeks) talk about a confining feeling. i had to negotiate for an air hole with the workman.

i took on a photography project that required a hard hat

thus my ridiculous attempt to photograph that. SO not a good picture.

i also set up a bunch of lights to try and mimic a studio setting.

in my shower.

can one say fail??

i at least made myself laugh

the coffee meet was via text. hey i am in town, lets meet for coffee. tell me where. 

and i was just like …uh, this so isn’t how i roll, spontaneous, being in charge of coffee places that are date valid, and i was juggling in between this project i was working on. i normally am not that scheduled. all in all i felt a little proud of my even pulling the meet off. i didn’t have a moment to brush my hair or change my clothes. i just went with it.

i knew i’d like his appearance. and i did. still

he talked for almost two hours about anal sex.

um, how much can one really say about that.

one was left with the sense that …anal sex was what he was after.

OK.

radio silence after the meet.

nothing.

so f-ing kerplunky.

he was someone who when he felt like it would articulate really well in an email.

his initial reaching out to me actually was probably the best ever.

he paid attention to the details

it made me like him immediately.

somehow not sustainable i guess.

what is that “best behavior” email??

first impression mockery?

not sure a first meet is a good barometer.

a first meet with a “when can i see you again”

something to build on

perhaps.

that at least “feels” better.

needless to say, after that meet i got wound up by the potential of it.

even though that potential was nill.

that made for some hot masturbation pics. ( wink )

someday, i will find a way to tell those stories. sigh.

this grouping of images is a small snapshot of a 30 day period of my life.

only one of these shots i’ve shared before. ( i think )  it . my butt made my best of 2018 grouping.

i am glad i collected these for this post. a great reminder of last april