Flower Power

I dreamt last night that a flower and succulents were growing in my groin.

( how’s that for an opening sentence?)

there was a single flower, short stemmed with a blue crocus like blossom – it’s center was yellow and button like. it’s petals fat and juicy, much  like that of an engorged jade. it looked like a pussy.

next to the flower there a large cluster of pure white plants. each had three small leaves. unlike most succulents they were soft to the touch. almost mossy.

all of this was nestled in the spread of my legs. specifically, in the crease on my right side

WTF

the examination room was huge. pure white. gleaming, with tile floor to ceiling. the room was brightly lit. i was drenched in white light. they guided me to an oversized rocking chair. the doctor, garbed in all white adorned a lamp of sorts on its head. all I could see was the Dr’s eyes.

i showed the Dr my flower power

armed with oversized tweezers, the removal of the flower revealed very short roots.

the succulent removal was trickier. the individual  leaves would pop and their juice would burn me.

the dr was very careful.

once all was removed

my wounds were treated.

at one point i thought the Dr might have been my mother.

but there was no vibe of judgement.

later, i saw that the Dr was a man.

with a mustache and a warm smile.

noone spoke.

( take in 2011. when i had way more hair )

 

 

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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Two Intense Natural Happenings

the month of march does me in each and every year. i use to fight it or make excuses for it. one year i decided to observe it rather than battle it and I concluded that what really really happens in march – is a long month of universal/earthly change. it’s the remarkable tension and tease of the shift from winter to spring. i feel the heavy pull of these two intense natural happenings with every part of me and it overwhelms me. for me that makes me anti-social, very crabby, indecisive, and uber internal. it makes me wear socks and eat popcorn. i crave sex and constant reassurance. i have chosen in recent years to embrace it. i sleep a LOT. i schedule lightly or not at all, and i find the love somehow in each day until that day. that one day when the earth shares with me that balance is once restored. i can’t explain it except to say that it’s something i feel and know. my internal feels its will, my external smiles and all appears on my face and in my heart. march is an awesome time to think, to write, it’s a creative mecca. it’s a terrific time to purge, cleanse, cuddle, knit, and read. oh just to read. i have begun to treasure the timelessness i now create in march.  sure I have triggers around me that will find and haunt me, and truth be I allow them to co-mingle a bit. a good cry or two or three. my past and I can occasionally meet, not to dwell. and only to let it go again. i consider march to be an emotional cleanse of sorts.

of the set, this shot is my fav.

below is from mr cowboy’s place

two becoming one

i made a calendar of them for him

( grin )

did i tell you i am moving in with him?

( bigger grin )

 

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Deeper Better And More

an artist friend shared: 

“Love a friend, love a wife, something, whatever you like, but one must love with a lofty and serious intimate sympathy, with strength, with intelligence, and one must always try to know deeper, better, and more.”
—Vincent van Gogh

if I come across a van gogh esque image i have taken …i will insert it here.

Promise Me

did  you know that i love the color blue

that i am an avid scratch cook.

i have a weakness for chocolate

and dairy

and wine

and kale

and homemade pico de gallo

and vintage door hinges and door knobs.

sunlight fuels my day

cloudly days fuel my fuck you

i work for myself

partly because noone will hire me

and partly because i excel at being my own boss

i struggle

so much.

i feel tired of worry

worry about what scares me

money

being alone

and i live this

steeped.

my day to day

is nothing but

this.

over and over.

i hate doing dishes.

living alone exaggerates this.

noone is here so who the f cares

i found my keys in the freezer this week.

i mow my own lawn

silver threads decor each and every corner of my home

i value safety

order.

calm.

i am gregarious

but introverted

painfully.

introspective

this is me.

the moon tonight rose slowly

it’s not quite full

but it will be

and i feel it.

always do

i love and hate my earthly connection.

intense

excited

vibrant

passionate

it rocks me.

yup.

i am here.

i am connected

do you know that i am here?

the moon

the stars

the dirt

the sun

each are pivitol

each are guiding

each speak to me

loudly.

i am here.

today i opened an etsy shop

for sale

today i was published in a state event magazine

today i hosted a workshop and it was a success

and while these things fill my day

and my moments

they are mine

alone.

honey.

how was your day

promise me

you’ll be here for me.

i am yours

i miss

this

i need.

promise me you will be here for me.

Oh Well.

it wasn’t a date 

it was an arrangement.

he was a complete stranger

there was a spontaneous curiosity.

he invited me to stop by

to sleep on his couch

and i said yes.

and then he said shit

ummmm.

i am clear i was more curious then he

yet.

he hugged me when i arrived

celebrated that we hadn’t missed the sunset.

he cleaned his home.

he cooked for me.

he had a play list of music

he thought i’d like.

wow.

this music play list especially touched me.

i loved the selections

each one made me smile.

a mood.

comfortable.

how thoughtful

day two.

i made him dinner this time

enough for the week

my gift.

homemade with my vibe.

more wine

a song played

this one made me cry.

just something about it rocked my world

he asked why

i love that he asked

i couldn’t stop looking at his lips

blurting

i asked him to kiss me.

one shouldn’t have to ask

he hesitated.

then said yes

all in the same breath.

shit.

he doesn’t really want to

his kissing was sweet and naive

he held on to me.

i felt hungry

he paused.

shit

this woman turns me on.

but …

the moment passed.

he declined

no.

can’t

not interested.

ugh

 

 

Storm Of Two

behold the bright crackle of.

its whip snip blast of light tears that small bit of sky in half.

following

shaded clouds rumble tumble.

a low roar of confused current

temperatures get wonky.

perplexed.

which is it?

we on?

we off?

the air is fresh

clean

smells

edible.

drinkable.

touchable.

i imagine

often

that the storm of

two.

a meeting

that’s

tormented.

palpable.

thick and wet with

senses

that

do what they do best

rain

on

my

skin.