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.

 

 

 

 

Keep It In Your Pants

sex with me

is private.

it’s a gift i give

by my choosing.

it’s the best part of me

that many, yet really very few, have had.

yes there are the lovers, the fucks, the strangers, the husbands, the “mr’s”

many.

who knows what any of them might say about

what it’s like to be with me.

i am complicated

i became more and more complicated as i got older.

in my about here at my blog i say,

as long as the covers are on

the lights are out

or when passion has nudity become a remarkable blur.

i say it that way for a reason.

because i am more self conscious than i can even begin to say.

when chemistry occurs

or if someone will have me

or when i trust

or when i feel like i can

i let my hair down

i get hungry

i get vulnerable.

i get gullible

i am a sucker for compliments

and kisses.

i am a sucker for a hint of interest.

i am not an obvious sexual creature

more so, i am a surprise of a lover

under the covers. in private.

when my work here began.

my nude work

my art.

i was not prepared for the sexual piece of it.

and,

when men do what they do

or can do.

i was horrified.

for a very very long while though i did not know or understand why.

turns out

quite a few sexual things are TRIGGERS for me.

triggers to a past.

age 17 past.

age 17 trauma.

cum

oral sex

and your dick.

are things I don’t really want to see.

in private, with permission, in a relatedness.

I feel differently

but casually?

as casual, as dick pics and such are?

um. no.

please don’t send me that shit.

i am a big girl

i do not curl up and go fetal in distress

if someone sends me these things.

but I do get rattled

especially since the beginning of 2018

I get rattled even more.

do you really want to rattle me?

For those men who are on Flickr?

i can not control a man’s pervy feed

but don’t expect me to be aroused by it

far far from it.

this reaction is MY problem.

My boundary.

my past.

my stuff to get to the other side of.

I mention this today because seemingly dick pic sharing happens in waves

and in very recent times

WAY TOO many of you have shared dick pictures with me.

you’ve sent images without even asking if it’s OK.

Lesson number one.

Ask a ladies permission.

Don’t send me that shit.

got questions?

ask me.

years ago?? 2008?

All of this was very new to me.

while naive

i was somehow more playful.

Now?

i am not.

broken.

have respect for fuck sake.

 

 

 

 

 

We Depend On It

here we go

i was without power this morning

i was reworking an artist statement for an art call so that worked to my advantage

no distractions,

at least until the battery ran out on my lap top.

universe. don’t fail me now. this computer is my lifeline.

I couldn’t cook, or do laundry or use the elevator or do other electricity dependent things.  ( wink )

once the electricity was back

FB and IG was all ( and still is ) all wiggy

The entire world is experiencing an imageless problematic FB

the WORLD!!

I admit – I don’t really know how to do things in my life — without it. which in itself, when you actually think about it. FB, my lap-top and wi-fi are my game — they are how i do my gig.

it’s a long summer holiday weekend.

i have layers on. + socks. yup. socks!

it’s super empty fridge club

like. seriously seriously eeking it.

if i can get 3 days out of what’s left

i will have made this month work for me.

it will be an accomplishment.

the eggs are gone. one more serving of cashew butter

but there are multiple meals out of what IS left.

that’s what matters.

i realize how i do my life is really unusual or hard to understand for some.

pretty sure in comparison

not many of you have faced some of my personal strife.

i still have my wits about me. what is left of my beloved personal belongings plus a very  safe, private haven that I call my home. my city studio.  I have a vehicle that makes me feel like a queen. she needs front brake work, but we are not in crisis. i repeat. not a crisis. simply a pricey thing on the to do list.  hopefully by the fall i can get that cash together.

i was thinking about the first summer of my first divorce. bear with me. this is a loaded memory — Kids were age 6 and 9. i moved them from what they knew to a community that i felt was better for them school wise. and to this day – my decision to do that really really paid off.  They had such a dynamic academic upbringing because of it. I was however in WAY over my head. I tried to go back to waitressing. and perhaps i shared this before – my work resume isn’t particularly profound. i was a super sucky student, waitress, wife, mom, single mom, momentary waitress, entrepreneur, wife again,single, empty nest artist. that’s me in a nut shell. when i was a single mom and scrambling for work. the details of managing kids, schedules, after school care, runny noses etc about did me in. Gotta love my boss. I still see his face when i said to him. I do not know how to be your loyal employee and be the mom i must be all in the same breath. I will choose them before I choose a shift at work. If they need me – I’m there. He didn’t like hearing that but he said – I value your honesty. I wish things were better for you. You will probably not make it here. I was not fired thankfully. Eventually my hands gave out on me. I had to leave that work for medical reasons.

So then, we all have a summer that is pending. Our first as a divorced family. Summer to a now single working mom means a solid 12 weeks of kids at home. TWELVE WEEKS. Can you say shoot me now?? I reached out to said ex to discuss summer and co-parenting. He tells me – i don’t do additional parenting. I work. he said. ( as if i didn’t – the asshat of a fuckwad ) it was the way he said it. so so so so very arrogant. not the first time he said it either.  The man took a summer vacation each year. he mooched that vacation off of his parents. and he did that during our married years. and he did that for all those years following. two weeks. The REST was up to me. period. My attorney failed me there. I’ll say that. I did take 10% of every single dollar I ever made moving forward into what I called the summer envelope.  I provided the best summers ever to those two for 15 years!!  I did that and I managed a fees, and supplies, and hair cuts and new shoes for back to school envelope. That man not once offered to help financially. ALL of it was on me. Do you have any idea how expensive summer is? or back to school?? Did I mention that he got his income down to poverty ( on purpose ) so that he only had to pay support on that dollar amount. 25% of poverty isn’t a whole lot of child support.  I don’t regret what I was able to provide for them. I did it. I did it on my own. I found a way. I loved it. But sometimes it just wasn’t easy. I lost a good chunk of myself during those times. I forgot to provide summer for myself. To this day I don’t think i really have fun anymore.

The other thing on my mind is how many millions of times I moved during this long summer weekend — grateful of course for long weekends and all but memory spiraling as all get. 2 years ago, by the skin of my teeth — i left country studio. the loft story began a new chapter in apartment security hell. that was the most odd space i’ve ever lived in – does anyone even care about these damn stories of mine??

i love these as visual essay. memory provoking – cement floors, dirty feet, weird light, 4 ft by 10 ft screens, and mirrors by the bed. not an ounce of sex graced these living spaces friends. natta none no sex

i will also say – all of this, and what i got to the other side of had not hit me yet.  NOT like last summer did. not over the head. broken. not like where did i go hit me …

 

Things June 2013

fun to go down that memory lane thing

summer

flowers

full moon

masturbation

and dresses that the light passes through.

my breasts were deflated here. flatter. bigger. definitely bigger than before

the one of me standing in the doorway

back facing in. i love the crooked band on my back.

i love my hair.

and that light through my legs

i admit. pretty hot

that image was used in my online dating profile at the time.

i am laughing as i remember the date i had that month

the dude with the wad of banana bubble gum in his mouth

he was making saliva after a dentist appointment i guess

talk about having nothing in common.

i forget what mr name i gave that one

summer solstice.

a time to honor our mother earth

to open our container or vessel and fill it with her light.

fill our selves with her light.

if only you could see the sunset right now.

 

Classic And Blurry

I spent the weekend in the blur of some technique research.

that rabbit hole thing that is know as “google it.”

yesterday i noticed there was some rare traffic at my blog from over the weekend.

thank you, thank you very much for being here with me. 

if you ever feel like letting me know you are around. I’d value that too!!

it’s nice to know who you are

YEARS ago I was a scrapbooker. A nice way to memorialize family photos. I completed 15 albums.  I dismantled a life time of photographs that had been in basic albums from the drug store.  Very organized. I super regret doing that now. The dismantling all part.  They are not all in a row any longer. If you think of a life time of photographs. printed, the old fashioned film sort. it’s a task to have them available to view. a monumental task. then digital happened. and it got confusing.

I disliked the digital album making immensely.

what i disliked about scrapbooking is that it was a huge consumer driven model of making. buy. buy. buy. the more one got involved the more one could buy. there were folks who turned entire rooms into making spaces for this expression. the volume of made in china supplies were stored in custom designed closets. or in plastic bins with cute matchy matchy tags. I found this all rather horrifying. upsetting actually.  I didn’t realize then that those who knit, or batik, or quilt or whatever craft they got themselves into were equally devoted to having all the stuff. so much stuff. so many tools. so much purchasing. a hoarding of sorts.

i also disliked how conforming the making could be. perhaps it was by design to have all who participate be successful at it. i sortof get that. it’s just that everyone’s scrapbook essentially looked the same. cookie cutter.

perhaps you get by now that i am the least conforming person on the planet. my personal mission back then was to spend as little money as possible. and to have my pages look different then others. Scrapbooking was my beginnings in learning to crop photography. I got very good at it. AND my pages did look quite unique.

you then get into the very very fine lines of making that is craft. vs making that is art.

THAT was the rabbit hole I found myself in over the weekend. the crafters.

in my drawer i had three bottles of alcohol inks. someone gave them to me. she said, you will love these. back then there wasn’t the google monster to get lost in with tutorials. (speaking of — those crafter people all have fancy ways of videotaping themselves making. when did that happen??? Its like being on a different planet ) after watching a few – the very very last thing i want to do is master this medium. who knew. or many other from the craft store buy me now supply.

I could actually expound on this topic a lot further.

but i won’t.

my point is i took a break from how i normally do weekend to do some research.

i did find quite a bit of helpful or idea inspiration.

i just have to find my own way with those now.

Something also occurred to me.

like knocked me over the head actually.

this blog has always been image sharing from yesterdays images.

it’s hard to explain.

right now it’s the month of june.

i normally would search images from june of 2018 for here. ( a year gone by )

and share imagery from june 2017 for flickr.

I’d  use those images to tell stories.

either stories of current thoughts

or stories prompted by those images.

i stopped doing that in 2019.

I have gone done memory lane image wise occasionally

but not by process for most posts.

i hope you get what i mean.

ALL that said

posting in real time

parallel to my day to day struggles

has left me with a feeling of vulnerability.

a very very different exposure

I have been trying to understand how raw it’s felt lately to be here.

it’s because of the way I am sharing.

is this a good idea or not??

I am not sure.

I think the experiment is worth continuing

i just wondered what you feel you’ve been part of lately.

is the tone different for you too??

( the bathroom has a pocket door. it and above my bed are the only blank wall or such space in my city studio. i try and capture with as little things of my life distraction as possible but when you live so small. under 300 square feet – it’s hard to do that. i had not thought to use this door as a space for a backround until now. i will have to see when the light actually gets over there. )

 

Dreams

sometimes “parent” days

affectionately known as mother and fathers day

can slip by like any other forced march

thing. 

don’t get me wrong.

the sentiment of mom and dad

is a wonderful wonderful thing.

i am all for it.

i love that you love your parents.

i just don’t personally know it.

i didn’t get to.

sometimes,

the subconscious mind offers a reveal.

i don’t know where this dream is coming from

but i have had it several times now.

the dream is a slow motion over and over sharing of my mother shoving me out of her bed. sometimes with her hands, sometimes with both her hands and her feet.

that’s almost nightmare-ish

repeatedly as a little girl I use to try and crawl in for a cuddle with my mom.

she never allowed it.

sometimes my trying just pissed her off.

i remember what it felt like when she pushed me away.

i mean, if you recall i am the child that went back into the womb.

so, there is that.

both my parents were devoted sleepers.

they could nap like no one else i know.

my father especially.

i can sport a good nap myself

and, sleeping in sometimes

oh sleeping in is absolutely delicious.

i didn’t crawl in with her in the middle of the night.

the hug i seemed to have wanted was needed in the early morning.

i didn’t want to sleep with her

I WANTED A HUG.

maybe she simply didn’t want to be disturbed while sleeping

maybe her pushing me away meant nothing.

maybe it’s this book i am reading.

a woman is articulating her years of therapy

and her depression.

i may have spiraled a time or two

i might be doing the anxious dance from time to time

and sure as fuck,  i am quirky as one can get

but in comparison?

nothing can compare.

i admire the shit out of this woman

oddly.

i have never met her.

her book and her as a persona

are NOT what i expected.

i am enjoying her story.

her despair is positively hilarious.

she uses humor, I think, to cope.

i probably have expressed it here before.

i don’t love either of my parents.

it’s not even lost love.

i remember my mother trying to be my friend during puberty and early dating.

like she all of a sudden became emotionally available.

i also knew better and felt suspicious.

imagine being 14 and not emotionally trusting your mother.

i trusted that.

later i would come to know she was reading my journals.

she read about

my first boyfriend

my first lots of things

how much i loved being fingered.

oh …but,

that first time being fingered

so worth writing about.

right??

maybe it’s because my cat needs to suckle

every time she does i feel impatient.

are you done yet?

the dream

is perhaps sorting why.

i want her ( my cat ) to be happy with me.

oddly, she does not sleep with me.

she does not knead my chest and or meow in my face

at 4 am either.

which is probably a good thing

because if she did,  i’d most likely toss her across the room.

maybe i am more like my mother than i thought?

maybe its about wanting to sleep

i am working on learning more on why she bites me.

i think it may her asserting territory.

my living space is small.

just by paying attention the patterns are finding their way.

i pulled some images from last may.

more shadow play

i started wearing my grandmother’s bracelets a year ago

glad i did that.