Uneventful Yet Lovely

my birthday was rather uneventful. mostly self realized. yet lovely.  the right people made the right gestures. as did some folks I never hear from. which I think is rather nice.

i asked for things i wouldn’t normally buy for myself, and got a few of them. enough to feel an indulgence. all in all. it was a very nice day. i got myself a piece of mocha chocolate cake that had me moaning – that’s the purpose of a good piece of cake. yes? . i was gifted a volume of onions and garlic that had me decide to make myself a french onion soup. good bread, cheese and wine must accompany. I got a local cheese and bread. I wish i could do that more often. Buy from food artisans. Alas. Not on my budget.

I invited a few to share in this bday meal with me, but after the third no. I gave up. Not because folks have other plans on a week night. More so. I didn’t feel like the kerplunk of another no was very celebratory.

a few birthday wishes from here found me. thank you for that.

there was the good company of my cat.

some of you don’t really give a shit about my cat.

but that’s your problem.

she’s been a source of a lot of laughter for me

and more cuddles than i’ve known from a human in some time.

she smells good and vibrates.

i am tired.

sometimes that tired

takes me to numb.


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


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


it happened over and over

for months.

it got to the point where i said


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.


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.


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.


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”


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.


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.


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.


i am not.


have respect for fuck sake.






Things June 2013

fun to go down that memory lane thing



full moon


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.


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.


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.


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.





I Can Feel It

one can literally feel the holiday weekend vibe,

the wanting for time off

extra time

its like folks have checked out of this entire week 

not much happening here

just i, myself and me.

long list of art making

i have a day trek by myself on saturday.

asked way too many to come along

folks are busy.

always busy. 

below — a year ago. not much nudity.  i was frustrated because i had finally met mr montana — and after that long wait and weird meet, there was no real follow up. he had a great time when we met speaking for hours about anal sex, he at least told me that. when i did hear back he was busy he said. if he was disinterested, why not say so. i don’t get it. 

i am good, so they say,  at turning day to day into a visual narrative. one thing i have observed. i gravitate towards the same day to day. my safety. my sense of order. my ordinary. this collection of dishes was for a baked pasta dish of sorts. i love the blast of the blue bowl.

did i tell you i no longer eat cheese or have half and half. have not had them since 5/9  sigh/  i thought i might die without those things. but, i am just out of my mind bored. my food life at the moment is way too regimented

two years ago. i was packing. things were pretty grim because i had no place to go. i was researching living out of my car. try that idea on sometime. i do remember the yellow of that tree. three of them on that property. they were intoxicating. spring bright.





i know that i am getting older

things change with that aging thing.

i speak/write to it often here.

i had not really and truly observed

how very silver threaded this all is.

but there you have it.

silver through and through.

love those few elder longer threads.

over the weekend,

i had not quite gotten to putting on my pants.

i realize it’s monday.

we just did weekend.


i am in the mood for more

there is a holiday weekend approaching

the first of the warmer weather

i just like the idea of

an extra day off

long weekends

feel delicious.