dreams of Spring

January xx, 2021

I want white sparkly witch nails, and I want the following rings:

left ring: diamond
left middle: silver lion signet
left pointer: obsidian

right pointer: malachite
right middle: silver signet w/ the word “beetle”
right ring: eye

Such a cursed pair of hands!

Spring and Summer will be pastel greens, all kinds of greens, nails and rings,
Brigette Bardot hair, head scarves, tan and freckles, buff frog body.

moon mommy

Spring items I have: pink cardigan from Anthropology, salmon-colored genie-esque
pants and top, white, mint cami crop tops, strawberry socks, platform Tevas, gem
necklaces

/

the swamp

February 21, 2022

I feel once again at the precipice of a transformation.

Symbols have been slipping through the cracks of my consciousness for many moons, and my ideas are getting more fantastical and outlandish in a way that feels very 2016, when my consciousness was bulging with expansion against the restrictiveness of my religious paradigm. I’m still in a paradigm, and although this paradigm is much tidier of untruth, I feel in need of another cleansing. 

I desire strangeness, inspiration, creative powers, intensity of emotion, ecstatic dancing, ritual and orgiastic sex magic more than anything else, both as their own means and as a means to connection. 

The coolest existence I can currently imagine involves me buying an old academy-style building and turning it into an artist’s haven. I would love to create an aesthetic and spiritual movement something like Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test meets Sex Coven meets the Beat movement. I think I would accomplish my greatest life if I were able to be the founder and experiencer of  such an iconic thing. I think I have a unique and powerful spiritual outlook on life, as well as a magnetism and charisma that allures the kind of people I find sexy and inspiring. 

I would love to either buy such a building on my own and decorate it to my liking, or go in with a few different people whose artistic sensibilities complement mine. I feel like Constable and Femme’s love of psychedelia, mid-century, and kitsch complements my love of … whatever it is I like … I don’t know how I would describe my interior aesthetic or style. Bohemian witch meets Victoriana? Anyway, I think they merge naturally and in a beautiful way. 

I imagine the place as having a sizeable apartment on top with a stairway leading to the bottom floor(s), which have a dining hall, a disco, a soundproof dance room, a greenhouse, a large and cozy living room with a fireplace, and a few studios for artists to rent. I wouldn’t want it to be lavish in price, because expensive places tend to attract the worst of humanity.

Ideally the space could function as a venue or music and dance, as well as a social hall, mostly for a select few, but also as a business. I’d love to have weekly activities, like ecstatic dancing, film-watching, occasionally for a house party involving drugs (hehe), for ornate dinners with spiked wine in goblets, for reptile rooms! For collective euphoria! 

At the very least, even with no recognition, I would live out my days in creativity and openness in body and mind with loved and trusted friends. But if there were to be a movement, I could make good money that way and attract more diversity of experience and thought. 

The place could be called “The Swamp.” 

/

waxing sapphic-poetic

March 04, 2021

I’m euphoric.

I just spent an intimate afternoon with Dragon. We rollerbladed around Liberty Park—catching Eva and La Femme along the way, briefly—and then went to Blue Boutique and looked at lesbian sex toys.

When we got back, I got high and Dragon read me her prose. It was intoxicating. She has a sardonic, contemporary, graphic, and surreal style of writing that flows naturally from her. I have always admired her use of language to express her complex thoughts, but only recently became privy to the fact that she is a writer the night that she read me some of her poetry at LL’s house. I told her I was scared of physical intimacy because I couldn’t imagine that anyone would want to be touched by me, and she held me and said that anyone would be lucky to experience my touch.  Then we cuddled on the couch and I told her that my heart was racing, and she accepted me with my staggered breathing, and at the end of the night we ended up on the floor, both facing the ceiling, and she read me her poetry. 

She asked me to hold her again this evening, and I asked her how she wanted to be held, and she showed me. She put her head on my shoulder and put my arm around her and then synchronized her breath with mine. We talked about the magick of words and psycho-analyzed The Rooster (LOL—I love that we both love him so much and can roast him to each other, knowing that the other won’t respect him less after the conversation). She expressed that she feels a block with him in intimacy because part of her feels like sex is going to be expected and that if she lays down a boundary with him then he will abandon her as a friend. 

I told her that when I laid down a boundary about physical intimacy with him it showed me just how much he loved me unconditionally and how it increased our intimacy so much. Neither of us fears crossing an invisible line because the line is visible, and knowing where that line is opens up all the space we thought could be restricted but actually isn’t, like deep emotional intimacy and some physical intimacy, like cuddling and occasional kissing. I’m irritated with him right now because he treated me about my relationship with Esme, but he is as emotionally available as he can be, and he gives me so much love. I also am able to see clearly why he is acting the way he is and not get too wrapped up in what it means in terms of my worth. I guess I also do worry that if he has another woman in his life, he won’t want me as his friend. That is a valid concern because it has been the truth in the past, but that has since been proven to be untrue. Dragon told me that Rooster told her that if it came between his ex and me, he would choose me, no question. He’s still being a fucking bitch though, and it’s disappointing that I’m having to adjust my expectations about our emotional intimacy because he won’t hold space for my perspective. 

Dragon told me that she wanted to kiss me tonight but that she didn’t want to bring upon either of our lives the repercussions of acting from her pain. Things are unsettled with LL. I wasn’t ready for a kiss anyway, but the level of intimacy that came with her expressing that, and the subsequent euphoria, is still in my body. I love her so much. I would love to kiss her and experience her physical energy. I think it would be beautiful and true. When we were holding each other I could feel such oceanic passion from her towards me, and I was swimming in it completely naked. I think I am looking for that kind of openness and vulnerability with Constable and Femme, but it is so difficult for me because they have been married so long, and I feel like an imposter. It’s unfortunate that I have that wound, because they are emotionally available and love me, and I know the potential for their depth of love is deep and wide. And mine for them. I ultimately don’t want to be one in a pair anyway. I want to be one of a kind and experience other people’s “ness” in deep love without loss of self.

Constable told me last night that Femme presented the idea to him of posting about me—and thereby in a way coming out as both bisexual and polyamorous—on Instagram. I’ve been sitting with the idea since last night. I trust them enough and am confident enough in the idea that I want to be polyamorous, and I think I’d like to come out as well, as both bisexual and as polyamorous.

Ultimately, I feel deep magnetism with all genders, and I’m confident in that despite being insecure about the sexual expression of that. Magnetism is attraction, and sometimes it’s a given and sometimes it’s built over time, but it is unmistakable, and I definitely feel it for all kinds. I feel like any human I find physically beautiful who will go extremely deep with me, who will allow me to lay myself bare, I will fall in love with one way or another, who inspires me, ignites my sexual desire as well as the artist within me. I feel in a place in my relationships where I am truly deeply in love with the people in my life, with my mom, with Rooster, Jarrith, Dragon, and Constable and Femme (although these relationships are still developing). I think I can sense when people have the depth and breadth I desire, and it magnetizes me to them. If I find that that depth isn’t there, the attraction falls away. 

Truly my attraction to the Magician has faded to the dullest flame imaginable. I think he has intensely beautiful attributes and I understand why he lacks the depth that I wanted to experience in him, but I have accepted that he isn’t at that place and won’t be for perhaps many years. I won’t push him to love me when he still wants to destroy me, and I can feel that palpably from him. I trust my intuition. Some days I don’t, but my intuition is my god, and my faith in it is ultimately intrinsic to my existence and accessible at any point if I am still. What a beautiful thing.

And I am pressing forward with everything.  

Once Dragon figures out her feelings about polyamory, I’ll know how to approach the situation. I guess I really don’t want to access a level of intimacy with her that I can’t sustain. I don’t want to kiss her and fall in love with her and lose that connection because non-monogamy makes her feel unsafe (which would be completely fair). At the same time, I’d like to be able to just give space to the fact that greater or equal intimacy could one day come. I’d like to be able to trust my ability to grieve and relinquish expectations for the romantic and sexual positioning of intimacy between us at any point going forward so that I can just accept the possibilities of the present. 

I think I just realized I need to love someone to have good sex with them. At least consistently good sex. If a person knows me and I know them, and if we are merging our bodies, I need to love them in order to express anything juicy in my body and to know that I am giving as well as receiving. I don’t like to receive love that I can’t reciprocate. This afternoon at the park, Dragon and I hugged each other and said I love you. Dragon said “I’d like to think my love for you is unconditional,” and I said, “I’m sure it’s not,” and we laughed. 

I am blessed brightly. I receive inspiration from the universe in the form of words. Poetry comes as naturally to me as some people experience sex or dance. It is an inner drive for creation as intrinsic and undeniable as sexual reproduction. In Poppy’s words, I think it’s “inspiration driven by a practiced hand.” I know when something I write in poetry is alive and when it is dead. It also works with my ADHD brain (or whatever kind of brain you would call it) because I don’t sit and move from point A to point B. I write things as they come to me, and over a period of several months, I end up with a giant clusterfuck of ideas and symbols in the form of words, and I arrange them as they were meant to be, like a bouquet of poetry.

After I wrote The Magician and the Fool and I was able to recognize that process in retrospect, I could let some pressure off what I was doing “wrong” and “right” in terms of my logistical process and accept that I am a conduit and that poems will come because my mental and emotional worlds process themselves that way and have their own process already ingrained.

/

“v” words

July xx, 2021

violence
violets
veridian
vermouth

copper and amethyst

more time for observing spiders

/

another breakup!

July 13, 2021

I was ruminating on my divorce to the Magician and what a painful experience that was for me.
I was screaming at Carole and Papa and constantly crying, feeling intense loneliness, insanity, and betrayal.
I have to honor and remember what I’ve been through and give myself compassion.
Right now I feel angry and suspicious towards Constable, and resentful, and I don’t know why …

Much of it I’m sure comes from the recent breakup of the Triumvirate.
My desire to stay connected and feel validated overrode my resentment, pain, and anger at how Constable handled things.
He hasn’t taken any responsibility and hasn’t therefore tried to make any reparations.
I have been feeling so dismissed by him, and when we all fucked last night I felt angry and turned off by him.

I know he has a lot going on with his band, but it seems like he has enough energy to vibe with Femme.
It makes me not want to give a fuck.
He makes me feel taken for granted while also feeling controlled:
If his boundaries with sex involve me not having sex with other boys, I expect an added level of sensitivity for my sexual needs,
which involve feeling safe, cared for, and sought after EQUALLY.

I’ve just felt extremely irritable over the past week, and I can’t tell if and to what extent it’s due to:
the heat
the lack of solitude
an excess of labor
an unmet emotional need
an unmet physical need

Moving in with Constable and Femme is bringing a lot of fear to the forefront of my mind.

/

absinthe + crows

August xx, 2021

“For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face: Now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

— 1 Cor. 13:12

Little difference between a priestess and a poet, between sonnet and spell;
Little space between love and magick, heaven, hell

I awoke from my dark visions

my dark visions, which arrive in dreams every night,
my crows have began collecting beads

The crows are

Nobody knows that the crows
have collected beads from my mouth,

I keep thousands of magnolias
in my drawers, and I rock back
and forth on my horsey wooden
horsey watching them glow in there.

The crows have been moody
since collecting beads from outside the
asylum

They turned up a whole string of pearls
But I am seduced by the thought of beaks
stuffed with garnets

absinthian = cool word

In my kitchen I want an apothecary bar with botanicals and potion bottles, decanters,
and bottles full of sulfur and hallucinogenic herbs

a necklace made of crow beaks—emeralds inside of the beaks

/

seven of wands

August 5, 2021

“Let go of your doubts, say yes! Let it soak up into the flesh. Never had this kind of nutrition.”

— Robyn

Grief is psychedelic. Grief is pleasure.

Seven of Wands: Remain steadfast within. Take control in a situation, manage responsibilities, and succeed.

I feel hurt, undervalued, and resentful that no one in the Triumvirate is checking in to see how I’m doing.

Constable and Femme have both said and done things to me that have hurt and have not healed. They both do things that make me not trust them or their love for me. Sometimes I wonder about what kind of love I want or need, because the trademark monogamous marriage relationship that was taught to me my whole life is NOT it. But that means really anything else could go.

The love that I have felt most purely is the love I give myself, and the love from Carole and Papa. I have always trusted them and feel celebrated for my core self.

I don’t feel safe or celebrated as an emotional person by Constable or Femme. I wish that they were both a little more soft and squishy inside instead of prickly and unavailable. Constable is really harsh with himself and other people, and I don’t often feel tenderness from him. When I do it’s my favorite version of him.

Femme hasn’t been operating out of her emotions at all lately, and it makes me feel unwanted. In general with Femme I feel my emotions are unwanted because it’s just another emotional burden in addition to Constable’s. It sucks because most of who I am is emotion. That makes it impossible for me to attach.

Healthy attachment is really hard for me in this dynamic. I still don’t feel the confidence that we are a strong, weathered, trusting, uplifting team for each other or that they are going to even be in my life for another year. They feel like family in some ways, but that doesn’t mean the relationship is sustainable long-term.

I also fear, based on Constable essentially saying so, that he isn’t strong enough to hold my feelings, even ones that don’t have to do with him. He can hardly withstand his own.

That really shuts me down, because my intensity is something that I value very much, and I don’t share it with but a tiny select few who I want to know me. Basically it feels like Constable is saying he isn’t strong enough to know me fully, because me sharing what is really going on inside of me upsets him. It makes me feel so rejected to think that, although he says he wants to know me fully, the reality of that is actually not what he wants or is capable of.

That’s enough for tonight.

/

les deux femmes

August 20, 2021

Some items I want for the home: candelabras, lots of candles, Erlenmeyer flasks and chemistry equipment, rotary phones, typewriters, botanicals, taxidermy bats and butterflies, large lizard in the downstairs living room, a physical map of Laurel Manor, a collection of nightgowns

I am really fucking annoyed with La Femme. I’m to a point where I’m pretty checked out. She has a pathetic level of emotional intelligence and low levels of empathy. She seems annoyed by my emotional volatility, which makes me feel more insecure and volatile. Yesterday she essentially told me that I’m moody, and my anxiety causes her stress and frustration, and she “can’t take that on.” But most of my anxiety comes from the fact that she is emotionally unavailable. It gives me primal panic, so I desperately try and probe emotional feedback out of her.

She said she can’t be available to connect “all the time,” but I think she is pathologically in control mode—things to do and to fix—rather than connection mode. And that also affects her connectedness to Constable. I don’t need to be connected ALL THE TIME, but once a week IF she is first connected to Constable is straight up emotional neglect.

And for her to show up ready to connect only on her time and to then not acknowledge the anger and pain caused by that neglect, and to expect me to just be on board and grateful for what I can get, and then to frame my authentic response as “my emotional issues” is SUCH gaslighting bullshit.

Retreating isn’t my modus operandi, but if it comes between either not connecting as a result of retreating or feeling rejection and panic as a result of trying and then being told I’m “annoying” as a result, I’m going to choose to retreat every time.

/

multi-love housewarming

September 30, 2021

Since the sun moved into Libra on the Fall equinox, I have felt an emotionally palpable shift in my energy and a greater strength of mind.

Constable and I had a pretty big “fight” on the 22nd, after which I realized that much of my suffering comes from the deep and ever-present fear that I am going to lose both him and Femme. I withhold a lot of myself as an act of self-preservation.

I’m not sure what shifted within me, but I’m feeling much less of that fear and a lot more confidence in their love for me and my safety to express my love for them.

We had a housewarming party on Saturday, and it turned out perfect. We made hors d’oeuvre: caprese on toothpicks, bruschetta with goat cheese, potstickers, and a 4-layer strawberry cake I made with pastel orange icing, blue decorations, sprinkles, and green lettering that said, “MULTI-LOVE” in cursive.

We used all of our plates, utensils, and goblets. I also made a Fall sangria. People smoked a few joints under the tree in the backyard, and it was tender and exciting to see everyone enjoying and interacting with our space. The house looked incredible and still does. Everyone was titillated by the small details we put into the place.

Even the Magician came and stayed for four hours. All of my closest friends (other than Dragon) came.

I’m writing this next to the Constable right now while he makes art. I’m going to have a slice of toast and a cup of tea and maybe do some stretching.

Today was gentle.

/

c'est long et c'est court

Oct 30, 2021

You are cold and lifeless
You profess more love than you feel because you wish you could feel it
You want to fit in but you are incapable of authentically emoting
Your emotions are cringey like a forced orgasm

The passion with which you spew your bullshit is embarrassing.

Last night a funeral,
Today a new form;

Some moons the serpent,
Some sunrise the worm.

witch, burning

October 27, 2021

Today is Sylvia Plath’s birthday. One of my favorite poems of hers is called “Witch Burning.” In it she writes, “only the devil can eat the devil out.” Yummy.

I went to the Magician’s house last night. We smoked weed, had sex, ordered pizza and watched “Fight Club.” Then I went home because I was still pretty wired. Constable was in my bed and wanted to talk. I told him my ideal living situation would be to continue living at Laurel Manor and peacefully co-existing.

Oh, Magician gave me back all of my vinyls I left with him. I forgot how nostalgic my collection is: The XX, Fleet Foxes, The Shins, Flaming Lips. It reminds me of being a depressed junior in high school and fooling around with Mr. McGuire.

I think I’ll probably always be a hopeless romantic: emphasis on hopeless. Because I’m always soft of hoping for someone to appear who will ignite feelings of romantic love in me. But it rarely happens, and when it does I’m always disappointed by how small people actually are.

/

darling, since tuesday

October 10, 2021

Darling since Tuesday
I have left the censer
burning sandalwood in my chamber

I soak, in smoke
open my mouth and bowels
wide as shells
to replace your aroma.

I have left my body cold
and lumpy as slug meat
on the forest floor
I hear owls and bats
Making Music
but no longer hear your scary vampire whispers
in my mind’s dark.

I have retreated too far to track
Your fox I am
Fleeing farther each moment

Love is coming through my eyes
My magick is staying
Far from your corruption,
and dark sorcery.

I am walking,
naked, and pimply from the clammy air.

“When I was a child running in the night
Afraid of what might be
Hiding in the dark, hiding in the street
And of what was following me

Now hounds of love are hunting
I’ve always been a coward
And I don’t know what’s good for me.”

— Kate Bush

Limes glisten like raindew

The love in my heart has given me a powerful imagination
and an instinct for merging

The last man I fucked was disturbed and confused at the end
He didn’t mean his art
He doesn’t know that the act of pentration is

vampire
spider-bite
vulnerable

They think I am dark and scary
And this is what makes them cowards.

Does the mirthful moon pull the sea?

observant, mirthful,
tender, juicy, scathing . . .

I burned the letters, both written and unwritten, delivered or undelivered

and replaced them with playful abstraction;

I have packed up my crocodilian inventions
My masks and glamours also
stuffed every last scroll and crumb in my mouth
my face a magical purse

Are you delighted and disturbed
By images and words
Every word has a sound
and Every sound is a bird.

Evil is afoot.
I fill my brain with poetry to the point of pouring
to replenish the space where once your sexy art

Magician,
You naughty destroyer of love
Breaker of bonds,
Ornamented in your freshly-dewed fronds

The mad and violent magician raises his pink potion to the stars
Hurrah for war!

I have powerful limbs for climbing
high cliffs to evade his need

But I’m so tired
And he finds me every time.

/

poppies

November 29, 2021

When will begin my period" . . . ?
I feel deep loneliness, outsiderness, and rejection all the time in this house.

I don’t feel like acting, or putting effort into other humans. I also feel like no one is experiencing the level
of loneliness that I am.

Connection feels like a miracle to me, and it seems like a given for other people. But that must not be the case,
because most art comes from people yearning for an ache to be soothed.

Prince Charming visited this weekend. It was lovely to see him. We fucked a couple of times. It was great during parts
and disappointing in others. I never came.

He is a good man when all is said and done, and a nice friend for the level of intimacy we have, so I should acknowledge
that deep levels of loneliness and horniness are influencing this diary entry, but I feel horrified that no one is fucking
me like I want to be fucked.

Both Prince Charming and The Constable have actually verbalized to me that they are “afraid that they can’t fuck me like
I need to be fucked,” Prince most recently in the last few days and the Constable on more than one occasion.

I need a whole day to be properly fucked. I want to channel moon energy and fuck below the moon.

I wish Baby had more imagination.

The blackbirds nibble at the poppies
I clean my my nipples with alcohol
and feed Baby
We continue walking

All my poetry is lonely and horny.

Poppies

I didn’t get to see your full nakedness
the evening you visited for the blood moon;
We baked blackbird pie in the glow.

This went on for hours.

Your drippy visions are a string of dark pearls around my neck.

I’m scared that I’m romantically primarily attracted to women and sexually more comfortable with men. In any case good sex is hard to find.

to the lover of my dreams:

thank you for loving my poetry, playing with me, fucking me on the summer earth beneath a canopy of trees,
until I cry
for making love and writing poetry

do mushrooms
write poems
make love

eat, drink, and be merry
for tomorrow we die

I am stuck, for now
stuck, for now

I am lonely
so so so so lonely.

no man reads me poems to lull me to sleep
as the Moon has always done for me.

I feel relief when they have left my room . . .
I feel jealous and needy at the thought
of the Moon going off to entertain other guests

The day is long and the sun ages me.
I am catatonic until the night finally falls.

You are afraid to be alone
The hole,
needs to be fed.
The blackbirds feed on the poppies

moon maker
moon maker
moon-maker

/

emma

December 28, 2021

I’m dying to express myself sexually.

I miss Emma’s sexuality more than anyone else I’ve been with. It’s a part of me inside that I want to express. I don’t want to be her sexual counterpart—that would actually mute the parts of me that I love in her—but her jealousy, madness, and devoted nurturing resonate in me.

I want to throw a tantrum, clutch someone tightly against me and whisper lovely things and then scream and demand to be held. Then let go and sleep and wake intermittently with bits of my nakedness touching theirs.

Maybe I haven’t been needing an emotional connection so much as I need an adequate space to be erotic. But I feel the potential in me for romance and sexual desire to coalesce, but no one comes close to being that space for me.

I want to fuck a bunch of basic dudes and curse them with my memory.

I start my period tomorrow.

To Do:

• Find a home for Sibyl

• Send Everett a pink marble

• Find a temporary home for my cherished pieces of furniture and my library

• Create an optimally comfortable bed chamber for Momo

To injure with a long sword you have to wield your strike through steady momentum

/

the triumvirate (blue christmas)

December 29, 2021

Feeling incredibly lonely.

I’m at mom’s and find myself thrust into a no-longer-familiar family dynamic that is often toxic and too loud for my sensitivities, but also often tender and safe and supportive. Still I feel like I don’t fit. I miss them but I don’t get enough time. I want to just be grateful right now, but fear is ruling me. But at the same time I feel my life force building.

One lovely thing has been the time I’ve had with Everett. She has been my shadow, and is compassionate, bright, gentle, precocious, curious, adventurous, brave, force of energy. She keep rummaging through my magic items: a green marble, Wolf’s ponytail, a YES/NO coin, etc. She said she loves the marble so much and is storing it in her imagination. I want to protect her light.

I’m grieving the Constable, La Femme, and the children. This forceful loneliness.

It’s hard for me to figure out why my family makes me so sad. In a lot of ways I feel the sorrow of knowing they can’t go where I feel I have to go in order to be true to myself. Hard to be more descript in what I mean by that without being inaccurate.

What I want most is to have a romantic, spiritual, creative life partnership with someone who is an artist, who is loyal, true, devoted to me, fluid and adventurous spiritually. And ideally sexually unhinged like I imagine Frank Zappa would be.

I am also feeling deep, subconscious, unactualized romance and sexuality within me, and I really want to experience it in full effect. It’s hard to find someone worthy to receive this.

But I think I’ve accepted that I’m going to have to un-attach. It’s what is best for me, from the triumvirate. It’s completely against my best interest to entertain fantasies.

The best case scenario would involve settling down wherever Constable and Femme want to raise their children. I’d have to co-parent with La Femme, and I don’t trust her to know what she actually needs from me versus what she wants herself to want. The Constable would constantly be emotionally manipulating me into a One Penis Policy. Not to mention the impossibility of gaining any trust with both of them. I have to let go of control and follow my life force. I know the sacrifice will bring me the love I’m worthy of.

It’s too bad it wasn’t right, because it was beautiful.

“You have seaweed between your fingers, lips and legs.
Amphibious, androgynous
98 percent water”

— Jenny Hval, "Amphibious, Androgynous"

My handwriting is inconsistent lately. I think I’m entering a new era again.

I was born to love and write, and I usually feel like they are at odds with each other, but with the Constable that we fed each other in this way. This time it was love and dignity that were at odds with each other.

It’s okay. It has to be. I am a fast mover, fast learner.

I don’t want to be stuck doing the same ancestral patterns on a horrifying karmic wheel. I want to destroy those on impact, which I’m proud of myself for keeping as a goal.

“My heartbreak is too sentimental for you ...”

— Jenny Hval

Jenny Hval, Mary Oliver, classical music, Kanye’s gospel shit, Leonard Cohen, all inspire me, and especially the first two.

/

seduction of the will

December 30, 2021

My handwriting is jagged as rocks.

I’m hurting a lot today, but I’m also romanticizing it enough to make it hurt less.

Learned jealousy makes it impossible for me to show true love—which to me includes the love, sexual and non-sexual, of another’s body. Why are bodies propriety?

“I am afraid to own a body.
I am afraid to own a soul:
Profound, precarious property,
Possession not optional.”

— Emily Dickinson

What am I to do with this soft, animal machine?

Constantly leaping out like a naive lover into the realm of other bodies, desperate to give myself away. Heinous that my feathered limbs should land upon a blighted bough, always.

Shitty, that the touch of my wrapping could fill me with such elation, when an elegant and gentle, wise and worshipping hand is beyond discovery.

I’m angry at my body for wanting what it wants and ailing all the time while it longs. I would miss the beginning of tears at small moments of tenderness by those special angels whose drives take them to nurturing.

One fingertip touches my softness, and I am wrought with elation, and immediate grief for the inevitable storied process of love and loss, peak and pit.

Does death destroy a curse? If this body is cursed to want to hold another body, will the next vessel remember the story?

When I was a crow, what did I bring to the nest in my beak?

Honestly though, lately I feel betrayed by body—for being so sensitive, and so soft. Incapable of discernment where love is involved.

I just feel too much to process.

My eye is a magic portal.
It can create and destroy worlds, as well as
PERCEIVE them,
RAISE them,

and MANIPULATE them.

Seduction is beyond sex—it is the manipulation of the libido to drive toward one’s will.

Please hold me safely, gently, like a magic book,
an artifact,
a wound, because I am.

/

dreams of LA

December 31, 2021

My life is cursed, and tonight I’m feeling a special acceptance—even gratitude—for the fact that it has the pitfall of chaos rather than the pitfall of stagnation or imprisonment of the mind.

This whole situation with the Constable and La Femme continues to reveal to me the cursed constraints of the human mind, which are rooted in fear-based attachments. I can’t be the arbiter for another person’s decision, but with the data I have and the creature I am, I don’t understand how they could fulfill each other’s deepest need, nor mine.

Lately I’ve been feeling intensely motivated toward an Airsteam/nomadic project. I think it would nourish many of the parts of myself that are deeply individual and powerful, the whole of which desires paradigm-shifting growth and testing of the fundamentals of my environment, the part of me that craves the aesthetic and sensual experience of the ocean, the desert, the West. And the part that wants to be close to the center of history with writing and counterculture and art and the 60s-70s. I have felt drawn to all of this for awhile.

I also crave the emotional, aesthetic, vibrant creature I could become in a place with more possibility and sun and water. To be able to sit alone on the ocean and write, to start a potential new permanence in a place with historical and artistic energy.

I also think the anonymity and the process of knowing everyone I meet in the storied newness of myself will yield information to me about myself that I’d LOVE and have really always been dying to know. Because I’d thrive as my hippie goddess self, an iconoclast and healer and intellectual and artist and pot of gold in a space with sooo much energetic tension and with so many people cut from a similar cloth.

My powers are my gaze, my words, my sexual energy, love, intuition, mental capacity to see both sides of any situation—the scales!

/