steps

step one: go in the kitchen and get a cup of coffee
710pm

step two: sip on coffee

step three: while sipping on coffee imagine that from your heart/chest you are releasing everything bad that has ever happened to you

step four: free write


even as i stand in my lair . wet and full of equipment.
i hold one sword above my head with both hands waiting to swipe and pound down on anytone who comes down the steps
this in not okay. upsatirs there are many ladies there . ladies in waiting . waiting to be taken to the dungeon. waiting for me. waiting for me to slay them.
it's not fair.
they don't really know.
i told them it was all care bears and gummy clouds.

they are children.
theya re waiitng.
fro the death
and
death seemed like so much fun.

a hope and a bead.
of sweat,
wraps slithers down around my waist, leg, ankle, inbetween my toes
hits the ground
turns the ground into ice
i freeze
hold still
arsm still raised and under arms bare to be seen
up the steps freezes

and around the corner slams the door shut with a cold whip of frost

the children. the ladies. watch silently, as a blood thirsty chill rise up in them.
they run away.
it is daylight now.
it is warm enough to walk outside and they run to the fields and lay ont he ground and embrace the sun and smush their faces in the dirty dusty dirt

never looking back
now able to see how good it feels to be lit up by this celestial fire.

and ravage the earth therafter, free.

if i died they'd be dead, if i lived, they'd be dead.

so i lay in out of motion dressed in isa


my gourd my gorge
my LORD
where
in this abyssmal celbritude do i lay?
where is my picture?
is this the kind of freedome i wanted always to staring at myself in insecurity?
or is this massive security enough to breathe?
no, i dont think i can when i'm this cold when my lungs are no longer wet but our solid


in the future, i imagine,
I imagine
beautiful flowers and children and I am one of them. we wear glossy flowers on our heads that fall off and become stickered to the floor and the sun eevry now and then bends down to kiss our foreheads
at night the grass wraps our arms around each other



my only lover might be earth
my only mother might be sun
my only brother might be water
my only self might be the sky
the sssss
kkkkkk
eyyeeeee

damn breath.

what must fade falls in place

honestly october
december is where it's at

let's look at some solstice history!

(broken heart but not anything. not broken. nothing. such happiness. in ...)

texas!
oh nevermind


bruma bruma bruma
brooja linweed
single pattern fake father
listen

they said that when
when
oh when

i guess i'll try

death winter scales IM A SNAKE

to my friend will:

it would be easy to talk to you
but your face looks like a monster in my memory
it's not even you
i'm not myself

you're a memory

i wish i could talk to you, but  there is nothing
nothing inside my chest
no fire
no wind
just some coals


there is however something in my belly
that burns blue light

i don't know what it is

and when i open my mouth
i feel inescapable air
throat implodes on itself
i have nothing to say

but i wish we could talk

there would just be nothing to say

because nothing happened
and there is no fertile ground for understanding
when i walk across
it dips into the soil

mellowness

white mallowness

no form

nothing

my breath for you is gone, as if it never was
and winter frozen words

die

perhaps to be reborn in spring

until then
only the slump of a fading sorrow, that screams
NOTHING
at least not enough to breathe

if feelings could speak they'd say nothing
because they are made of nothing
and one cannot hold up something so ethereal
as an invisible FUCK YOU
with no front nor back
no sides
its form conforms to too many thinkings
and loses reality
there are no words

and these swords are made of dreams
so even as they are sinking never appeared
to be
much like this whispy weather anyhow

frilly stain

frilly stain: it's okay
frilly white, nO, stained white- under-shirt, dress, ballerina wrapped lacey nightgown covering a ball of red fabric, covering a ball of indeterminable size and texture.
and they hold it in them arms, with their fingers clasped.
i mean it.
broken fingers backwards on conrete, winter dry skin itch, cracked lips....
i can't hardly open wide.
meadowy music in lime green light comes through the window of white/cold/branches. and makes stale the air, in such sharp contrast, with the mundane acts that come and go through the apartment.
nothing is happening.
freeze. _________. FReeZe. I SAID FUCKING FREEZE.
goddamn professional asshole. professional hole-in-the-heart/hole-in-the-head/in one, that breaks when it falls. lotsa tiny pieces. sugar crack fairy.
the pencil lays very still. it is long, and placed parrallel to the edge of the chair/desk/screen. i play with it. with my mind. it moves. it rolls off. it falls. makes a sound. this is enjoyable to me. i pick up the pencil and place it on the chair/desk/screen again so it is parallel to the edge but doesn't roll off. i use my mind to do that. it falls off. i do it again.

Text: is so texture screams VANITY screams.
just screams. indistinguishable sounds. creatures scratching at the inside bones that face yer organs. crawl up against yr lungs and beg for forgiveness. NO NO NO.
just stay the fuck put away.
here's some water. yeah i'll feed you in the evening. we can go out for a walk later. and you better shit this time, i don't want to see that crap inside again.
Text: is the blessed divine watering of these fingers. self-heal-all kind of water that in its flow outward, creates a flow inward. like making string and singing.
breathe in and you breathe out. it's all the same.

Please. Believe me. When I say how bad I need you to forgive yourself.
How bad I need you to see yourself as I see you. ALL BEATIFUL.
NO UGLY.
How badly I need you to bare yr soul for everyone to see.
No mark can cause shame.
even lies now, i understand a bit better. a bit. for this beggar.

i beg you.

it would help me so much. to see you shiny.

like running through cracking and flaking off shingles of reality visually fielded
in multi-color glow.
so thick and colloidal. so burdensome on my chest.
with every shame and embarassment you feel, another layer of mica is added on. and ya it's all shiny opalescent and see-through. but after so many layers.. it cleaves so deeply. rough cut.

it's okay.
i mean it.
she takes the red ball and holds it close to her chest.
she licks the red ball, and the fabric falls to the ground.
it is hollow and made of cardboard.
not so smooth or rough.
and she holds it to her chest.
hoping it will scratch something inside
said, frilly coffee-stained white, so solidly

look here
i will shut you out of my life
because you don't have time for me


lookee here
i'm afraid of you
if i hand you flowers, will you witht he other hand chain my wrists?

it's like. i hate you. but you're my mother, and i also have this innate need to be near you.

what does it take?

i really upset my mom today

OPPiio

what not a sign time and in chimes

wat frog you got der?

what a little froggy.

it is cold and lonely there.

dark and i don't want to go home.

but inside my pockets

a picket line

of white south africa

laughing on the bed

in HIS room

cause we are all male

made is HIS image

jesus was an anarchist

mega churches make me tighten my abdomen in fear

i like basements & wine

no one really knows how to believe that maybe just maybe

there is something

and maybe you won't ever get it

but there is goodness

and well-intentioned words and syllables

can't always get thrown away

Im in love.

i can feel it.

nothing can harm me.

im  golden fairy.

i fly and im dirty.

it;s okay a little birdie told me

one of these days

rain away yer eyes out

i love you so much

i dont even know you

we all have issues

like running rolling toilet paper

maybe it was just a misunderstanding

your war that finger on my nose

im not just a wizard.

im not just sad.

i'm an angel.

i'm not just angry,

i'm not just crass.

this blood is mine ya know

i'm a golden fairy

ya kno

poem from 2008

if hard and soft are both concrete
i would rather be between
that there perhaps, elastic uncertainty
a mushy mixture
chaotic rest
coagulation
of the non-exist
i love it
me, us, ours, mine
three, four, four, five
sufferring aching pride
choice upon choice upons sands of choice
moist     carefull    full    let --
All surround
My self
my selfish, self-nurtured ego--
shell, unbounded hell
hell, caked below waves
bouncing jelly paves of ways
orificing out & through
between me and you and he and me and you

to lucy and lazers

a least there is that.

a hat for me hanging on the coat rack when i come home, take my shoes off, and enatly tuck them away into the corner next to the others.

push the shoes up against the wall... covers up the cat litter container with my urine in it from when i was afraid to go to the bathroom in the dark.

from when i was afraid from when i was afraid from when i was

just beginning! she said with a grin, "am i a girl a boy? there ARE only two choices."

hairs split to remind her, those were just words. and that question is not easily answered. because the body hangs around like a ghost, i fall to remember my face. i scream, touching my tears with my blindess to my wrinkles.

"am i old? am i old yet? am i disappeared on these steps?'

just another crackhead(?) winding down for the night on my front porch while i sleep above them deep in dream-sleep, waking occasionally to the tossing and turning of a never-settled mind... and as I wake, the sounds of muttering and anger-plans and requests to ladies who have something better to do... comfort me in my alone time, unlike the lantern and the blanket, the small couch i sleep on, the blinds. they do nothing.

the street lamps though noxious make me feel not so alone. the cackling. the intimate conversations on the street-side. the smoker's pull to the outside air. is my air. is what all i breathe.

and in the morning i try to figure my way through the lock of space and time i've got myself into.

is this a business?

are we in it. to win it?

not gone.

still breathing.

i beg for something to touch my bones so my hands do not go flailing another night across some fae's chest to grab onto a single heart beat.

no matter how much i love you. (the you-know-who-) i cannot stumble blindly through fogs of retreat.

for i have been to the forest

you see.

and i have tasted of the berries, you see.

and i have stepped in the muddy moss.

and i know what it feels like to grow.

and my funeral so over

i forgot, and at this moment remembered, i was re-born.

but now i remember that i had forgotten.

so what will tomorrow or tonight be like now?

i can believe. it is all new.

if i wanna.

there is  alsight dimming light that beckons one's bloody throat if you sneeze you might miss yer chance to not let it swallow you

Oh swell worried stories and dreams of poetries on paper and publishing rampant and forgetful words


If i can just get a job a lick a stick a hat I could write poetry in my free time. BUt my fingers so stumbling call me back and the mask that olympia was cannot be forgotten for the facing of true ills and woes. Like magnetic blood red sticky hands that grab and grasp and choke and flatter walls so flat falling over top of each other creating new walls.

I think I had forgotten to write. i had long forgotten to read,
words are dim and no one understands.
But the true worth for me to write for myself is rmebered today

at least there is that.
and the knowledge that i am not truly depressed.

Maybe the future holds.. so many different places I can imagine.

and it is not entirely torture that i bring myself to this place
of origin

because there is something, i know, of worht here , it is worht gold, and is much sought after

it is under mounds of dirt and sin and memories of shying away from reality of what you do and do not want
of what you did and did not accept
and reality rings that we are much more free when we are alone


so maybe i just want to be alone


THENEDDDDDEND

KBYE :D  kuwaii

squig

not share experiences

beating yourself with a hammer for stubbing yr toe with a hammer
is not maybe the best way to treat one's self

I am putting this into the category of "not share experiences"

talking about beating yrself with a hammer for years afterwards and how much you have to self-discipline yrself years after you stubbed yrself

also in the category of "not share experiences:

not being able to relax and viewing yrself as an eyesore with a slight cute quality that therefore allows people to accept you, like the way it has become more popular to have a pet rat, or gerbil, or baby eye eye...

in the category of "not share experiences"

shutting down every time you make the slightest mistake

in the category of "not share experiences"

BUT

getting back up and trying again even stronger next time, and never giving up, and always trying hard and being super enthusiastic and being able to take any weird odd damaging strange experience and still loving everyone and believing in a collective consciousness

category of "not share experiences"

and as you know not/zero becomes infinity
and "all share experiences"

forced free write for 14 minutes

are you intelligent?
what if one day you woke up and couldn't use your brain in the same way? you could perceive the way in which your brain used to work, but couldn't make it work that way...?
how blah blah blah all the sounds and people and mouths would become
all this joy, how you got there, you smile and laugh when the drum-stick hits the drum
and the crash syllables

all the toe slapping good time

fingers that can't move fast enough for words that can't move slow enough for lips to hover
lips that stop space and time

illness that degrade and give off the illusion of age

money is every where
money is eternal
money found the fountain of youth and drank it dry

we night time swimmers spin still
waiting for the woven string to catch up to our tongues

in the meantime we sing
and twist our lips, and even a tinge of breath makes a soft hum
like an electric car
all roads lead to death, money, don't you know
honey you cant be old and alive for too much longer

love and rockets
yooung memories
utah
i hate those punks now
i hate most punks
because most punks are living off their pappy's salary & ignore me at shows

why didn't momma pay for my court settlement?

sometimes it's not money it's privilege

i'm not white i just look white

i got that light-skinned privilege but not that white privilege

i got that light girl privilege but not that "I've got a family who can help me out in bad times" privilege
except i do


it's part of why i am afraid of the dark. and afraid of the mouth
who weaves words that slip under yr fingertips and move yer hands about
shielding yer face
covering your heart

i can literally feel when my heavy heart opens and closes because of how heavy the latch is, and how many things whiffs of wounded wind rush out every time i open it.
i feel so good like a drug just to open my heart
and to lay open in the house of others
because i live nowhere
and my heart is the only home i know
i have 4 family members total home is
a
place
you dream
of becoming

real.

and you, a dream,
cycle back and forth
staring at clouds like children in the sunshine on concrete in the backyard waiting for mom to bring strawberries or
maybe you are a cat
and your parent figure is waiting for your return to pet you


your fur is upturned
and your claws, fins that help you swim
in this ebb and flow economy colony
 i call out
one arm to the folds of skin called wind

and screech banshee banshee--

i forgot nothing!
i carry one sword
and when my heart is bare i hold it inbetween my teeth

please God, I wait for you to pick up yer mess

in this catatonic state i wonder are you catatonic too?

the point is

being outward even when it hurts, sharing information that can't be used
wearing uncomfortable clothing
unfinished words
unfinished body

to show that even in an unfinished state
one can still breathe

i'm alive & dead at the same time!!!!

http://livelooping.bandcamp.com/album/loopers-delight-12-12-12-project

i don't right
i don't fight

don't figure out
don't flail fingers
up in arms against nothing
don't notice
spinning
tumble speed


i ain't right
ain't fighting

no merge
no mirth

no big


ill fated fingers feathered and fallen

ill fated hands therefore forgotten

super posi- forest dwelling fae
fae-ke or fuck me please its all the same

please mister missus
tell me bout yer organs
are they spinning in this new found summer heat
or are they forming
balanced one or the other

standing one foot
on a ball

and i talk a lot of garbage
can't drink anymore
or smoke a spliff
without tearing my face off
mask replaces
real skin

born again teen teeth again skin

but they said i looked older

as if it werent or were true
that a lost lad a wanderin was me er you

its okay baby
youre so cute
its okay
tiny lil massacre inside you

soft flagellating layers

these soft papers that stick out
in layers like pig fat
seem plastic of silicon see-through

like fingers that stick out
in a house made of people
that stretch and seem to speak
you wonder then how they live
not eating

in the gentle folds
of thighs that touch ever so slightly
against the back of my body
asleep
awake
crawl out swift winds that heavy gentle fumble clouds of steam

the fathom of parallel skins
and gracing the slithering ways
of holding touch ever so slightly

i fall at the floor un-imagining
crumbles inside
and chest expands to recognize deep breath

I'm so beautiful
you're so beautiful

DEATHBIRTH

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si

there are hands bled blue velvet ribbons draping the floors

i am preparing for a long trip. i am preparing for the dining whip.
I will be driving across the country to move back home, east. To help my kinfolk. To head the call of the wind to dream alone in spin-time by the Delaware river where George W. truly started a large gang called a country.
an open wound.
the plan: is to travel a vast distance to dig the roots out. plant some seeds. sew up old dolls.


every day i dream this dream in my head i dream of death as rebirth .. that's all.
little lucy said it was self-delusion. i only know it as a non-sequitor. its pieces non-connective.
did you hear the wall open its mouth and move breath?
ahoooo it said crevice full of traffic


si pusiera ser... nada.

damn it feel s good to be gangster

social class: what's up?

so what's up with yoga coming from the Vedas? a text that also subscribes to a detailed caste system. a text that was created by lighter skinned Aryans enslaving the idigenous people of India (Dravidians) and appropiating their culture into their own spirituality which they then use to sustain their influence on India for thousands of years.
most people would just be like: well, that's what happens. ya know Christianity & Paganism?
BUT I would say. Something smells fishy.
If these texts are supposedly written through direct cognition with God, the Source, Brahma, Universe in meditation... why do they recommend class distinction and systematic opression.

While white folks and brown folks and rich folks and sometimes poor folks do Yoga in ballrooms... thinking to themselves, "I'm practicing an ancient form  of health, learning to merge my soul and body!" or "Well damn. this feels good.".. I can't help but think... The whole part of it being valued for being ancient, or handed down from G_d or.... having some divinity.. might be really... Social practice handed down and ritual  handed down, whilst taking precise emasures to keep it in good shape, as best we can since 3000BC..

But do we really want to follow systems rooted in human sacrifice and sluaghter & enslavement of idigenous people? a sytem rooted in... The creation of a moral and ethically foundation to the merits of Socio economic borders whose lines have sharp consequences when touched?

Even if in these modern times, lines are finer. Even if in these fine times, modern lines lie.

So here's what I think is really going on:
I think there is some universal reality wave going on.. let's call it Oh I dunno the Natural Laws or Universe or Nature or Physics or Consensus Reality.. But we could also call it Magic, or Reason, or Intuition or Medicine..
And these guides (sign posts, markers, channels, thru-ways, energy trains, vehicles, sacred geometry, the grand scheme of things, the way thinsg work, circles) are what humanity calls Religion.

But it might be that all the religions have got it wrong. That they forgot to take into account how evenly God would ahve to be filter through Society. For it to be communicated. Even Communion, to be communicated would have to become Distorted. Even Ritual, which imposes itself so that without words, without mental posits, one can embrace/ experience the ecstasy of Totality... Yet, even Ritual has to be passed down over hands and lockets, and will ultimately be communicated through the socially conditioned language, the socially conditioned grammar, the sociall conditioned brain, the socially conditioned bookstore that sells the various translations from years passed.. See what I mean?

What can we do to find the Truth? Because I am still under the impression it exists I keep looking.
I can't follow the geneology of the gods to discover the healing methods to cure cancer. But I can weed out this seemingly irrelevant information and get to the heart of the practice, no matter what religion. There are some common truths to be met.

Today I am figuring out if there is evidence or documentation that Hinduism stole much of its wisdom from non-Aryans lving in India before it was written.

I just don't really want to be part of a cult.

okay. alright. holla. http://www.hinduhumanrights.info/uk-now-has-seven-social-classescastes/
read this: weird.


Well. it may just be that I am going to be learning the tools of my trade my whole entire life..
Tools meant to see beyond the surface of what is apparent and obvious.


well ive gone off. gonna keep reading my Indian Tradition book (from the beginning to 1800BC) and my Human Sacrfice throughout history book, and my Pre-coplombia Literature book and I'll get down tot he bottom of this...
[ps i am hiding ina room bec. I am wearing someone's dress who is in the kitchen.. and I haven't changed since last night so... ]

thursday night residue

okay so basically this is what happened:
I even instigated rapid nudity at a birthday get together for a 19 year old (newly 19) friend. Who is very lovely and an amazing painter/person who wears vintage dresses and reminds me of myself when I was younger. Amongst a crew of people, ages ranging from 19 to 32, with an average age of 25 I would say although I haven't done the math... but hold on... it's 23.4 actually.
Well. We were having so much fun. And we were playing a naked game, and just being silly. I love being silly. Being naked, I hung with my legs from the rafters and didn't care how long my hair grew on my legs.. But in a second, after there was some truth or dare (which is just generally a game to get people to say and do things they wouldn't normally). There was a dare of licking a nipple. But was it jealousy Nur? Not necessarily because I didn't want my nipple licked.. But it felt like I couldn't handle being around casual sex. It mad me all of sudden feel like I was being socially pressured to, in order to remain fun & friendly, stay and witness acts that would make me feel uncomfortable. So after very vaguely and casually expressing my discomfort, I left. And I entered the main house and basically ranted about it. I said,
"It's not really fair when there is already a statement of consent spread around a party, for then, at random one person who is very loud and talks a lot to assume "judge" and decide what is and what isn't safe and okay."
"There needs to be consent and check-ins at social gatherings where there is nudity, or promiscuous behavior. Because not everyone has the same freedoms and boundaries."

I felt scared. Honestly, like, I couldn't really return. Because I was embarrassed that my actions, my fear, my discomfort, told tales that I do not wear outside of me. That I do not yet fully comprehend anyhow. How I was once a very naïve girl who grew up somewhat sheltered and was pressured into sexual acts and pressured into sexually abusive relationships.. and only later discovered how mangled my brain has become because of it.

I feel in this way that I cannot actually trust anyone. I feel that I generally don't want to be around anyone I know. And that I really need people who clearly express their boundaries and ask others to make sure they're comfortable. Maybe I will never really be Fun Nur like I used to be. But scared and vulnerable adult Nur exists and really wants to grow up a bit, recover from damage, so I can be strong and capable of speaking up fro myself.

I think that all the DIY scene's consent literature is really cool. But it is not the only way. Consent and DIY culture should not be linked,. Consent is for anyone.

And for everyone who has been touch without being asked. Or has been asked repeatedly until they said Yes. I hope you would understand, that it hurts much like .. seeing your friends flesh being pulled off their faces and falling dead, and being left alone.. oh yeah, emotionally.


kbye.

that's all from TEETH CRUSH BONES see you next time

i think there is a lot of awareness  |  to be had || that makes it obvious that alcohol is depressive.

i think wine might be okay.

especially beer.

especially when it is wet outside.

.


there are shiny things. like a hot glue gun.
there are puddles.
these ones here you just over.
these ones here you splash into.
but in this cold sphere.. the wetness is cooling.

blue crab. red crab.

beaches.

is it worth it?

to give yourself away?


to go to the origins of your depression?


perhaps.

just make sure to bring sunshine.
turn toes into petals..
yellow ones.
orange ones.
soft  with the pollen that sticks to the crevices of yr fingertips
then makes the rain glow





{i am actually very scared to leave my adult home. and return to my child's self home. i am scared to be dominated over. will i be strong enough to not lose my cool the one i've gained in these here parts? ]

{motions all over body in circling spheres that move. and we feel them as neutral air}
{for them to talk so loudly into the micrphone}

just some people i know

 

uh...  this one here. fairy godchild.

 

petals powers

not awake
soft sun falls in petals on my shoulder shirt slipped off
turn eyes around
feeling of weightedness forget

a small and subtle dream

i cried at the breakfast table
because morning seemed so new i didn't know what to think of it

because like chains i drag this root

in which is only some long umbilical cord

overgrown in the yard at justin lane

with weeds as high as rooftops

i can't handle morning smokes and throats that croak and attachment to materials

it's already sad to be alone in my own memory

but with the sun looking all smiley
maybe they remember too

that we are all together
bound and blue
running through fire

letting these layers fall off until
all naked

period an ending
an uncomfortable pause
how long do you wait?
well usually, when reading script you breathe to know when to speak again. and usually you breathe for a few extra beats than you'd think, just to slow yr speed down, because you were probably
on yr way to spontaneously combusting

god bless you

Blood-letting in love or sorrow

in love or sorrow

these are this times
i bare my chest beside the wall covered in older years' paint scenes
pastoral pleasant by the bedside manner
a string'd nose
through the rim

in love or sorrow

i lay bare in on sheets
floral duvet spread
rainbow colored heads poke at eye level
in bed
of men with knives bare
ready to cut loose
let.

let.
in these modern times
spin
space is made for this well
of
sacrifice.
i entertain and created expand electric blooded
through recorded recordings
still spinning create melodies
of throned strings
knives as gods
god of yanni how do you say
in my ritual space.


this these times that do spin
form trinities
in veins that stretch
hold stones
hold needles
ready to pierce and release

the energy for an hour
enough to stutter.

depiction of-
depiction of-
rings of circulated oxygen
breath is blood
memory swells but is not inflamed
fire out and both in
magic real dream space.

it doesn't care to know
but sees

flow' red
petals
in hearts
manifold   in darkness
as dark as
the metal sky screams purple
in winded times
spin
in storm-driven times
one hopes to look upon the moon as their own
sun
who rises again to sacr/scar/ed
or sanctify
suffice it should say
nothing is lost
in wells of tears been ready to fall
fall in-the face who venerates
vulnerability
on god/dis like
dress fell flat on their face
to turn upskirts way up

and just lay
splay arms out

to let in one more dream from afar
and spit out
one more dream from afar
to see more spins
in the flick of a finger
that does not feel pain
but notices the sensation of angels
noise angels who writhe with life
at the touch of an angled
drop.


of anything.

audio

today was somewhat frustrating

Today at class, the one I teach, the student just refused to do anything for the last hour of the day... I think he was tired.

I wish there were more toys in class or paints and clay...

I want to bring in my clay but i'm afraid he'll ruin it. I don't have a lot of money, or authority in life. But of course he thinks I do. I got another parking ticket.


I feel an unknown sacred and vulnerable feeling in my heart.

Later today there may be an experiment. One in which I allow someone to dominate over me. It will be a test to see if that it is possible to express love that way. Which is all I really want to do. It is a test to see if truly wanting to be dominated over, is a valid and self-worthy desire, or an illusion, actually based in media influence and what not about women being trash and walked all over.

I guess I just don't really know. Since all my first sexual experiences were people telling me what to do. One would believe that indeed, It does hurt to be submissive, but now where I am in life, it is hard to tell, whether it is now okay to be in control of how and when, on some level.

I still am choosing, even encouraging this to happen.

Oh we will see...























I'm not ashamed of who I am. OF my decisions to be silly/ditzy and seemingly cover up my genius.
I am not afraid of my choice to use simple words in my writing.
In my poetry.
I am not embarrassed of my typos, whent hey appear pretty to me on the screen.

I love the way the lace drops.

I am not afraid of my desires.
A kind boy at the library. His hat hangs low on the back of his neck.
A girl last night giving me a tarot card reading, or I her.. and she not telling me what she knows of my flaws which I would so sacredly gobble up.

I am not afraid of how old I know I am.. and how young I appear. How human I appear. I am not afraid of pretending to be human, pretending to be white, pretending to be okay with Patriarchy.
I am experimenting.
In the end... I will probably see that it has hurt me, to go late, to park in the same spot where I know I will once more get a ticket, to decide to go to the now 3 hearings I have set before me, and today marks the 3rd. But I have never experimented with the law.

And I am a scientist at heart. HOW ELSE WILL I KNOW? unless I try.

I am not ashamed of my teeth. I hate them. I know that.
I am not ashamed of my face.. it is a work in progress.

I am not ashamed of my gender identity. I do not have one.

I am not afraid of my feelings or my lang-wage. The wages of sin is death, and I know one day we will all die.
In sleep, we will all fade.











I will try and try and try in all ways. Until I die.
That is actually a 3-6 Mafia song. Now aaron can no longer play it in his car for me. And I have long since stop talking to him anyway...

If death didn't seem so normal, so prevelant, maybe I would fall down and stop living.
But it doesn't make sense.

Oh Lord, I pray we are protected. I pray this rain today, in Olympia, does not create a permanent storm in my heart. I pray for peace.
And the release of old wounds.

Love,
Nur

i am so happy

i am so happy i jump out of this window
say fuck you to toher people's emotions
and spend time in my womb/room to cry
it is joy

i am so happy
the day is shining and the blood that drips from my nostrils jumps with life

i am so happy
my feet are bent
the hairs on my legs are so scartchy and i feel inhuman

i am so happy
i don't understand you
i don't understand you
i don't i won't i can't understand you

i am so happy
i cannot talk
i cannot chase

it does not serve me
it does not serve me

closeness
by not wanting it


no



i am so happy

i feel fingernails crawl under my toe nails
i am so happy
i disown my own lust


i am so happy
fuck you
i am so happy i do not care what happens to you
i care for you so much
i lust after you
i wash my body in rags of pain after you
let me wash myself in front of you
let me bathe my toes in front of you
oily with dirty oil from the last change
filter less



scrape the filter


grape less


scrape less



fake less



pose 

scrape


maker shift

fuck


bags


ache


scratchy things called hair

i love you.

audio: i am so happy

la Lopp

everything is sliver
slivering
slippery
slipping
and covering like dinner


everything is dim
the light is left
to the left
to the left it
ya
you left it


everything is uncovering
hovering
sprout point
it's fine
and okay
finger nails
shine like the
mirrors on
yr teeth
in the dim light

and can't we imagine
a blanket sky
smells like
relief
not the aspirin kind

im not sorry
I have power
you are gone now.

I sit on the green grass in the shade.
and I do not love you.
Instead, I turn from you
and I do not eat you
instead, I am born of you
born of a cold wind
hot on a warm mouth

spit you out
king chow down,
no more patience for your kind asshole
only patience for my brethren.

oh I love the sunlight
I love the moonshine
I love the rain on the tip of my nose
I love the little birds' wings
as they make shadows
on their their way to God only knows...

audio: god only knows this sliverring

making the personal public

this is all about making the public personal


observations:
drinking milk again (mostly raw) helps me to look more curvy and be a bit more fat, all over.
and I kinda wanna be a bit more fat.

I think I should stop drinking beer and alcohol tho.

Would like to work out and work on my belly.

Do yoga!

Body modification:

Using foods, herbs, behaviors, exercises, to mod yer bod!

Try it out! Feelin weird?
Change your face!

the difference btween a blog of entertainment... and recorded behavior being exhibited