The Eternal Love Affair of Day & Night, A Multiplied Story:

Part 1. It started with an Emerald Green Empress in Disguise

She was The Empress of the Day and she had green eyes. Plain old greenish-gray, but not hazel brown or any shade of blue. The most remarkable thing about those Pits of Maelstrom were the bright Emerald green they turned when welling with Emotion (which was often, so with a little Imagination, they were fiery and spectacular always). The Fluorescing green could be seen by Blind and Sighted equally; everyone but the Empress herself.

Beauty-blind (and sometimes transcendence-blind), she saw only mouse gray, pond scum, vomit green, emoji vomit green – for she was modern, too – cannabis leaf green, browning leaf green, mold green, and the artificial of squalor green in her own eyes.

She was so upset by the Tides of her Eyes, she forgot she held two priceless jewels affixed perfectly on her face, her reflection, and in her presentation.

Next Chapter: The God of Night sees the Kryptonite-like Rocks on TV on an Antiques Road Show episode and immediately recognizes them for the Uncut, Undiscovered, Rare Emeralds that they are. Stay tune for the juicy details as we wander far from our Sweet Spot.

PSA: THE EMERGING STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 📛


PSA: A MOVING SNAPSHOT OF THE STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 ♨️♨️♨️

It’s not for the faint of heart,
So before you even begin to
CONTEMPLATE to
start the post,
I’ll
pre-advise you QUIT while still time;
That’s the most
WARNING I’ll provide.

I mean: I know it’s a Sunday,
But this Public Service Announcement
Comes at a high cost to ME,
So if you can’t withhold YOUR judgment
Or your morals to make the space
SO I can release the
Advice alien-ating out of
MY HEART onto MY PAGE,
Please keep your eyes on
Yours and Yours.

Not that any of respectful YOU
Has EVER even tried,
But in 2022,
Virtual and Reality are mixed,
And I’ve got a
Religious Persecution Complex
After a lifetime of abuse.

It all boils down to facts
As simple as this and that
I need be LISTENED TO!! So
“Grow up, You Old Idiot!
You’re as apparently as old as me,
So why can’t you see
That my telling YOU
Is an effort to relieve ME!?
I know ALL these pleas fall on deaf ears”
Pleads ‘Feels-Too-Muted’ Me.

Social Media; Being Simultaneously “Confusing” and “Therapeutic”

For the record, I didn’t even know there
COULD be more than two viewers
To a “Private Story!”
Maybe in your fantastical stories,
Laden with Rote Artificiality,
But not in mine, and at least for now,
NEVER in me!

LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED


LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED

At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

She tired of being a step,
The toil and aloneness.
She dreamt of being a princess
Before midnight.
Sadly, only frogs arrived,
Their magic never tricking her,
Damning her to shine,
Under cloak of Darkness,
During Its wee hours,
Leaving her a pile of cinder
With the return of every sun.

She thought it was her only Ending,
Making It “The Only One.”
Now she’s been returned to Step,
Only below where she first begun.

It fills her mouth with ash,
Shreds her heart to trash:
This hope to be a part of Sum
Instead of “Only One.”

ME TIME: ALONE


ALONE WITH YOU IN 2022

To be with you,
I have to be alone.
If I need a hug when “I’m with you,”
Or I need any other physical touch,
I have to touch myself.
Eating a meal out “with you” is a
Meal eaten Out BUT alone.
Films we watch “together,”
I watch by myself.
And since no one knows about you, me,
Or the fractional entity of “us,”
I only communicate with you WHEN ALONE,
Videotaping one-sided conversations,
And posting the clips so
YOU can watch when YOUR Time Permits,
Which is never “Now” but always “Later.”

And you may indeed be insane,
But I’m certainly insaner!
If I want any answers from you,
I have to ask binary questions:
Yes or no? This or that? Pass or Fail? Like or Hate?
All so you won’t have to lift more than one finger
While I’m secretly crossing mine you’ll answer.
If I’m sad when I’m “with you,
I cry alone, tears saturating my entire home.
And should I find myself in a pesky way which requires comfort,
I must first learn how, then comfort myself.
With you, if I desperately need an evening of distraction,
I have to distract myself and,
At the end of the day,
It’s an evening alone at home, everyway.

Being with you” means I spend more time imagining than I do fondly enjoying or remembering
Our (unshared) past,
Our (nonexistent) future plans,
Our (zero) current concerns, and
Our present (absence of) victories.
Worse, since none of these life-shaping things or events take place or ever occurred in Reality,
I constantly question Reality,
To the extent “Home Alone with You
Is virtually indistinguishable from
Home Alone with Me.”
I’d actually yell at you to
“Leave Me The Hell Alone!”
If I hadn’t been Alone all along.

What a lonely song!
What a lonely dance!
I long to listen to music,
But I now make it for myself;
I wrote it by and for myself
In my signature style of Alone.
I’ve found I prefer its sound and tone
To the tune of “Being With You.
It’s less confusing, and I’ve become Even MORE amusing to Myself!

Where, how, in what color, and with whom?
That would be “Alone” on all counts,
And I’m the Only One who counts,
So by all accounts,
I’m better off Alone.

A MULTI-HUED FOOL, Retooled & Re-pared (down a little)

None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt, and
No one ever has been,
Except, apparently
THIS “has-been,”
Who isn’t now, nor will ever be,
Cut out for long-term memories.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-stupid,
And a clueless fool was I
100% of the time.
I’d even hazard-to-say
I played The Fool in every game.
Yahtzee, Poker, and Parchisi?
Being foolish was so easy!

Under cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before its rise,
Through it’s eye-squinting setting,
My foolishness became record-setting,
Hoisting and foisting foolish me

High Upon and into a Dunce’s Corner,
So I could “get myself in order,”
Growing This Fool into
An Anti-Hero or Villain,
Not the Ingenue I’d assumed
You’d stuff into
During Your Bedtime Story.

But since you never told it,
I slept and dreamt
I was a Drooling Idiot,
Waking to find
I didn’t pretend it.

I’ll say it again:
Your character isn’t convincing.
Not that you TRIED to convince me;
It’s why I did all the gift-giving, up-lifting,
And emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m ashes-sifting.

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so cold,
The only stars Memory serves
Were laid and laced into Constellations
I couldn’t find again;
Couldn’t find to BEGIN.

I was also an Artistic Fool,
Swayed by the poetic words
Colorfully shaded by Me,
But Foolishly written for You.
I know in my bones YOUR favorite hue,
When NOT painting me from Memory,
Is “foolish” (if not garish & ghoulish).

I also know IF you had a favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg upon MY face,
It’s Arrow-Marked by a Neon-Dart,
Buzzing, blinking, and endlessly repeating
“STUPID FOOL.” “STUPID YOU.”

The situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To dislodge the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.
I’ve become foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant YOU Your Time & Space,
Since somewhere between
Alone and Beside Another
Is your favorite Time-Hiding Place.

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
It’s past-time for it to end.
So, I’ll simply sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
I cut too close,
And I let Stupid in.
But you can solace in my promise
It won’t happen again.

The Best Lover

Sorry judges of character get sorry examples of character on their lists of lovers.

In retrospect, I’ve never been in love with anyone but me in my relationships.

When I rewind the movies in mind, I was the only one who loved the way I wanted to be loved.

The only one who was willing to be there during the tough times, the only one who didn’t ditch, the only one who tried to make holidays and birthdays special. The only one who KNEW the other’s birthday (without having to look it up). As in: “by heart” because “close to heart.”

I was the only one who cried alone, often, and at all.

Husband #1 did go to some medical appointments with me, but not many. I did all my own chemo , radiation, post-surgical, and most of the fertility appointments, including the driving. He was golfing (like he always was; husband number 2 was always biking) when I miscarried my first pregnancy. Said “pregnancy” hadn’t met the dictionary-definition of “child” yet, so I suffered alone and no one comforted me. It was a terribly lonely time.

Basically, I was the only one who could be bothered to keep a promise in most of my significant/insignificant relationships.

I have a million other examples, but I’m suddenly green at the gills. Or is it gray at the grills? Honestly, I can’t remember my “stupid shit” anymore!

You know, the kind of stuff you blab about over pillows when you’re in love?

Or how I would imagine it might feel.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably keep saying it, but:

I am The Best Lover I’ve Ever Had. For My “Life’s Official Record,” I was THE BEST: The Personal Best and The Collective Best.

I did it ALL!! I kept the plates in the air. I dropped half of them, but at least I was at home, breaking them-while-TRYING-to-juggle-them.

So, no “mea culpas” and no “mes culpabits.” In now and in retro: I’m an 11❣️❤️‍🔥🔥

MY DREAM SATURDAY EVE (Through Late “Into The Wee”)

🌶 For Innuendo, the Only Saucy Part!

Photo Credit: the game of basketball

MY DREAM SATURDAY EVE-TIL-THE-WEE

Catnapping and catnipping,
As well as cat-tucking.
Riding in my boring old jalopy,
AT THE VERY LEAST,
On multiplied occasions!
But if I’m VERY lucky
OR kissed by God,
Getting the chance
To show my hand
And try my luck,
Rolling the dice
Once or thrice,
Hoping for nice
But preparing for mean,
Then begging and pleading
Down upon my knees
For weeks upon WEEKS,
Selling my soul yet STILL praying
That I will EVENTUALLY,
ONE DAY find Myself Fortunate Enough to
Get the apparently rare opportunity to
‼️Finally, because it’s SO overdue‼️
DRIVE A TRUCK!!

Hopefully I’ll remember how.
They say it’s “like riding a bike,”
But I don’t know…
Does the Simile “appropre”
With the Allegory?
I’m kidding: I know it’s just a metaphor!

STRANGER DANGER: Rusty but Still Sharp

STRANGER DANGER: THANK GOD THE BITCH IS BACK!

So I’m finally getting to use some of my inherent acerbity for the first time in my life! Like EVER!!

Lifetime asshole number 414 texts me in the wee hours Wednesday morning (4 months after NO WORD) with this:

“Hi Stranger. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. Hope you’re well.”

At 5:28 in the morning! What motive does ANYONE have at 5:28 in the morning if they’re not on their way to an airport?

So I replied with:

“We’ll, hello Stranger. Too bad I don’t talk to strangers, but I’m glad to hear you haven’t expired” (or some-such crap at the end; the main point was front-loaded)!

I’m a bit rusty, but I’m GLAD and RELIEVED to discover The Bitch is Back!!

I was SO worried I was getting too soft!

It Blogs The Mind: How to Take Shelter During A Downpour

I mean it! Her-iccanes need company.

I am an Appreciator to my Core.
It’s why I make so many useless blog entries, ALL day long:
I’m simply sharing my APPRECIATION for THOUGHTS I consider too delightful and APPRECIATE TOO MUCH to hoard for myself.
And I currently have No One to whom I can turn to casually state them.
So here they go.
Thank you.
Have I thanked you folks recently? Because I couldn’t have weathered this latest storm without you!
You’re a giant, sheltering umbrella, and just one “read receipt” is all I need to feel return-appreciated♥️
You keep me dry when I’m sopping wet.

DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT

It certainly wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even friendship.
I don’t know WHAT it was… perhaps some of the younger ladies could help me understand?
I think it was a giant bunch of nothing, and I have no idea why, but I allowed this giant bunch of nothing to distract me for an inordinate period of time.
However much time it was, you can rest assured the interval was inordinate!
Because he wasn’t even worthy of distraction, so clearly I must’ve been in love with myself the entire time?
In this pseudo-ship of a pseudo-shit that I just survived?
The only residual problem might be…

I think I made a TOTAL ass of myself over this Big Lug of Nothing.
As in: got the emotionally embarrassing equivalent of “sloppy wet drunk,”
highly-hormonal, possibly puberty-level of embarrassment,
Only compounded by the significance I placed on something of such Apparently-Obvious Insignificance which wasn’t Significantly Obvious to ME!

So, I don’t know, Girls and Boys:
What DO you call “IT” when you act like a Mindless, Stupid Twit over a Useless Heap of Shit these days?

LOST, GROPING, OUT OF PRACTICE, & TAKING IT OUT ON YOU!!

LOST, GROPING, & OUT OF PRACTICE

Sicko-Infant
Dally & Taunt
Lose-Her
Repeat Lose-Hers
Imp-Rob-Babble Choice
No Gel A’Tween Us
Serial Box Shredder
Serially Sadistic Lose-Hers
Discussed and Discussed until Disgusting
I guess it’s what you do when you’ve been Misplaced and Lost?
Repeatedly.
Somehow (probably by not taking chances) I got so out of practice, I think forgot all The Rules.
Thanks for putting up with me while I get reacquainted with Betrayal and Shitty Treatment!
I started to get a little high-minded for a while, there.
Whoo! It feels good to be back squarely in My Place.
It may be LAST PLACE, but I didn’t need FIRST PLACE in THIS Particular RACE!

FOR THE VERY FEW VERY UGLY GUYS: (Fortunately) 🌶

FOR THE VERY FEW VERY UGLY GUYS: (Fortunately)

I couldn’t wait for you to leave so I could douche.
That’s how disgusting you made me feel
ALL OVER.

NEVER!

CONTACT!!

ME!!!

AGAIN!!!!

It took me too long to get rid of you in the First Place,
So don’t you dare get any stupid ideas!
I wouldn’t hesitate to Stand My Ground and call you a Trespasser, because you ARE and you DID and I HATE YOU for treating me like a Whore (no disrespect to professional sex workers, thank God for each and every one of you, and I mean it❣️),
But Common and Easy and Cheap.
You weren’t even the slightest bit grateful!
Why do you think Anyone would sleep with you in the first place if not for the Easy Comfort Package One would assume you come with?
Because I thought Free Pillow Talk For Hours was a GIVEN, GIVEN your Unfortunate Appearance and Manners.
How it must suck being so ugly inside!!

How Much is Too Much?


What sucks about being empathetic is you get jerked in a million different directions, depending on who’s doing the Yanking at the time. This even includes Yankers and Toyers like movies and books. The effect is particularly pronounced when I’m in midst of or on the tail-end of one of my “Protracted Painic Attacks.”

A PPA Cycle requires a Massive Confluence of Multiple Maddening Encounters With People whose opinions aren’t worth caring about, Pain, and a Profound Awareness that nobody hears me or gives half a shit: basically a Cluster of Fuckups and Fuckovers in a relatively short time.

This is a Disastrous Combination for me in the absence of a support system, except for my Mom, but she only visits to bring me junk mail, empty my trash (full of the junk mail she just brought me) and tell me which of her Church Ladies are praying for me. Please forgive me that The Only Person Who Still Loves Me’s most well-intended comfort doesn’t clot when I’m exsanguinating.

To Survive, I’ve evolved into a paranoid and overly-defensive person (at least during these times). If I didn’t, people would, have, and constantly attempt to take advantage of my Easily-Approachable, Easily-Appealable, Easily-Appeasable, Usually-Unsqueaky Nature.

So while I feel like my body is literally wasting from lack of External Comfort, I can’t find anyone I trust with the Job. When that happens, my next course of action is Isolation, which only serves to waste and starve me more.

I think certain parts of me never learned to fish. Maybe THAT’S why I have No Appetite? Maybe a psychologist would know? My Psychiatrist doesn’t know my name, and he doesn’t like it when I ask annoying, superfluous questions.

What does a hungry, bleeding, cyclically-self-agoraphobic do to keep safe in Cyclonic, Typhonic, Emotionally Cataclysmic Clusters of Ominous Weather and Even More Ominous People, waiting to feast on what’s left of her leathery, petrified sinew?

Honestly, I think 3 Chicago-style hotdogs and a giant milkshake, literally and literally, would do the trick. Too bad I’m begging for fuel but can’t stomach the liverworst vending machine sandwiches from the neighborhood gas station.

SEX INVESTIGATION: MOTIVES

SEX INVESTIGATION: MOTIVES

I’m definitely not an objective expert on matters of Human Sexuality, but my numerous years of being a Human myself have led me to a few observations.

Maybe I’ll address them in future posts, but I’ll confine this to the One Screaming Loudest:

I’ve discovered RECENTLY that many people seek sex for RELIEF rather than for JOY. I’ll gladly stipulate to “belatedly” on all counts of Said Observation, but it doesn’t alter its actuality, factuality, or potential falsity.

Perhaps the Truth of the Matter is blown out of perspective by first-person spectating, but I STILL don’t believe Those In Search of Sextasy can find it with people whose sole pursuit is Relief (though Relievers usually aren’t so picky).

I think two people have to at least be open to the opportunity of JOY for there to be any chance of finding any made mutually. The good news is: Once Joy is secured, Relief is easily obtained.

If this seems like Obvious Logic, trust me, there’s nothing obvious about social mores today!

I don’t know when collective standards changed, but they most certainly and drastically have! I can’t even tell you what they’ve changed INTO, and in the absence of external input, the same goes for the Accepted WHY. In fact, things are SO GRAY out there, I’M LOST!! I need help!! I’m begging for it!

Please know I’m NOT saying ALL Change is Bad. How could Change EVER be bad??!! Change-for-higher-purposes is one of humanity’s greatest virtues.

I’m just asking for a copy of The Rules.

Love & Marriage, in Terms I Can Understand

I joke about my many marriages, but the fact is I’ve only been married twice and divorced twice. You’d be surprised: some peoples’ ratios aren’t balanced.

The aberrations are the “never-married-but-legally-divorced” folks (who have fractional ratios), and the polygamists (whose ratio is multiple).

Anyway, it’s highly ironic that my highly-civilized, highly-respectable mother has been married considerably more times than I have and would only consider sharing her secret number with a potential marriage partner – but I have no doubt she’d be honest about it. She’s VERY nice. Nice people are divorced, too.

So I don’t know why she finds it appalling when I bring up her prior marriages – even to my own father, who she married when they were both 19.

Maybe the reason I feel like I’ve been married and divorced so many times is because I have? Probably also why I think about marriage in mathematical terms.

I’m sure it’s all compounded because, as a childless person, I haven’t had the opportunity to rewrite history by living vicariously through my children.

The worst part is that I feel there’s NOTHING I can’t do to convert this Giant Heap of Pain into ANYTHING to prevent MY Fate from becoming the DEFAULT Adult Fate. And what almost kills me is that I can’t do anything to prevent it from becoming the Default CHILD Fate, either.