I need to be asleep. I’m overwhelmed af. This paper is due today, I have a tour tonight, and a huge mysterious test I have to somehow get ready for by Monday early as fuck in the morning. (oh and also I have a tour Sunday night 👍) It’s wild. My heart feels, in turns, like a jaguar heart, like a cast iron mold, and like it’s made of moths’ wings. It’s wild. 

Cold Compress

It’s been a rough few days. ((and longer sort of but that’s not the point of this entry)) I went out and had dinner with my parents and my brother tonight and it was good. They had a gift card for $100 and they didn’t seem to think we would spend it all but I knew we totally would and we did. Being there with them felt good and hopeful and it didn’t hurt that I had a margarita. The outing was needful, I think,  because earlier I was feeling fucked, having some substantial self-destructive urges. Just wanting to hide, and read, and not knowing how to deal with anything. Our last mammalian pet died a couple days ago. Not totally unexpected but still, it was sudden. Rough. Rough emotionally, and rough having to deal with, and arrange, the physical necessities associated with it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, but I felt the need to acknowledge it. And I couldn’t stop working, touring, writing. But I’ve got a couple days now. Not completely free, but semi-free. And I got to have dinner with people that I love. I got to pick up my check.  I got to come home to a very, very nice bit of writing from a person that I love. though I did maybe feel just a little twinge upon seeing the last sentence of the previous entry  I’m grateful to have a little time. Honestly, I could very much use it. I feel worn and drained of my important soul juices. So here’s to trying my best to re-hydrate them. Peace.


Committing fraud in the evening

All covered in soil

They eat what they eat but

We’re here to destroy

And the bones in the basement

They’re not about us

All these poems are displacement

They’re not about us

But the hollow point is

The howling harrowing hanging part is

Or it’s not and it’s dust

It’s borrowing so much but never enough

For the cooling silk side

The lavender throw

Occluding light with unseasonable snow

sitting on the floor

Tired. Sad. Zillowing. I’m tired of living here. I’m so fucking tired of living here. A dumb part of my brain wants to tell me that moving will magically fix all of my problems. I full know that’s not fucking true… but moving still sounds good. This place feels like quicksand. Drunkenly crying and sort of going hysterical is maybe cathartic? But also sort of not. Also sort of not. I feel pretty lonely, in the way that I feel like I don’t really have anyone to talk to about the stuff I’m feeling. No one I want to tell, anyway. No one I feel comfortable asking for opinions or advice. No one I think would really understand. I’m so fucking tired. I finished a section of my stupid paint with diamonds thing. It’s taking forever and people say doing it makes them feel relaxed but it really makes me feel sorta anxious. Ugh. I should do work, or maybe try to sleep, but that all sounds bad. Instead I’ll maybe just read a little bit. Reading often makes me feel better. Today I went to the library and got 3 books from 3 of my favorite authors, so that’s pretty nice. I just want to forget my problems and throw myself into a two day scene. I want a new harness and this $150 toy I stumbled across earlier today. I want to go on a date to see the new jurassic world movie, and make out in the theater and feel like a stupid fucking teenager.


Today is my five year wordpress anniversary. That seems bizarre and impossible, but also sort of not. It’s almost 3am. It smells like rain. I’m working on a paper. I only need to have like 3 pages of it done, and then I can sleep, and finish the other 3-4 pages tomorrow, before 6:40 in the evening, when I have to get ready for a tour. It’s honestly crazy how overwhelmed I can feel sometimes. Like… just… about everything. About the state of everyone I love. About words that I have to put down on a page and words I have to speak out loud to strangers, again. About what’s happening on someone else’s little fucking pocket rectangle. About water, roaches, food, teeth, skin, doctors, the animals in my care, parking, neighbors, clothing, communication, credit cards, electricity, internet, rent, contracts, home repair, cool air, hair, the unstoppable and horrifying march of time, music, gas, car maintenance, fear.

This is a weird list and I don’t know. But I do know that I feel overwhelmed and honestly, pretty lost. Trying to push forward, to do the things I know I need to do, to the best of my abilities, and trying to do right by myself, whatever that means. Trust, as best as I can, my heart and my guts, and let everything else fall away or fall into place. I don’t know. I don’t even know what i’m saying lol. What the fuck do I know? Nothing, that’s what.

I know it’s late, and I’m fucking tired, and in an ideal world I would be asleep in 45 minutes. But this is not that type of world, sadly, and it’s likely that the only way I could make that happen would be to not even get close on my paper length goal here. That’s really not acceptable, so yeah. I guess I’m going to just be awake as long as it takes.

Maybe I should make a playlist, like I used to do back in some old times. It was nice and good and I liked it, and maybe I should bring it back. I’m thinking about it mostly because I’m hearing and thumbing some new music. Also, because maybe it will make me feel a way that I would like to feel? ((lol… how exactly would I even like to feel?))

OooooooooooOOoooooookay. With the help of a couple ideas and a fairly long direct quote, I officially made it past my 3 page goal. Sooooooo yeah. I think it would be in my best interest to let myself go to sleep now, and grab as much sleep as I can manage to get. Hopefully my brain will be cool, and not make that way harder than it should be. Peace.


but the beast was always here

melancholy, I guess, would be the best descriptor of my current state of mind. I’ve had worse, certainly, but there is a dull ache that persists and subsists on me. Partially, maybe, because I’m alone and it’s late and I feel remiss after so much closeness. Partially, obviously, because of the stuff. I dunno. Last night was pretty damn lovely, as was the majority of today, really. It’s pretty fun to be able to make someone scream and shake like that, wracking and wrecking them and it’s good. Doesn’t hurt if they cry out your name at the end, (even if, like me, you sometimes sort of forget you have one) Is Dom drop a real thing? I dunno. Am I going to regret putting these fake nails on if I do it? They’re only supposed to last like a week or whatever, but I’ve literally never had fake nails before and I dunno how it’ll go. Am I going to be like… “typing is hard and I regret everything” or am I going to be like “these are sharp and sexy and what’s going the fuck on motherfuckers?” I think I’m going to just go for it, it’s like… whatever, honestly. The third option is that they will suck and come off super easy, soooooo I guess we’ll just have to see. They aren’t super long, and I’ve been sorta growing out my nails anyway, so hopefully it’ll be fine. I might not be as dexterous at knot typing tho, which would be annoying, because I’m very into knot tying. (I’m quite proud of the most recent tie I did actually, for a few reasons, but yeah. It’s whatever it is. (So wise, so sage) I finished my paper. It was worth like 10% of my grade, so I probably shouldn’t have half assed it as much as I did. Oh man. I just put on one hands worth of fake nails and I gotta say… So far…. not a huge fan. Definitely a bit more obtrusive than I would have expected, Left hand is not doing great at typing right now. Buuuuut, I peeled one off because I fucked it up, and it came off pretty easily, so I’m not too worried about it, and I think I’m gunna go ahead and do the other hand. Why not. ’tis done. I’m sort of getting used to it now, but it’s definitely different. I should really write some freelance shit, so we’ll see how that goes with these. I’m sort of getting used to them (one article down) but they’re still a little annoying. I’m guna stop writing this and finish a second article and then try to catch a couple hours of sleep.

still your roil

“I’m still yours” those words, I want, but for me it feels more complicated than that. Covetous, I swing wildly back and forth between something resembling chill acceptance, and a sick sweat slicked anxiety liberally coated in anger. Waking with a sense of unease, but hazy unsure at first exactly why, and then it finds me. oh. Such a seemingly small thing to leave such a stone in my chest. You could do the same you know, if you wanted. Find a plaything, or two, or six. I could, certainly. In all my life I’ve never been more widely desired than I am right now. I’ve made myself into a unicorn. Easily, I could round up a half dozen virtual lovers by day’s end, all begging for my favor (and they would … beg) but truly the idea holds little appeal. Instead, for now, I’ll lay here, and try my best to still my roiling thoughts enough to catch a few more hours sleep. 

you’ve been bit by

You know that thing they say about pessimists? “You’re either right, or you’re pleasantly surprised.” Man, I really fucking wish I could be pleasantly surprised more often. I feel sore. Sore in my heart, in my soul guts, or whatever the part of me where the real me lives is called. And I just … … … I just don’t fucking know man. I really don’t. So! Since the part of me where the real me lives feels kicked the fuck around, and I don’t want to actually talk about stuff like that here, but I do want to write because writing is and always has been a useful tool for me, and just typing can be soothing, and I’m really not in the mood to do any more Night Crying(TM), I’m going to just complain about all the annoying little shit that’s happening, that’s not currently relevant to My Sore Heart (new band name called it), but that’s still … not being helpful. Ready? The complain train is about to leave the fucking station.

  • I had one of my all time worst tours last night. Was off my game, dropped shit, sucked. Tonight wasn’t much better really, I don’t fuck anything up but it felt like it lasted for a thousand years and I got shit tips.
  • I have to do another one tomorrow, and that thought kinda makes my entire being want to shrivel up into a raisin. (Or perhaps a dried cranberry, because raisins are disgusting. Or perhaps a raisin, because raisins are disgusting.)
  • I don’t know what the fuck is up with Blackboard, but one of my two summer classes is just totally fucking gone. Like… it’s not on there anymore. I e-mailed the professor but she hasn’t gotten back to me, I checked to make sure I’m still enrolled in the class (I am), sooo I dunno what the fuck to do about that. I have a pretty substantial assignment due for that class on Monday and idk how the fuck I’m supposed to do that if it LiTeRaLlY sToPpEd ExIsTiNg.
  • I’m on my goddamn period and it’s making everything worse. It hurts and is gross and my emotions are toast.
  • I’m also supposed to write at least 4 freelance articles by Monday morning. There are currently 6 in the queue and they are all fucking horrible bullshit topics. How the fuck am I supposed to write 450 words about buying a replacement battery cover for a goddamn camera? It’s a tiny fucking piece of plastic. Does your camera have one? Cool, then you don’t need one. Is the one on your camera missing? Okay, buy one if you want. You could also just put a piece of tape there tho. You wanna make that into 450 words? including six keywords each of which needs to be used between three and five times? Because I sure as fuck don’t want to.
  • I can’t forget to deal with this bullshit unjust parking ticket giant fucking dumbass fucking bullshit, because if I do it will be bad. That’s something else that is for Monday, cuz everything is closed tomorrow. UuUuuuuuuugggghhhhhhhhh.
  • I’m fucking TIRED, like so goddamn deeply tired in so many different ways, but like… I can absolutely tell that my brain is not going to shut the fuck up long enough to let me actually go to sleep. So! I might as well stay up for a bit longer and try to write some stupid fucking bullshit! peace.

The thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to

Hey. I’m not sure. I know my hormones are fucking going or whatever but either way overall I’m rough. Losing my shit over an undeserved parking ticket. Choking on so much nihilistic bile and unable to spit it out. Unable to make it feel like the optimistic kind, and really, truly not knowing how to deal with that. 2 months from today is something I’m deeply not ready for, and between now and that, somehow, an entire condensed semester. Fuck I hate thinking about time. Please, I need to stop. All I can do right now is try to sleep. I finished my book, and 250 tiny little squares of plastic. I can’t find any of my usual grips, the hand and foot holds I find even in the dark. And in short, I am afraid.