Tales from the Shmurgul

she never had children nurturing others was part of her life mission she did it through her work she...

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 01:38:24 -0400

she never had children
nurturing others was part of her life mission
she did it through her work
she did it with ethic
and it is like having a mama bear
always there

I cannot even begin to express my excitement for being alive. At...

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 19:35:58 -0400

I cannot even begin to express my excitement for being alive. At times, my anxiety wells up with a strong urge of flight…run! run! run swallow the barrel of a gun. I don’t. I have not even pretended to take my life in a real way. It’s just an urge and I often wonder who else has this feeling of overwhelming stress. Achieving my dreams is hard work. It’s confusing and challenging to be a business owner. I realized last week that if I won the lottery, I would still go to work every day. I love this life I have carved with rivers of sweat and tears.

I know I am not the best, but I am always striving to be the best ME I can. Fucking A, who would have thought that being myself would bring so much success and happiness? It’s ironic we don’t teach this to our children as they bully one another through adolescence and life.

I have been gazing at the new wedding ring upon my finger. Am I supposed to feel different? To me, it represents a celebration of the last 7 years of love with a tip of the hat to the years ahead. I am not bound or promised to my husband; nor is he to me. The independence in knowing your manmate wants you to love anyone and everyone you can is essential and strengthens our bond, just as it is that I chose to love him the most.

Inner Dialogue

Tue, 06 Dec 2011 17:55:00 -0500

Love is not enough. You are simply the best.

Wise words from Tina Turner. Sort of.

There are questions I ask myself a lot. Questions like, Who the fuck are you? Why do you have so much power over my heart? When did I become so amazing? What is it about me that makes my car invisible while I am driving? Why why why why why why why?

Where has the time gone….oh that’s easy. Time has mated with my desires and fuck-ups. All things have led towards today, this moment, this Pandora radio playing one of my favorite songs by the Violent Femmes, “Promise”. I have no regrets and yet, here I sit crying over an apathetic doctor, an opportunity lost, a feeling of restlessness, courage, and the terrifying feeling of being in the middle of a world throwing important things into a landfill of Deal With It.

I have so much to live for, yet I feel completely alone most of the time. My ability to reach into others and connect is now a precious object I covet, sparing it for only those who prove themselves to my ever-changing arbitrary list of ways I have been wronged. I always thought I was the type to freely give all of my love with no expectations of return on my investment. My career has taught me to bite my tongue and enjoy the taste of the blood that oozes forth. Use it, kid, use it in your secret novels, secret blogs, secret ideas.

I think it’s time to transform and expose myself.

(image by the incredible Christopher (COOP) Cooper)

I am a woman. I am a sister, daughter, a business owner, and an...

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 16:43:22 -0400

I am a woman. I am a sister, daughter, a business owner, and an aunt. I am a creative, dynamic individual and I always stand up for injustice. I feel deep affection for my friends. I command respect from my peers and colleagues. I am a hard-working, educated human. I am a girlfriend, a confidant, a mentor, and a student. I am a victim of sexual, emotional, physical, and domestic abuse. I have a voice; I say NO when I have to and YES when I can. I say NO to men who treat me like a potential fuck-buddy, NO to those who call me a bitch for stating my opinion, and NO to those who call me a whore for being independent. I demand to be heard when I speak and I take care to listen to the voices of others. I support battered women with my money and my actions. I was born on a pig farm and live in Seattle, Washington. I have two broken teeth and I have not had health insurance since 2006. I have been under the poverty line all of my life. I deserve equal rights and equal opportunities.
You and I are not so different.
I am the 99%.

There is a quiet storm inside of me. I can feel it manifesting...

Thu, 29 Sep 2011 17:05:39 -0400

There is a quiet storm inside of me. I can feel it manifesting it’s purpose to another level of insight. And this time I know it’s not anxiety or depressive compulsions. I can feel all this information separating me from the masses and yet, drawing me closer to romancing the lot of them into a trance. When they awake, they might feel more inspired to activate their inner childhood desires. Just let go and spin in the wind as it envelopes them with electricity. We may not be sure where it will begin to rain, or if we will be struck. Sometimes the swirling pressure feels as if it could lift one off and teach him to fly. Would he worry his family might call him a freak? Does he enjoy his unique talent; does he share it?

The pain in writing myself down and sending it with a thank you and a stamp to everyone I know is honestly the most terrifying idea I have ever began to accomplish. I must spread this message; we can live happily with integrity. We are in charge of our lives, livelihoods, government, selves. We choose where we shop and what we make. We choose our paths and the struggles that come with them.

Responsibility seems so much more important than compassion.

Bring it.

Mon, 30 May 2011 14:03:04 -0400

Ok, that’s it!

Bring it.

My tastebuds refuse to fade in your flavorless Tweets & Posts. I don’t give a damn about your hangover, your baby, your trivial commentary of things man has contemplated for centuries. Try progress and projects. Try calling a friend on the phone instead of a Happy Birthday type over the net.

I yearn to connect, but the more I read and observe, the more I feel as if we are allowing a docile takeover, a numbing of the senses in the midst of a world with so much chaos and technology. We should be doing more, sharing more, hugging more and laughing face-to-face. Let’s mind fuck. Let’s mind melt. Let’s fucking melt minds. Let’s fuck.

Please Read This

Sat, 14 May 2011 20:50:25 -0400

fedorasbox:

It would really mean a lot to me if you read this.

http://tinyurl.com/fboxblog

#Fedora #News #sexblogs #nudesite #feminism #women #empower

Vessels

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 23:39:41 -0400

I keep dropping things, but not the important things. Funny thing is that I only keep the important things around. Seems some of those things are just vessels, unlike me.

I feel more rooted than ever before, which really means I feel steadfast in waving my limbs around in the breeze, unafraid of anything. Guilt is fleeting and thankfully melting off of me. I have substance and my growth is forthcoming. I put lovely sap all over your face, your fucking car, your sexism, your mold. I put my sap like a leech farm, co-existing with your filth, knowing full well the beauty in your ideas will prevail over the environment that shaped your concepts of love and feminism. It won’t be big effort; like all things, it just is…energy.

It’s like they said in that one movie, “Americans know entertainment, but they know nothing of pleasure….the sweetness of doing nothing.”

Some thing is always spinning circles, with the world, turning. I see you swirling around, feeling out of control. Some times, I wish you’d just sit with me, calmly depicting the scents in the air. It would glorify your sense of relief. Nothing falls down while we remember to breathe.

My heart digs deeper into myself…It is sort of an inverted prism by now, existing in some tesseract dimension. Once in a while, it reverts flying straight down your throat. My love is intense.

I am equally enamored with each and every one of you just as I...

Fri, 26 Nov 2010 19:31:14 -0500

I am equally enamored with each and every one of you just as I am disgusted.

For instance:
More than 1-in-3 African men admit to rape.

Meanwhile, my friend, Brittany App, cycles coast-to-coast to raise money for a charity that provides access to clean water for Africa and other impoverished areas of the world.

There are so many horrible actions encircling us; the more forboding to me is likely that humans have attention spans comparative to those of cucumbers causing them to not bother with such life-changing choices such as voting, consumer advocacy, our educational systems, critical thinking, social tolerance, war, war crimes, the influence of media, sustainable farming, etc.

The reality is, however, that my efforts on the internet, which seem to reach so many, tend to be choices to promote, advocate, and discuss the positive actions that seem to butterfly inspiration, growth, and positive perpetuation through out the known universe.

I told my father the other day that he should not let the TSA representatives at the airport touch his balls. He said he doesn’t worry about these things.
He said to me, “Those of us that figure shit out early have to wait 30 years for the rest of the population to catch up before anything changes.”

I tend to agree. It doesn’t mean I plan to sit around and wait.

There is this magical house. I see it in my recurring dreams. It...

Wed, 13 Oct 2010 16:39:03 -0400

There is this magical house. I see it in my recurring dreams. It is always the same house. The same decor. The same ghosts that reside there. Each new tenant leaves willy-nilly. The house always rents for an incredible deal. I always happen upon this $2500 per month rental, tucked away with gorgeous landscapes with wonder. I tour the home alone each time, running up and down the stairs, twirling in the sunlight of each room, trying out the beds, gasping at the size of everything. I feel miniature and comfortable. I feel exhilarated. I always get lost. I always find horrible, secret rooms. I invite my friends over and to move in with me, but the ghosts scare them away.

The house consists of many levels, each floor connected by several staircases (the most amazing being the spiral that towers up through the middle of it all), a wonderland of space, light cascading from enormous windows, beautiful furniture, and ghosts who flicker the lights, close the drapes, and tickle my ears.

One floor has a bathtub the size of a pool. Another floor has a 2,500 square foot shower with blue tiled floor, wall to wall, and a drain next to a beautiful pedestal sink. I fucked my ex-boyfriend in that shower last night. The cowboy-style, latticed window-door to a massive window that stretched from the 25 foot ceiling to the floor opened and closed with a loud bang right before our eyes. I remember it feeling dark, but not dank. I am never afraid until I find the secret rooms. Why did I fuck my ex-boyfriend with glee in this dream? I rarely dream of him.

My father was my roommate last night. He took the top floor and I took the middle. I ran from floor to floor to find him, but I would get lost and he was usually mildly annoyed to see me, out of breath, asking about everyday happenings.

In the last dream of this house I had, my friends moved in. These friends always live together in real life, so it seemed to make sense for them to do the same in this dream. I was amazed by the size and openness of the house. It seemed to have a life of its own. I wanted to move in with them. I toured around, found a basement floor, unfinished. I found skeletons and horrible darkness down there. I shot up the stairs only to find my friends fleeing. They left everything. They were horrified. Something got to them. Something wanted me all to itself.

Life is great, with or without the help of you. If I have not...

Thu, 07 Oct 2010 20:01:45 -0400

Life is great, with or without the help of you. If I have not called you, it may or may not be for good reason. Life is short and I am going to live the shit out of it. I love good company and only tolerate good friends. Waste away at the bottom of a bottle, as long as you get pictures of the downward spiral, you may inspire something useful stemming from your timely demise.

There is a little girl inside of me, crying. I have skin tough...

Thu, 16 Sep 2010 15:44:37 -0400

There is a little girl inside of me, crying. I have skin tough like alligator, but I long to be soft, round, appreciated by my environment. Damn my Irish luck. Damn this tiny frame with tits that never fails to be underestimated. Uphill climbs become me and cause my already muscular body to harden even further.

The freedom of expression must be veiled by purpose that appeals to others.
-puke-
It must be shrouded in a cohesive image or the idiot masses will never swallow it.
-GaGa- -puke- -whaaaaa-
They will just chew and chew until they are bored with you and then SPIT you onto a sidewalk. The delicacy of spoon-feeding them year after year wears on my soul; I wonder when they will awake from their stupors and state their opinions, or share something of their own. All the feeders can do is study consumer spending, track web hits, and throw the money around so that no one jerks them around.

I have no money. I never have. I have no muscle to throw around; I am barely over 100 pounds of mass. No one is afraid of me. They hire me because they want to fuck me and are always surprised that I am not a sexual deviant and that I am really good at what I do…the thing they hired me for. Always underestimated. The potential bookings and the backing-out flies at me like stacks of dinner plates…

“Oh! you might eat today! Ah…nah…they changed their minds.”

“Ah, you might pay your car insurance with this gig…ah…oh…something came up…ahh…I see…”

Do me a favor, get over yourself. Actions butterfly all around the world. When you act like an asshole today, someone cuts an old lady off on the highway next week, and I struggle still.

I struggle, still. Yes, but if you think I will drown on account of you, then you are mistaken. There will come a day when the levee breaks and the floodgates come crashing through town. I won’t stop to save you. I have my own alligator skin to swim with, fool.

Eagles remind me to think about what freedom feels like.

Mon, 05 Jul 2010 17:01:44 -0400

Eagles remind me to think about what freedom feels like.

I’ve been holding my cards too close to my chest. I was...

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 17:00:42 -0400

I’ve been holding my cards too close to my chest. I was afraid you would throw hatred in my direction. I was afraid you would reject me. I am afraid of failure. I desire so deeply to share my amazing stories of a whirlwind life on the road, full of love, sex, turmoil, memories, images, stories….I want you to get off your ass and connect. Stimulate you existence. Tear apart those bulletproof pajamas and hold my hand down the path towards the unknown. Embrace this world. Do it with me.

Things are moving just a little too fast. For the most part...

Sat, 03 Jul 2010 16:59:42 -0400

Things are moving just a little too fast. For the most part things are moving a little too slow. Maybe for every step too fast something has to get slower to compensate. It trickles down.

One site dies, another shady site pops up to take its place. One site sticks with it only to be beat out when all the talent jumps ship for the next best shady place to get a quick buck. It trickles down.

The magazines I freelance for are using larger images. They pay me by the image. The features look better, are more pages, and are cheaper to produce for the publication house. It trickles down.

Time Magazine bought a cover photo from a hack stock library for $100 or so. The photographer got a Time Magazine cover (which usually pays $10k) for $35. It trickles down.

Wal-Mart fired a five-year employee for using medical marijuana to treat his terminal illness.

People make more money when they whore out their charity cases.

How’s this for charity:
Buy my prints so my dog does not starve.

We have mustaches. We have acne scars. We love each other and...

Thu, 01 Jul 2010 18:03:57 -0400

We have mustaches. We have acne scars. We love each other and will until the end of time. Our belly fat and ugly punk rock hair makes no difference to each other. We met over the internet and made a point to meet in person. There were 11 of us. We smoked pot and jumped on hotel beds naked. I rolled up the bible and the Catholic girl decided to go back home to Philly. I coaxed one of them into the Jersey shore ocean in the middle of the night. She was afraid we’d step on a needle. We didn’t. Ever wonder what makes a “broken doll”? Here’s the official answer.

“She is the girl who is secure in herself and does
as she pleases. She is unrestricted by the rules
and regulations of the world around her. She
has strength, charisma and personality.

Each “Doll” is beautiful in her own way and
loves to flaunt that beauty to the world.
Creating art with her presence in daily life.

Some would deem this as not a woman’s
place, therefore making her “Broken” to
society’s standards. But, she doesn’t worry
about what society thinks and that brings each
“Doll” here for all the World to taste her creation.”