Where am I? Where have I been and where am I going? I have no idea.

The who we are and what we want slathered in grace and greed and desire and want and prosperity and personality side lined by imagination because sometimes that’s all that works. The mind is a dangerous place to settle in when your world is falling apart. It’s cozy and calm but only once you’ve become comfortable in the chaos that presides. Who’s in charge? I am. But in the words of the caterpillar on top of that mushroom “who R U?” She is me and that me is full of oh so many versions. The CEO at the head of the table has only just gotten here so how the fuck does she run the show? In fishnets and boots with ruby red lips and a presence to match her mood that can change in a snap. At least she knows how to dance and move with the groove but it’s a tune so unfamiliar that she simply makes it up as she goes cascading down a rhinestone coated disco path that she’s been afraid to walk down so, death decided to shove her and now look at her…….thriving and shit. But not for long because it will all end. And then what? Pride and prejudice or just wandering like lost star shine in the dark with no where to point it. No direction or director to tell her what to do or where to do it. A for lease sign posted in the window of her mind for the curious to see if they fancy a look. Read it and weep because she does. All the time. Salty sorrow soaked wishes and wants followed up by don’t forget you still don’t know what’s next. New chapters trapped in-between old ones that smell like cigarettes and wine tailored to fit by her maiden name. Clutch those gifted pearls baby and don’t let go unless they’re in your mouth stifling the screams. It’s a new ear and life handed it to her on a cancer tarnished platter with heirloom serving pieces she didn’t want to sell. Left with her devices and no vices except the as needed void fillers that fit real good because self control is not her strong suit but my oh my she does look good in one. She looks really good all dolled up and doomed up and tied up with her emotions inked on her skin. Swallowing it all down like she’s supposed to even when it doesn’t taste good. Why do you think she likes candy so much? Sweets for the sensitive and sensual. It fits the role. The many that have come and gone and those that stuck and shall continue. The endurance is amazing and life altering and damn near threatening. Conquered and conquested she doesn’t stop. No shame in her game especially because she doesn’t like to play them. Follow and watch. Look and listen. See and be heard. It’s all part of it. The landing gear is coming down and she’s the pilot, the crew, and the passengers all in one. The last one standing with all her parts and pieces in her carry on. Prepare for the descent. There will be turbulence.

Green and glossy as dewy grass one day turned seasoned and sparkling like the city at night the next. Girlish gleaming day dreams set a drift daily still comfort like blankies and stuffed animals. Just nowadays the animals sought aren’t stuffed and neither is the carnal conjuring that can often accompany such a mood. And it never seems to be enough even when the wanter and needer is deemed to be plenty but handle with care because the much is just that. And please, by all means, handle hard and handle often if you dare but don’t ignore because once at the table, the meal is served. Eat up, you don’t want it to get cold and dessert is always the best part. We like it sugary over here. Candy coated fantasy laced with a fine direct line to reality served white hot on a silver fucking platter. How much easier could it get? Alas, nothing is free, besides the love letter written word or the phantasmal spoken word against the skin like a song to the tune of red flags flying with a giant F for freak like a beacon but bound to the imagination and lost in distance, desire, action and reaction. Never letting the light dim for sheer fear of the dark no matter how well one’s adapted to it, it’s still dark. Holding on to the hope and the want and the need that lingers under that oozing surface. That warm to the begging to be touched top side of the ship set sail oh so long ago. Lost in those thoughts and in deed but never far away from either. Just got to get those thoughts to those deeds and things could be just right as rain but sadly and unfortunately humans aren’t animals and some fear getting wet for the sake of drowning. But baby, don’t you know that’s where the good stuff is. The secret stash to plunder like an emotional pirate. Keep saying it and the belief will sink down deep like a preacher on Sunday. Speaking a sermon so slick and sweet, who wouldn’t sip it like Kool-Aid on hot and steamy summer’s day?? It’s all in the words. It’s all in the moment. It’s all in the hustle. And then, it’s all sent off and sealed by a sweetheart’s kiss with a summons to be back again. Back to the frontline fabrication of the invention and mirage of the polished, primed and put together convention that stays to play in the mind. If that’s all there is and that’s all that’s left, I suppose it’s livable and doable but time can be greedy and so can the heart and the body. Once the deserved is felt, solo feels good. As good as it’s always felt. Set that table for one because those words want to feed and fuel the mind. Especially a shimmering and a starving mind. The body left to sit and wonder where it went wrong but what it does is oh so right. A feast of fancy with the beast of burden and the queen of hearts. One for the books with pictures in color and the stories to go with it.

Micro dosing on fantasy to survive reality. The scarce and lacking seek to destroy but the mind wants what it wants and it will find a way. Lost and found in the wake of what makes up the day and sinks under the soft and fuzzy at night. With eyes closed and laid out dripping with want and heavy with wonderment. The sensations left alone and unfinished in real time but worn out in the back alley day dreams of the deprived and depraved. Hold steady as she goes because the water rises with just a thought of the Oh My God it should have and the Oh My God when will it? Because it has to. It just has to. No holds barred, bare knuckled and up to it as deep and as hard as it can. Stand back and stand still and just let me go. Unleashed and unbridled. Released into the wild of the wonder, the wild of control and command. Submitted and summoned. A requisition of desire for the forbidden and prohibited but so fucking necessary that it’s become essential. And urgent bidding that requires attention to the wanted and follow through by the craved. Take me past the words that facilitate the fascination and give me the lechery in real time. The infatuation that’s spanned highways and mountains cut through by the river that runs with just a memory of the untouched. Fondness and fever cocktailed together for a coveted thirsty boy and touch starved flat land locked girl. Where oh where and how? That is the big boy better give it to me good question. It’s not just a question to answer but a fucking deed to be done and done so there is nothing left but skin ripped from the bone done. Wasted and overfilled from the gluttonous feast of the flesh that’s been on the table for long enough. It’s time to eat. Eat it all up leaving nothing left for the next one. A hollow shell of what she was taken down by who he is and what she’s needed all this time. How much longer? Just tell me when, where and how and I’ll obediently take care of all your rest. No need to worry or fret just let me take care of it and you’ll be mastered and I’ll be praised. A good girl and good boy turned man because in the end that’s what it is and what it was and what it should be. No lacking libido or lust lost here. Just a hungry body with an insatiable appetite and no chef to make the meal. Someone feed the greed for the dominant devotee is lost at sea and those pirates sure are looking fine. Tie me up to shove me on the plank, I’ll take the walk and I’ll jump but you come too. Talk is cheap. Action is so much better. Find a way and you’ll find me there. Ready, willing and able all for you and all for me. Just a taste is all I need but want more. A finger dipped in and sucked clean isn’t too much to ask for the beggared, is it? Just enough and then some should suffice but if it doesn’t just ask for more, no need to be without when the what you need is right here for the taking. So take it. Use it. Feel it and remember it. Then and now. All of it and all of me. It’s just that simple. Time and space can be worked out and worn out just like the mind and body of the day dreams that hold it all in that safe secret place. Notes and words with smiles and depth but more than anything and everything that hasn’t and should there is the necessity and the deficiency that lives and breaths behind it all. Save us both from the misery of the miles but not the torture, we don’t mind that part. Seek and destroy it, finally. The unfinished business handled and handled good. The depletion fulfilled by the words backed up and that time gone by pulled into the present. Pulled, pushed, tugged, gripped, worshiped and appreciated. Finally. Finally.

Tattered and torn. Tethered and tormented. Tangled and twisted. Pieces shattered and walked across with bare skin only to tolerate the pain. A learned process of a day dreamed make believe land lived in instead of just visiting. The lonely seeking lonely only to find the crazy’s like it there too. Playing the hand that you’re dealt and skipping hand in hand to the tune of your very own Broadway sing along. No need for anything more because you know it’s not coming and you know in the end, if there is one, you’ll be there soaked in sorrow and bathing in the beautiful bewilderment of your own heart felt wishes, wants and desires. A wonder of why can’t I be first as you stroll in second or third watching the the trophies being handed out and just smiling because at least you were in the fucking race…….right? Appreciate and move on. When you simply beg for love and instead you get another lesson you just tuck it away in your battered by fantasy brain and think yet again why does the shiny never stay? Just to be chosen. Just to be held by another’s heart. Just to be the focus. Just to be the who that held the sparkle. Just to be the fucking one. Just once. That’s not asking the world but in fact it’s just asking to be the center of it for a minute. Just a minute. 

The definition of shiny is (of a smooth surface) reflecting light, typically because it’s very clean or polished. But honey, I’m not smooth and I’m not a reflection. I can be clean and polished but I’d rather be dirty and dark. Yet here I am shinning with all my depth, my too much, my sensuality, my addictions, my good and bad and my fucking feelings. Crazy is a conquest and baby I need to be conquered. Conquered stiff. Forcefully and thankfully. Map it out on my skin. March in the right direction even if it’s wrong. Follow the sun and what you seek shall be found. The glory that’s bound and restrained will be rewarded and bathed in the obscure of what is my mystic hunger. 

The flavors of the feast at this table are perversely plentiful. It never runs out. Watered down for convivence but never losing its luster or potency, even underground or hidden in secrets. Classified cravings and private showings always seem to bring the house down. A job well done indeed. Every single time. I mean, we’re all good at something and my something isn’t like the other girls. Unique and unmatched so far. Inquiring minds and prying eyes with big leash held hands reach out to the dark side of this moon. The other side glamouring the earthlings while the sires want to slay and play in the wicked. Both sides dancing together for the better or for the worse depending on the debauchery of the day and darlings that dare. 

I really can’t begin to bleed out the reality of how empty shinning can be. There is a relief that comes with the shadows which might sound grim but the suffering brings a heat to the cold. A tortured release that’s warranted, needed, appreciated, worshiped, coveted and allowed. Once more the shiny needs to be handled with care but at this point she’d just take being handled at all. Care or no care just fucking do it. Furiously. Fevered. Frenzied. Fistfuls. Feral. Do it already. Handle my business and close the deal damn it. Patience are a virtue that come with the light but the ache and the affliction that pair so perfectly with the wretchedness simmer and soak in the black. And waiting doesn’t feel so good but us turbulent shinnies are a kin to pain. So bring it on. Leave no casualties except what is left over afterwards. The sticky and stinging aftermath. Ruined and ravaged. Fallen to pieces. The shattered remnants of breaking the surface. The surface of the shiny. 

What makes you better? What cures all your ails? Is it solitude or company? I like both. I need both but in different ways. There’s not just one fix for it. And it’s not just a one time prescription, it’s a fucking treatment. It’s a long and steady process that leads up to the end. The goal is good. Just make me feel good. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just good. So good. I can’t help but want it. It’s been so wasted on the past and the worry and the wonder what that I’m not sure how it even tastes anymore. Is it sweet? Is it bitter? Is it sticky? Is it still warm or has it cooled down? I just want to stick my tongue out and have it land like snowflakes with eyes closed while it melts away and I too soften and dehydrate from the need. That ache that vibrates inside. All the way inside. Deep enough to touch my soul and seal it with a kiss. Just one kiss to send it away and make it all better. The envelope of time served licked and stamped and earned.

Haven’t I earned the good? Isn’t it time for it? Right now. I need it right now. All the good. All the time.

I feel it and hear it and I’m begging reality to see it. In real time. Live and in person.

It’s left fielder that’s for sure. A never could see it coming one. So when it does feel good, I revel in it even if it’s only for a moment. I take it. Fuck yeah I take. Daily. Nightly. Hours apart. I will take it how it’s served. How it’s directed. I wont’ miss a dose, I promise. I can’t. I need it. It’s become necessary. Just don’t let me run out. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care if I become dependent. Habitualize that good. Threat it like a habit. No fear of frequency here just give me that good, that real good. I’ll even say please before I take and thank you after. No side effects could keep me from swallowing it down with a grin and the waiting for it to kick in! Quick burning and leave me wanting more. It’s all ok with me as long as it just makes me feel, feel good. That real good.

There is always something in the way. Blocked by what is and tainted by what was. Some things seen, some things felt and some things heard and all of them sting as equally and as often. Something blocking my breath. My breathing in this life is obstructed by what lives inside. It breathes all by itself and seems to strangle my own……my own what, I don’t quite know, I just know how it feels. I just know how it moves and hides and sneaks and peeks and peers and pushes and tugs and taunts and beguiles me. I know that it’s not who I am but it is in fact a part of me even if I don’t want it to be. And it’s bred such a darkness and a hate and a need and an anger that feeds on turmoil and trauma. Calm in the chaos and quiet in the fight. The saddest part is that it’s always been there. Ripe and raw since the beginning. No more sorrow and shame hidden underneath just real and sick and showing up over and over again. There’s no breaks with this. There’s no decline or deaccent, it’s always up, up high, just waiting to fall. Floating through the steam soaked emotional air. That same air that seems to be pulled from my lungs whenever I get a moment, a moment to breathe, it’s sucked out and away. Gone are the days of wonder why and replaced by days of drudgery and dreaming. Tantrums and fits of epic proportion sliced down by snake shaped words with a sharpened tongue and those words are fork forced into me with each bickering brawl. The comforts of home dull and dingy by all the times before and sullied in the gray that sticks to my mind like humidity on the skin. An overcast life lead by a lust seeker in a haze of the lack luster lit by lunacy and frailty. A walk down memory lane as I hold the hesitant hand of an unsustainable present and powerless future or so it seems. Sickly and anemic with desire it’s nearly funny because it’s so fucking sad. Lost and languorous I sit and wait for something, anything to push it out of the way. That something, that whatever it is that blocks my sight. That restricts my breath. The barrier. The wall. The gridlocked mountain that is between. The ever present hindrance that has become a living entity and holds fast with a proud restraint. Time will heal and time will tell, so they say. I say time be damned and turn up the ruckus. Ferment in the fucked up and align the with the wild. Let the riot out and bask in the bedlam and free the fury. Pandemonium is ok even if they don’t like it. Even if they don’t like you. Truth be told in silence and squash the squabble. Ignore the debate and fuel the fire that will set you free. Harness it and bathe in the embers. Wrangle the words and stow the static. Be you, be hectic and shove your way through. All of you. Every last longing and deserving bit of you. Bust out and bust through and be seen with the vengeance that is, and has always been, you.

Put it back. Put it back where it came from. Underneath. Behind. Hidden. No light to penetrate it, only the dark for company. Jealous of the sun the moon plays with me better than anyone. Demons worthy of my love biting at my thoughts. Lost in the day dreams that fuel the hours that tick by as I wait. Wait for something, anything to ease it. To release it. Let it go but not too much. Not too fast. Not while anyone’s looking either, we wouldn’t want eyes upon it. No no. Not this. Extra and necessary are often the result of the unwanted and the unwanted are the sorcerers that seek it out in the corners of the night. The rooms where shadows are hosted. The houses where ghosts reside and the living are dead inside and are welcome. Don’t push too hard either. We don’t like that here. We like it nice and gentle because when it’s rough we’re used to it. Our scars and wounds are one in the same and proudly on display and there’s not a single apology for it. We take it like champs and don’t even flinch when hit anymore. Flog me with fantasy. I like it. Make it sting with the the slap of the leather against my skin. It’s ok. I can take it. I’ve been taking it. I have learned to allow it. I’ve learned to adapt to the depths of how it feels. Numb isn’t even a thing anymore. No fucks to give, nah, I’m a whore with my fucks. Giving them all but at a price. 20 bucks for the front seat, 50 for the back. Gotta keep that hustle up. And don’t forget to smile. They like that better than tears. Hide that shit down and don’t bring it up in mixed company. Debbie Downer doesn’t look good anymore. It’s drug on too long and the dragging is like anchors tied around my neck, choking the very life out of my present. Self sabotaged by the past and locked up by the worry warden of the future. Hold on because it’s not just a bumpy ride, it’s a shit show circus with no way out but to spin in circles until we all fall down.

Will I ever come out on the other side? Even upside down like my beloved Alice. I’d take it. I’d take a seat at that tea party and enjoy the fuck out of the madness and lunacy. In like minded company isn’t a bad thing in the make believe of it all. Depraved and deprived. Lost and lusting. Willing and worn. Shattered and slathered. Let me go. Just for bit. I’ll be back again and again and again. It’s not a promise or a threat, it’s my life. Multiple redo’s and reruns of the same episode that won’t even pause anymore because it’s played too long. No finish line for the weak and the want to be wasted. That’s not how it works here. Treading water in a hurricane. Static under my skin can be identified by the provocative. Bewitched by the charge. Tainted by the dynamic. Roused by the curious and juiced by the bold. It’s not everyday you meet one like me. One of a kind, I guess. A product of circumstance. A creation of unfavorable conditions. Dominant domain held by the captain of this one course ship. Ambiance of sadness and the alliance of my imagination. And an aura of anger to hold on to when the fuel runs low. Desperate and pleading running through the zoo of my twilight. Blackout begging and aching for the one little or big thing to give it to me good, good and hard. Restoration.

Where do you begin when the beginning seems timeless? When the fire is lit and it burns so good. Eternal and forward. Thrusting past the strawberry soaked boundaries that needn’t be there anyway. Why even have to ask when the unyielding necessity is just there. Organically sensually sinful. Slippery when wet and absolutely nothing lost in translation. It’s all spelled out in the fantasy and the curiosity with no holds barred and no bell to ring at the end. Just a good old fashioned primal fight of the what to do next and how hard should it be. Where and when and who’s the ringmaster this time because the ticket to the freakshow comes with all my monsters baby and they like to be handled. Take it all or take just a bite but you know you’ll want more and more is the offer. But not too much, just enough. Put it on the table and dig in Daddy. No fear here, I’m used to the nightmare. I can tame the trembles. Take the terror and calm the creeps. It’s all part of it and I can handle it. There’s music in the mess and magic in the madness. Anguish doesn’t taste so bad when you’ve got the candy to coat it and don’t mind lapping it all up behind the scenes. But there’s a kick to it indeed. A zing and a zest that only the mighty can master. A reinforced security of the palate that takes away the sting of the swallow. Heavy handed and robust in touch but softly spoken with desired text and sought after script. Word after word and thought after thought no need for the perception of reality because it all depends on where you stand, sit or lay but, for this one, I’d rather kneel.