Chicks who dig Needles

I recently joined suicide girls, no I did not become one of the SG's but I am a memebr now which means I get to stretch my voyeuristic tendancies and feast on the flesh of gorgeous women. Not just any gorgeous women either... I am not into the pamela anderson/jessica simpson type... they are commercial barbie dolls that I don't even get to dress up. My taste has always been the Angelina Jolie type, I know that many of you would agree with me when I say she is one of the worlds hottest women.

This site is full of tattooed, pierced, punked-out babes and lots of other interesting things besides their hot photos. I'm a social girl, I like to interact with people and I have to admit that has been one of my favorite features of the internet. I have never really been into chat rooms, not interesting enough for me, although there is one virtual reality place that I do enjoy, I am more interested in things like these blogs, and sites like suicidegirls. Here people have to be more creative then just "hey, I'm a guy, any hot chicks in here (like they could tell for sure) who wanna fuck?" How boring is that, and so many chat rooms are JUST that.

I love reading the crazy, intriguing and highly entertaining posts that some people submit. Sure there's idiots here as well, but I am not getting bombarded with their sexual frustration in mundane ways, unless I choose to read there stupid blogs, which I generally don't.

Thats another reason this punk girl site is perfect for me, sexy pictures, great tattoos, and even intersting people. Not too mention I was lucky enough to get to be the photographer of one of the girls for the site... sorry I am not telling who, even if I am proud of my work ;) Hmmm I wonder if there are any sites of guys like this one? I love both men and women, beauty is beauty after all, why limit oneself?

Here's to body mutilation and all the crazy fuckers who take it too far! Life would not be the same without them.

magic moon 

study time

Well this is a new experience for me. To study. I don't think I really did much of it in highschool, I was just too busy with life. It was strange to me that any teenager could actually live school as their life... but then most teenagers, at that time anyway, were not like me. I went to a different highschool for every year, sometimes changing after one semester. It was... interesting. I started guessing how many people I would know by the time I left... I make friends pretty easy, lucky me.

All this moving about did not allow for much study time, particularily because I did not live with my parents during most of this time... I left home at 15, and life was pretty busy as an unencumbered youth. School became the lowest priority and so had the least amount of time dedicated to it.

Now being in University, where I might add it is MUCH different then highschool (thankgod) except for some ditz factor that some people never seem to grow out of, I find that I want to study, and I need to study... but I am a damned procrastinator! I have yet to figure out how to program the necessary motivation into my everyday psyche... *puts fingers to temples* "must memorize material, must fill brain with right answers!" I hope its working. The thing is, Iam really enjoying learning, and I am pretty serious about being successful. I want to get the best grade I can, I want to get as many A's as is absolutly possible for this trancendant computer in my head to achieve.

Is it too high a goal? Only if I can't get this fucking study button off hold....hmmmm Well I guess I better go learn ;)

Help... too tired to sleep

Ugh. I had the worst sleep last night... I spent hours trying to will myself to fall. Around 4:30am I finally did fall, and then my son and his sleep-over pal woke me up at 6:00am. My son has always been an early riser, I swear it used to be 5:30 every morning... ya think maybe he's destined to own a farm? This morning was dreadful, two 7yr old boys can maybe try hard to be quiet, but they have barely a concept of their own voice in the rest of the world... not to mention I am blessed with being a 'light sleeper'.

Too bad I couldn't find the duct tape.

Now I am in the zombie zone, its too early to go to bed, only 7:35pm and by the time I put the boy to bed, I will be too tired to fall myself. I'll probably end up trying to study and get distracted by the way the words seem to dance on the page. Then I will sit here at the computer and try to get some writing done, only to find that the rest of the world outside the monitor has turned to blackness.

I guess I could sit and watch Superman 2 for the umpteenth time... ick. I hate limbo... ah well what's a girl to do? Hmmm, maybe if I run around the block a few times, then through a sprinkler cause its damn hot here, I just might exhaust myself. The meer thought is too much energy. Fuck it, I am just going to lay in bed a read until my eyes won't stay open anymore.

Thats as good a plan as any. Wish me luck that my next post is more interesting, and doesn't exist in blasville.

the dark tower of my mind 

Ode to Annabanana 

Ode to Annabanana

The firs time I set eyes on her, she was short (only 7yrs old after all) skinny with blonde hair and scuffed knees. It wasn't until she smiled, unabashed, that I fell madly in love. My skinny blonde friend had the biggest brightest smile in the world, and she flashed it alot, accompanied by laughter, throughout our long, lovely years as kindred spirits.

Those days we would fight over who would play with shannon this recess, and who would play with me the next. There was running and skipping and lots of climbing. Ya, we were pals, and it was great! Then the worst thing happened, just before the beginning of the next grade, anna's mother kidnapped her and moved to other end of the planet. Ok well not exactly, but they did move far away... and I cried.

There were 4 long years that I had to wage war on the elite assholes all on my own. A big job for one so young... AND a fashion degenerate. I endured wierdo-hood from childhood to adolesence without my sweet anna, and even gave up on her eventually. The horrible injustice of childhood is that parents (anna's wicked child-stealing mother to be exact ;p) don't tend to think about writing to thier small childs friends when they uproot them, not unless they're related. It so unfair because its not like an 8yr old girl could manage it on her own. *whinning*

Then one miraculous day in grade 7... while I was walking down the hallway of my junior-high, wasting time cause class bored the shit outta me, I saw a long-legged vision with cropped blonde hair and a mega-smile!!! It was my ANNA. I was floored, but not speechless (am I ever?) and so I scream out "ANNA!!!" She was being escorted by the principal to her new locker when I spotted them and he grinned at my shout, seemingly releived that he did not have to be kind to 'the new girl' much longer.

"Well young lady, it looks as if you already have a friend... very good. T----, why don't you show Anna around the school?"

"Sure." I said doubley happy that I got my kindred friend back AND I got an excuse from the principal to be out of class.

From Anna's point of view (she revealed this years later), she would not have recognized me had I not first yelled at her, and my welcome was a relief to her nervousness of a new school.. All around it worked out beautifully. Our friendship blossomed once again, and we were inseperable... well almost. One of the intricacies of our friendship is that sometimes it was not much more then a battle of wills or strange power dynamic that had us pissed off royally at each other, that would go on and on.

At those times our mothers would say to us.. " maybe you should not be friends with that girl." but we never listened... they just didn't understand. No matter how pissed we were, we always came back to each other. Those were the years... sweating our asses off dancing at the kiddy dance-club every friday night... dreaming of the New Kids (HEY it was 1989!)... experimenting with make-up, then boys, then drugs... watch out for that make-up, it can lead to drugs!!!

We loved to dance! That is a passion that Anna and I share and it was something we loved to do together, whether it was in our bedrooms with just us and the getto blaster, or at dances for what felt like years on end... we danced; shaked, shimmied and 'wiggled it'.. seducing first boys, then men with our ability to flow like water to the music. Although we loved having them around and having such amazing control over them, we didn't need the guys to enjoy dancing, it was something we did well together and loved. Ah dammit I miss dancing with Anna.

Then another terrible thing happened.. when we were 16. Aliens abducted me in a flash of blinding light, and when I awoke, I was in BC, across the country from where I began (Ontario girl originally). The ship looked strangely like a jumbo jet and the alien I lived with strongly resembled my father. I had done it. I had left her this time, and after SO many years, or so it seemed to my young mind.

The years have gone by, and at first I went regularily back east to visit my friends and family, always visiting with blondie while there (she still crops it short damn girl). There was a time, around the age of 25, when we almost lost each other... too much time gone by, not enough phonecalls/letters. But whenever we did talk, it was always as if no time had gone by, we were still 15 and laughing about the cute boy at the arcade and our new favorite songs. Fortunatly after two long years of silence, we were spared a watery death, cold and alone, by a phonecall early on the morning of my 27th birthday, as soon as I heard her soft, velvety voice, I started crying and laughing all at once. That was all we needed.

On April 11 my Annabanana turned 29. I have lovd her this long and will love her a long while yet... and we will dance until we need walkers to support our asses.

freedom for a day

I used to be a mom who had an insane amount of freedom. Every other week my son would be with his father for a week. Equal parenting. I loved it, like I said I had more freedom then most mothers ever get. Not anymore. It's the price I payed to move to this city and go to university, we are too far away for my son to see his dad so often. It sucks all around really, Earen had to resort to being a sometimes 'weekend' dad.

Since I had so much freedom anyway, I never used to get babysitters, and I think somewhere along the lines I forgot the value of a night out. Well it's all beginning to come back to me now. Tonight Aidan is having a sleepover at a friends house... WoooHoooo! Exciting for him, exciting for me. I could actually stay out ALL night if I wanted to, not likely, but I COULD. This is a luxury I, and all other childless youth, did not even realize was mine until it no longer was.

My girlfriends and I have been having lingerie nights (a.k.a sexy sunday) for a few years, and it worked out perfectly when Aidan was living with dad for a week. Now go ahead and try to have a sexy day with a 7 yr old boy around... LOL. Not a chance. Wouldn't do it anyway even I was payed to. Not that I don't want to him to appreciate the value of gorgeous women, just not all together in one room... sets unrealistic expectations... hahahahaha.

I rememeber the nights when I was 18 and I would live out of a half full back-pack, stay up for days on LSD, find myself miraculously on the other side of the province and sleep on front lawns with a pile of friends. Deliciously unbound.

Now don't get me wrong, motherhood rocks. I love it, at least the good parts, no one LOVES the parts of parenting where your needs come last, being an Ogre is required training and your kid throws every insult they have at you in the heat of not getting what they really want. Not to mention trying like hell not to FUCK THEM UP. Luckily for me, those moments are few and far between, but they are definitly there. I have been purposfully raising a good man since the moment I realized 'it's a boy'... its more difficult then it sounds.

So tonight I am putting 'Mom' away in the top drawer, and 'I' am coming out for a vacation... hmmm, lingerie day seems like a good idea!

will I or won't I? 

Tastes like Coca-Cola

I'm bummed. It sucks. The shitty thing about having a generally sunny disposition is that whenever you're not smiling or laughing or torturing your friends with your smart-assery, everyone immediatly says"whats wrong?" And even though I listen to other peoples issues as my chosen career, I'm not as into sharing mine with others... actually in those painful moments what I really want to do is beat the shit out of anyone who even looks at me... so very non-violent of me. Crying is better... releases the tension and doesn't cost jail time. Who knew?

I left the campus wanting to push the beemer to trecherous speeds, but settled for loud eminem. Got home and went strait to my room, releaved that no one was in the house; no one would have to be slain today. A few deep breaths... "FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!" That helped.

What do you do when you could just flip your lid and freak right out? Hmmmm. Well I can write, thats always been a savior... but I need to burn. Put on my belly dancing costume, scarves and coins and arm bands... slap in the shakira concert and push my limits. I contort my body, isolating the hips only... now just my chest, arms snaking and then the music changes and I shimmy, snaping my hips and the sweat starts to drip off my face... on and on and on. Till it hurts. mmmm. That was it, just right...

Who needs guns or hangovers... Let me dance anyday. Open a bottle of Coke, a sick weakness of mine, but hey today the taste reminds me of the way I feel, acidic with a bite of metal. Hmmmm maybe I should make a fruit smoothy, I wonder what feelings those smashed berries will remind me of. I jump in a hot shower and try to drown myself in the water running down my face... it never works. Slap on the T.V. and flip through 76 channels of NOTHING.. unless you count miss stretchy face with the anti-gravity boobs trying to sell excersize equipment, or the worship channel (nuff said). Maybe 4 channels out of the whole 80 have anything interesting on and then I ask myself " so why the fuck am I watching T.V. anyway" and yet I flick, flick, flick. Still nothing. Pick up the Stephen King book lying on the coffee table, its been calling my name for hours already anyway, and find my place... and the living room disapears.

After some required reading I sit down at my laptop and work on C.L.1. My baby, the taste of the story overwhelms the acid on my tongue and I get lost in the world where a clone may very well represent the second coming of "christ almighty!" and all the fucked up shit that would bring along with it. This story turns me on, and I wish my fingers could move as fast as my thoughts... the lame feelings I have been having start to get lost in the waters off russia's coast and the mountians of B.C. I start trippin on this messy, harsh future I have created that lies just ahead of us, in the wake of greedy motherfuckers like good ole Monkey Boy... and my heat starts to rise... once again I feel like breaking something. Inside me Rage is an unloved teenage girl, thrown to the curb and fucked over. Watch out for her mouth... it shoots lightening bolts. Does any of this make any sense to anyone else?

Fuck it all anyway. In another day or so I'll be right as rain, always loved that image...

another favorite quote

"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed."
-Stephen King

the goddess on my back 

Stories End

Every story that begins has to end. Even if it isn't a good or proper ending, it still gets terminated, the words stop going or the back cover shows up. Some stories are so great, we get attatched to them and secretly hope they'll never end, just go on and on unfolding new and exciting secrets along the way. Those are the stories that are our own... the ones that we identify with, cry and laugh for. Tales that we fall in love with and want to keep close, rereading over and over, memorizing every delicious line.

Some stories haunt us, leaving ghosts to wander through our minds, faces in mirrors that are not our own... and we rememeber these shades as old friends, lovers, husbands and wives that have been lost along the way, loves that could never be, though their burning touch lingers on. My shelves are lined with these chronicles, little containers for hearts, hands, fingers & lips, cocks and breasts, dirty deeds, tortured beings, great escapes and unresolved longings. Gaze inside the pages and you would see abandoned children and wives, rejected teenagers, blood hunters and dragon slayers... rape, war, bombs and hunger; it's all here, neatly packaged and open for viewing, if anyone wanted to look.

My own legend unfolds like a wave; tides pushed by the moons pull. The characters move through me, in me, using me as a vessel to realization. Absolution escapes in teardrops and sweat, running away to the ocean as a river of emotion. I am witness to it all; every look, breath, touch and taste... the choices, consequences, mysteries and treasures are born within me and spew forth from my hard-on to create life and start the adventure anew.

Stories have to end. Preserved as they may be in there private, safe packages. Storytellers go on and keep coming... the spectators with voices who breath life and bleed buckets into the adventures that are waiting at the top of the dark tower. Open the door, step inside, bring your fear, lust and bravery. Leave your seed, your orgasm, your ultimate shining moment and be careful of the lightening on your way out.

don't fuck with me-I have a sword

sweet pain in the company of stars

the fullness of the sky pressing down upon me
a blanket of the deepest violet
thrown carelessly about your shoulders
the scent... warm, delicious, yearning
full edible lips devouring my soul
tainted red
my hand a hungry explorer
feeding on your skin, tracing every unknown line
you & me
escapee's from the prisons of time and propriety
the endless sea of your eyes
begging
my throbbing heart answers
through the heat of my burning fingertips
and we move
the dangerously graceful motion of lions
and dance of water
our bodies
flames between my thighs
drawing you as a moth
resistance tearing you limb from limb
your desire as a sword against my belly
thunder heads threatening your glorious eyes
and the rain begins to fall
splashing on my face and breasts
running from longing you bury your face
in my hair
sobbing my name as the name of Eve
on your bitten lips
I surrender
and remember

a favorite quote

"My religion is simple, my religion is kindness..."
-Dahli Lama

IS smoking illegal?

Ok so here's the case as I see it. Research has shown that smoking over time can and will kill you. There are great debates over whether or not people should be allowed to kill themsleves, commit suicide.
To choose to smoke is in essence choosing to kill yourself in this way. Many people may not agree, but only because they are afraid to die, and are addicted. Addicted; it doesn't mean to want, to desire, to choose... no it means to use or face painful consequences. Smoking kills you, in horrible, but slow long-term fashion. I do not beleive that living or dieing should be a legal decision, it is a personal decision.
So a person has a right to kill themsleves if they choose, it is not illegal as of yet. I mean how could you make it illegal, who would you charge with attempted self-murder except for unsuccesful suicides, and if they wanted to kill themsleves before, going to jail for it is NOT going to make it better. So making smoking illegal for personal health matters just won't hold water.
Yet... second-hand smoke has also been proven to be fatal over time. If a person was knowingly poisoning someone esle over a long period of time and that person eventually died from some disease resulting from the poison, would not the person doing the poisoning be held responsible? Is that not murder? How can cigarette smoking be denied as attempted murder? Or deadly assault? Murder, assault, whatever you call it, it IS illegal. So what the fuck is going on here?

dancing in red

relate much?

Relating is one of the most important and common things we do as humans. From the moment we are concieved we have a relationship with our mothers, and we are born into her relationships with the world. It is no wonder that some people are excellent at relating, and some people can't get away quick enough. The thing is, relate we must. It is ALL relative and the only way to escape from it is become a nomad, outcast, hermit... or Michael Jackson. No seriously though, that approach only works for some and I can't help but think that those people have just run as far away as they can, instead of turning to face it or fight the fear. To relate is to be alive I think and it can only enhance the overall experience if we pursue it rather then escape it. Say what you mean and mean what you say... works for me.

the dark tower beckons 

reading saves lives

This is my first attempt at a blog, but please be patient. I am a writer, and have been ever since I was about 8 or 9... any serious writer knows that to write well you must read like hell. Well thats not so hard to do when you are me. My favorite types of books are fiction and fantasy, I guess its because when I first discovered the joy of books, I was young and wanted an escape from my life, fiction and fantasy are great for that. The book I am reading right now just happens to be on the present bestseller list, and for very good reason. It is called The Lovely Bones, and it lives up to all its hype. What an incredible book! I am so insprired by this writer and how she took a tragedy and turned it into fabulous writing. That is excatly the kind of writing I wish to have published, a tremendous tale spun with excellent storytelling magic. The writer's name is Alice Sebold for anyone who wants to know, and she is now one of my favorite writers. Along with the master, Stephen King, I also am a big fan of Jane Austin, Starhawk, Anne Rice, Tolken... I could go on, and some other time... I will. So who are your faves... and why?