Outlet

I closed my eyes and saw a girl who handed a boy a flower. A flower in a box. A bleeding heart in a box, hugged by the most supple, moist soil.

Soft petals, pink hued and satiny. 

Blooming, healthy, pulsing with life.

His hands used to cradle so tenderly that flower! How he used to react to the flower's charms; its sweet scent somehow scintillating. He cared for it's soil, making sure it maintained it's lush moistness, ensuring that it's petals boasted it's very best colors. How he whispered to the flower, how he used to dole such praise, with his hands, his lips, his appreciation. In return, the flower burst forth with life for him, just him, with sinewy, breath taking life.

It became so cold so fast...the bleeding heart in a box felt the first frost of what has been a never ending winter far too swiftly. How quickly it became assumed that the most minimal care of the bleeding heart, just enough to keep it alive, would suffice! When care instructions were spelled out gently, or shouted from the height of urgency, sweet, fiery, dewy urgency, alas! they went unheard. 

Sweet, fiery, dewy urgency, that was what it was, when the flower's bloom sang loud and silently it's most titillating song! Urgency, when it emitted it's sweetest scent, in the spring... How could one possibly turn away? On display, many gardeners marveled at it's strange, trance-like allure. How they longed to simply stroke one petal, to waft on just one of its candied breezes. How they longed to sip gingerly of just one drop of it's dew.

The bleeding heart in a box kept breathing. It's roots were deep and thick, it's soil lush. It's will was strong. 

The boy had grown, and transformed after many steps along the dirt road in his journey.  With time brings an inevitable exchange; the letting go of things and the picking up of things. Too many things, perhaps? Too many melancholy little attaché cases, too much of a good thing, not enough of a better thing... The bleeding heart lived. It lived, and though it's petals sang their colorful song much softer, it sadly sang. The passion with which the beloved boy had once stroked it's petals had blown in the last few years' wind, carried far with the pollen, to some obscure venue unbeknownst to any but the boy. 

It'll have to be vague.

Recent insecurity
You have terrible timing
Much more positive than negative
But
The exact same negatives from varying sources
Doubt
Jokes
Bit of truth in them
Insensitivity in you
So much more in me
Questions
Am I too sensitive?
Am I allowed to allow myself to feel this true sadness? 
Is this something I'm being too sensitive about?
Can I not take a joke?
Say something hurtful to me
It hurts me
You become exasperated because I can't take a joke
I then feel bad, and then I feel bad for feeling bad
I then feel sad for feeling bad, and for feeling bad for feeling bad 
It's not just you.
It's you and him too. 
Him much more than you, of course, but it hurts the same all around 
It hurts on different levels
And I have no outlet
It's bigger than you know
Maybe it's me

You Know What She Did? Your Cunting Daughter?

Afternoon, faithful junkies! I have wonderful news! Yesterday I went with my best friend Frank to Steel City Con. Steel City Con is a comic book and collectibles convention that goes down every year. Anybody who knows anything about me knows two very distinct things: 

1.  The Exorcist is my very favorite movie of all time. 

2.  Zombies are my favorite kind of monster.

Imagine my excitement when my best bud shared the Steel City Con link on my timeline on Facebook and I saw that LINDA BLAIR was going to be in attendance! And Tom Savini, the special effects guy for Dawn of the Dead! And Ken Kirzinger, who played Jason Voorhees!!! I almost passed out. I took the day off from werq to go.

The air was filled with a delicious, non judgmental sweetness at the convention. Everyone smiled at everyone else, no one hurt anyone's feelings, no one argued with anyone about menial things. The adults were interesting to talk to and they shared in your own excitement about the Zombies, or the Stormtroopers, or the Sailor Moon characters. The spawn, which I normally loathe being around, were strangely well behaved and, I daresay, darling. They were dressed as Batman and Super Mario and Rainbow Brite, and their parents were dressed as the Joker and Hellboy and HarleyQuinn. It was wonderful.

But I was there for a single, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: to snap a flick with my favorite horror icon, Linda Blair. 

If I'd let that day pass without being in attendance, I would have kicked myself in the ass every day for the rest of my life. I knew that my hair had to be at it's fullest and most beautiful, so I made sure I sprayed it with argan oil the night before and the day of. My pipe cleaner curls had relaxed into sensual waves, and I loved it. I decided not to do anything else with it. 

When I laid eyes on her, my breath caught. This was the girl who levitated up to the ceiling and terrified the priests. This was the girl who fucked herself with a crucifix. This was the girl who threw Father Karras down the stairs, with a little help from Pazuzu, of course. I almost passed out, but I kept my cool outwardly.

As it turns out, Linda Blair is a dog lover and animal activist too! Her website, http://www.lindablairworldheart.org, is a testament to her dedication to animal activism. She was very pleasant to talk to, and hearing her voice in person after hearing her voice in the movies was lovely and surreal for me. It was perfect, everything I hoped it would be. :-) our pictures turned out beautifully. I was so thankful to my best bud for sharing the Steel City Con link with me, and for spending such a perfect afternoon with me. I wish everyone on Earth had friends like mine. 

I just wanted to share my experience with you. I hope you like the pictures! :-)

Winter.

Winter is a strange time for me. I pause now, awkwardly struggling to properly articulate it, all while chastising myself a bit for awkwardly struggling to properly articulate it in the first place.

Winter is the very literal, very visual death of all things, an unavoidable reminder for us all of our own mortality. It's cold and unforgiving. Everything living suffers in some way during the hard months, even if it's something as minute, for instance, as peaches being out of season and peaches are your favorite fruit. Winter is apocalyptic; heavy, sinister. Creeping. Sinewy and surreal. Winter is doom. 

I wilt during the winter months. I'm of the sun; West Indian by descent. Everything about me is warm. I'm as sweet as honey when the air is warm, the flowers at the peak of their bloom. They sway sensually to their natural, beautiful rhythm in the breeze and so do I. My skin glows, my hair is at it's fullest, and I'm as supple as a ripe plum. But I wilt and threaten to wither away from November to April (and most recently, May).  

From November to April (and most recently, May), the once lush green leaf turns cracked and brittle. The clouds breathe down an air so cold as to lay waste to the farmer's crops. The wildlife either runs away or hibernates or dies once touched by the first fateful kiss of winter. Produce tastes different. Everything is just a little more awful.

But oh, what a beautiful, visually striking, scintillating death to behold! Each snowflake twinkles and glistens in the moonlight, treating the eye to a dazzling array of silvers and purples and blues. As debilitating as it is, what cleaner, more refreshing feeling is there than a breath of severe winter air? There is nothing like a little death to make one appreciate what it is to feel truly alive, it would seem. 

My mom loves the cold. I can't understand it. She brightens and beams when it snows. It's lovely to watch her; she looks beautiful. I have a picture of her in a huge winter coat and hat, standing in a whiteout snowstorm with such a genuine, heart warming smile on her face that it brought me to tears when I looked at it the first time. 

I'm convinced I'm adopted, lol. :)

Winter is such a strange time for me. I can't stand it, and I count the days until I can swim and wear sundresses once more, but it's such a pleasure to watch and experience. It's kind of cool to watch everything die around me, bringing the infinite cycle of birth, life, and death full circle. I find it surreal to watch everything around me die a little bit faster than I; to survive watching everything die around me. There's a distinct, unmatched beauty in winter to me, much as I loathe it. Even the first kiss of it. Especially the first kiss of it. 

Ironic, how warm winter can be at times...at least for me. My mom morphs into a sparkling faerie during the winter. There are Xmas and Kwanzaa parties, and everything is spiked with full bodied liquor and a little laughter. Memories are made, candles are burned, and most of the time, there is apple cider. 

I'll never turn down a mug of spiced apple cider.

Colder Than a Witch's Tit.

Hello, addicts! Tonight, as promised, I'm shifting the focus of my blog to one of my very favorite topics: natural hair! :-) And it couldn't have come at a better time, either. To my chagrin, the weather has started to turn here in frigid Pennsylvania, and you know what that means. Black hair becomes brutally dry and brittle. My own treasured locs started to feel like a bale of hay, so I decided to give myself a slow, luxurious hot oil treatment...and, of course, blog about my method along the way. I hope someone out there in Internet Cyberville finds my entries helpful, or soothing, or positive, or something along those lines.

So, the first thing I did was spritz my locs pretty thoroughly with a peppermint oil/water mix. I'd already washed my hair a few days ago, but I wanted and desperately needed to increase my softness factor, so this treatment was kind of special and impromptu. Anyway,  I spritzed until my hair was damp enough to recognize by touch, but not saturated enough to drip.  Then, in a [what I call a] squirty bottle, or rather, one that you'd apply hair dye with; one that shoots out a steady, linear stream as opposed to a mist, I combined the following oils:

Creme of  Nature 100% pure Moroccan Argan oil (expensive as shit, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Creme-Nature-100%25-Pure-Argan/dp/B00BR5ISJC/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1415590844&sr=8-4&keywords=creme+of+nature+argan+oil) 

Hollywood Beauty Tea Tree Oil (moderately priced, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Hollywood-Beauty-Tea-Tree-Oil/dp/B000A3V1XC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1415590952&sr=8-2&keywords=hollywood+beauty+tea+tree+oil)

My all time favorite, Kemi-Oyl (expensive as shit, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Kemi-Oyl-4oz-Hair-Oil/dp/B0012ML9K0/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1415591042&sr=8-4&keywords=kemi+oyl)

Giant Eagle Market District evoo (moderately priced, found at Giant Eagle, but any extra virgin olive oil will do)

A delightful little product found at Sally Beauty Supply called Mystic Divine Argan & Monoi Oil Nourishing Oil Treatment, which my hair absolutely loves. My hair loves all Mystic Divine products, actually. Please try them. They're fantastic. (Expensive as shit, found here: http://www.sallybeauty.com/nourishing-oil-treatment/SBS-024003,default,pd.html#prefn1=brand&prefv1=MYSTCD&brandLandingPage=true&start=1)

Jamaican Mango & Lime Island Oil (modestly priced, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Jamaican-Mango-Lime-Island-Ounce/dp/B000EGK550)

And 365 Everyday Value brand Expeller Pressed Organic Virgin Coconut Oil, found at Whole Foods, but any virgin coconut oil will do.

I microwaved the oil mixture for what I guess amounted to about 40 seconds, sloppily got it into the squirty hair dye bottle and waited a bit for it to cool. Then, I parted my hair and squirted the oil directly onto my scalp until it was completely saturated, massaging my scalp as I went. Once I was sure my scalp was fully saturated, I applied the rest of the oil mixture to the locs themselves. 

As the last of my oil mixture dripped into my hair, I realized that the locs themselves weren't saturated enough for me. To remedy this, I generously massaged raw, solid coconut oil into my beloved tresses. Addicts, coconut oil is literally like life in a jar. It is one of few things in this wretched world that is an absolute good. That's why it's so expensive. It's healthy for skin, it's healthy for hair, it's healthy to cook with...there is nothing negative about coconut oil. 

When I was satisfied with how saturated my hair was, I stuffed my locs into a lovely, high quality plastic bag from my local liquor store, and proceeded to get drunk and watch a few episodes of Drugs, Inc., which is the stage I've reached as I type these lines, faithful junkies. 

Now, the elitist in me will tell you to go to any hair store and buy an Evolve brand self-heating aluminum cap and use that when doing at-home hot oil treatments. They're luscious. They use your own body heat to trap warmth and moisture in as you're doing your treatment. (Modestly priced, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Evolve-3908-Cholesterol-Conditioning-Cap/dp/B003JN6BWG) That is truly what you should do, for the absolute dopest results. However, I didn't have one on hand, and I didn't feel like leaving the house, so I took it back to the old school and went the plastic bag route...and that's just fine, guys. :-)

So, after the current episode of Drugs, Inc. is over, or I've finished my drink; whichever takes the most time, I'll jump in the shower and do a thorough rinse of my hair, and possibly a very quick conditioner only wash. I'll retwist as normal, with Shea butter for natural hold and moisture retention (modestly priced, found here: http://www.amazon.com/African-Shea-Butter-Cream-100%25/dp/B0009MHJE4/ref=sr_1_10?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1415592783&sr=1-10&keywords=Organic+Shea+butter) and Organic Lock & Twist gel (perfect for those with naturally silky and slow-to-lock texture, like mine; moderately priced, found here: http://www.amazon.com/Organic-Root-Stimulator-Lock-Twist/dp/B0014RA68E/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1415592912&sr=1-1&keywords=organic+lock+and+twist+gel).

The result will be touchably soft, sexy, sensual locs with a buttery texture that would make your head spin. I hope this little tutorial reached someone out there floating in space :-) Leave comments if you try my method and it werqs for you! :-)

Cyanide and Happiness.

Good evening, addicts! 

I just wanted to say that it's great to broaden your horizons. Yes, we are most comfortable close to like-minded individuals with whom we have much in common and, thus, much to dish about. However, consider briefly the grey, tedious boredom that life would hold for we mere mortals were we to specifically and tenaciously clutch to our preconceived notions about how things are supposed to be and left no room for alternatives.

Imagine the clones we'd all be. The mindless, drooling lemmings, marching in a silent straight line toward the purgatory of a lackluster life and subsequent mediocre death. 

This, of course, applies to any and all aspects of life: school, werq, sex, lovers, food, ideals, thought. 

Never give up who you are at your core. Not ever. Hold dear and true to who you are and whom you wish to become, but try to be  receptive to a differing school of thought than you've conditioned yourself to be content with. Try new, weird things. Try new, weird people. Try new, weird foods. Enrich your life, and live it. 

Truly live it. 

Fin. ^_^

Sex, In the Context of Marriage.

When I married my husband, sex changed completely for me. Completely. 

I'd read many, many times that once two people tie the knot, sex becomes sparse and dry. Boring. Periodical. I never wanted that to happen to me, and I could never understand why wives suddenly became stingy with the pussy. I didn't understand why husbands suddenly became stingy with the dick. The tongue. The passion. 

I have, since I turned 30 (I'm 33 now), been hot between my legs and wetter than I've ever been, which is saying something. I've always been hot and wet. But when I turned 30, I started to understand why all our health teachers swore women peaked sexually in their thirties. All I want to do is fuck, and suck, and be fucked, and be sucked.

I digress, though.

When I married my husband, sex changed completely for me. It actually became meaningful. I mean really meaningful. It became better. His dick felt even bigger.  Harder. More urgent. His intensity became more, well, intensified. It hasn't stopped. Not for me. And we've been married for two years. 

When I spread my long brown legs for my husband and show him my softest place, I feel so pretty. When I feel his hands on me, touching my breasts, my thighs, my pussy, it sets such fire to me that I can barely articulate the experience. This happens every time. He doesn't even know it. 

His tongue is my drug. When he pleases me with his mouth, I can't focus, I can't function, I can't do anything but moan, and show him how I want it; how very MUCH I want it...how much I desperately need it. How much I need HIM. 

When he pushes into me, it is a splashy Utopia of delight; a cornucopia of deliciousness and euphoria the likes of which I've never encountered in all my 33 years of life. I want nothing more than to fall on my knees and drink from him, all the time, and look him in his eyes, and hope that he can see in them how much I love pleasing him with my body. 

My favorite is to lay on my back and show him all of me. My long, brown body, my curves, my hills, my swerves, my valleys. I want him to see what he does to me. His hard dick throbbing just for me, straining against his boxer-briefs, is a sight that I cannot resist. He, in all of his male lack of intuition, has not the foggiest clue how his sex makes me feel. 

I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. But it is so much more in-depth than that. I feel like velvet cocaine. I feel like drugs. I feel as though nothing on earth can hurt me...the cruel words of outsiders, the bullet, the blade...none can touch me, because I am in the arms of my beautiful, poetic Nowhere Man. 

Sex with my love is literally everything. I cannot understand why human beings don't fuck like rabbits when they're sexing the ones they love. Every time some idiot posts "Would you give up sex for $900 million?", I shudder to think of what life would be like without my husband's touch. His mouth. His member. 

I'm aware of women using sex as punishment, but in my life experience, more men withhold sex or sexual acts out of spite than women. I can't fathom it. Withholding sex from my love hurts ME.  His attentiveness is my addiction. The personal way he worships my body...I cannot live without it. 

That's all.