Where I'm From

~ places I've called home ~

For Once

I'm really getting into designing random things now...  Any requests?

More ZK

Read the previous post first, if you haven't already done so. This poem is a little creepy. Enjoy.

_______________________________________________________________________

Huntress Returns

Knife dripping,

High-heeled boots up on the table,

Faux diamond studded wrist bands covering

defensive wounds.

ZK comes fresh from a kill.

He struggled mightily,

Trying to resist that low cut

                blouse those

                high cut leggings her

                high brow, low brow wit, wet with

                sin, her eyes with the promise that

                no one you have ever met was

                anything like this.

It was her wrist,

                The way she flicked the ash from the cigar

                She smoked it in full while playing Skee-Ball

                and humming Beethoven’s Fifth.

That was right before she got him to cry

                and tell her about his deadbeat father before

                eating her out.

The knife on the table is still warm from him.

Sacrificed on its edge,

He saw paradise for a small fee.

She saw it too.

Alter Egos

Hello, lovely POW ladies (and Tyrion who NEVER EVER READS),

I thought I'd follow up my ridiculously long previous post with this creative one. I've been thinking about alter egos a lot lately. Obviously super heroes have mild mannered alter egos and normal people can have violent ones vis-a-vis Tyler Durden from Fight Club, but I think alter egos can also be a way of thinking about and conceptualizing a part of yourself that is hard to deal with. Lately, I've been realizing that self love is a big struggle for me and I need to find a way I can embrace and deal with even the parts of me that may not be as pretty. I know Ada has spent a lot of time conceptualizing her own muses with the Woman in White and Woman in Black, and this feels like sort of a similar creative/emotional exercise for me.

That brings me to this creative endeavor. I made up an alter ego called ZK. She's a hyper-violent, hyper-sexual, quasi goth/punk, smoking/drinking debaucherous woman. Though a lot of her tendencies are self-destructive or violent, there is also a part of her that is protective toward the innocent. Ultimately, even though a lot of parts of her are crazy, she is not all bad. She's sort of my id.

I've been writing sort of narrative poetry (is that a thing) and short stories about her that are all in one document on my computer. Whether or not they're going to go anywhere, I'd like to share a couple of poems with you here.

Without further ado, introducing the lovely ZK.

                                                                                                              

A Declaration from the Lady Herself

Ladies,

Penis-Havers,

Those with Genitalia of Other Varieties or Names,

I wish to address you today, as your new goddess.

Yes, this does mean you’ll have to give up

                your milquetoast deities.

Lords of fund management and fiscal responsibility,

Idols of kept seconds, stored for hard times,

And lesser cherubs of tepid love and measured euphoria.

Rough, man,

                It’s hard to give up mediocrity I know.

But I promise, in its place you will find,

                The life of lust licked lips and vibrating rosaries,

                A renewed commitment to taking illicit substances from strangers

                                and empty calories from exuberant (but largely alien) lovers,

                And a world of promise

                                And dangers,

                                And terrible, lip-biting surrender,

                To that thing you haven’t even admitted you want yet.

All hail ZK.

Goddess in chief.

Haver of subjects and worshippers.

Bringer of hedonistic revival to the boredom scorched

night scene.

True

It wasn’t love,

                that drove her to it.

Writing crazy notes and leaving them on the top of his

water heater.

Buying him little trinkets,

like that locket from his dead mother,

and burying them

in his house plants.

It wasn’t love, exactly,

                that made her follow him.

Through the streets of his neighborhood,

Sitting on his porch at midnight, smoking a blunt,

Carving love songs into the wood of his door frame.

Something darker drove those urges.

But that night when she was breaking into his basement,

                and fell through that skylight

                to discover his little sister crying in the cellar.

Sixteen-years-confused and heart a wreck,

Self esteem flowing out of little sister’s eyes,

Skewed vision of beauty showing in the borrowed eye shadow and the

                cuts on the inside of her too-skinny arms.

ZK got up and brushed off the glass.

She leaned over and took the girl’s face in her hand,

And squished it hard.

“It’s such a shame that they’ll all have to go through life

                never realizing,

                how beautiful you are.”

ZK then got up,

declared her intention to ransack the boy’s underthings,

kissed the girl on the cheek,

and left.

That.

That was love.

The hardest and best kind,

Love of a stranger to the needy,

Love of other.

Love of self.

More Design!

This also comes from a quote from a Janet Evanovich book.  

Friends WITHOUT Benefits -or- How I Stopped Worrying and Realized My Ex Will Always Be An Asshole

I've been putting off writing this for a couple of days because I did something that's not going to make any of you particularly happy with me. I decided to try and be friends with W.

I'll cut to the end quick and spare the suspense. It was not a rewarding experience. We are not friends.

Let me back up. About a week ago I wrote him this really long message saying that I felt like a lot of time had passed and that I was interesting in maybe starting being friends again. Well, friendly acquaintances, at least. I said that maybe if one of us was in the same city we could meet up and maybe have coffee.

He responded with a two sentence message that said, "If that's what you want" and "I think you'll be disappointed by how much I haven't changed." He also friended me on facebook. I wrote something short back. It was all good.

For like 24 hours.

A day later I messaged him back and said that I didn't feel right about the whole situation. I said that it didn't feel like he was really that interested in being my friend, and that was okay, but that I didn't want to be chasing someone's friendship. Then I said that if ever wanted to get back in contact with me it was okay, but it just didn't feel like this was right at this point in time.

Yes, that was a mistake, but it also came from the best of intentions and phrased in the most polite, positive way ever. This is when the CRAZY set in and W and I exchanged a number of message so ridiculous and frustrating that I went from feeling honestly okay about our breakup and our continued existence on the same planet to be murderously angry at him.

A galactic eon could pass during the time it would take me to develop an algorithm to calculate exactly what transpired in that conversation, so let me sum up the highlights.

1. He said he didn't feel one way or another about being my friend. He said that he felt no shame or guilt over the breakup, but he would feel extremely uncomfortable meeting in public.

2. At one point I said that it felt like he was trying to spare my feelings. He said that he wasn't and, quite the opposite in fact, he DID NOT care about my feelings and was going to be selfish.

3. The high point was when he said he might like to be friends with me because he liked talking to me and I was a good person.

4. He said that talking to me online was less scary because it was like conversing with a diary that talks back to him.

5. I finally came out and said that I did not like the way he was treating me and that I didn't understand why he kept saying he intended to be selfish and didn't care about me. I said I didn't like it and that I had tried really hard to be honest and good to him since our breakup and didn't think he had afforded me the same courtesy. I ended with, "I do not appreciate it. It is not kind."

6. He responded by saying that what he meant when he said he felt no emotion one way or another about being friends with me he MEANT that he wasn't sure if he wanted to be friends or not. He went on to say that he didn't appreciate me acting like he was a freak for being honest and the question of us being friends was one of whether or not we could let go of the emotional baggage between us.

If you didn't follow any of that, it's okay. I barely did and I was there. Goddamn, every single time he talked to me on facebook I had to take at least half a day to calm down enough to even try to talk to him. At first I was angry, then I got really upset because at one point he said something like, "Friendship is just something that exists for me and takes no effort. It's my favorite thing in the world. Obviously you feel differently." Which hurt because friendship is, perhaps, THE MOST IMPORTANT THING to me. I try really hard to be a good friend and for him to imply that I didn't care about it or didn't want it was SUPER SHITTY. Especially since I was the one that initiated these GODDAMN CONVERSATIONS IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Sorry, the caps are down I swear.

We also had an interesting little discussions where said something like, "I hurt you enough when I broke up with you."

Excuse me? When you broke up with me? You "hurt me enough"? What? What what what?

My god, it was obviously a mutual breakup. What a dingus. How weird that he feels the need to take ownership of that decision. Also, ASSHOLE.

Anyway, after I wrote him my very cold message about not appreciating the way he treated me, I stopped talking to him. His last message is sitting unanswered in my inbox and there it shall sit for the end of time because I have realized that he is not someone I want to waste any more time on.

W is crazy. I never realized exactly how crazy until this moment. He's obviously guilty as fuck otherwise he wouldn't be too much of a pussy-ass-bitch to meet me in person. You'll have to forgive my French, I call them like I see them.

This whole experience has been good in a way because it makes me realize a couple of things. Firstly, that W is and was emotionally abusive. It's something I've really only put together a couple of times since our breakup, but now there is no doubt in my mind. It's not just that's he stupid or bad at everything interpersonal, he is trying to control me my preying on my politeness and courtesy. He's a completely and total dick and I would rather be friends with a rabid mutant badger with a bad case of hit by a truck than him.

The other thing that I realize is that I don't put up with shit like that anymore. I finally am in a place where I can recognize exactly how shitty he's being and exactly how much I don't want or need that in my life. Now I won't ever wonder if I want to be friends again, I know. W is a bad person and I don't care for him. He is at a loss in this situation because he never gets to be near my magical amazing vagina ever again. His penis is substandard, and we both know it.

I know I'm coming off as extremely angry in this post, but I actually feel good. I know this anger will pass in a couple of days and I will be extremely happy spending the rest of my life not caring what W cares about any given topic, including me. He, on the other hand, is obviously carrying some crazy-ass baggage around with him.

Anyway, I figured I ought to come clean to all of you. I love you all so much and I'm so happy I have such awesome amazing people in my life. Thanks for sticking by me through everything. Also, for the record, you were totally right about him.

Poemsies!

I also write poetry at work, when given promptings from Cerasi.

Squander

Spend it

Use it 

Fritter it away

 Lose it

Waste it

It can't stay

It's too bad, really

It's a shame 

It's your mistake

You're to blame

Someone else will use it

Someone else will care

Someone will see the talents

                I've yet to share

Daybreak

happens every morning

the breaking

of day

it's a start

fresh

bright and new and 

broken

we start broken

like eggs

for an omelet

it's only a little cracking 

it has to happen

we have to break first

to begin