This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Thursday, December 20, 2007


It's been a bit since I've posted anything I consider to be Of Substance and it may be a bit more. See, all sorts of loose ends have tied up which means new doors have opened. I got hired officially to work for the Corporation last week. This is a Good Thing, despite what the the 22-year-old me may have thought. This Good Thing opens up opportunities for me to have a secure income which allows me to write, paint, dig, knit, frolic, dance, travel, dream, eat, love, live, breath, etc. unconstrained by paying-tha-bills-worry. I will also be able to accomplish some boring yet hearty financial goals. Hooray!

The 22-year-old me stills fears suddenly waking up at 40 and doing the very same thing I'm doing now, but the 25-almost-26-year-old me says "shut up you worry-wart, we're far to smart and passionate and curious and Aquarius for that shit. Besides, we read the news."

So as you can see, I'm all over the damn place. I'm living my happy little contradictory world. I'm getting in my trusty Lesbaru early Saturday morning and heading to Toronto to spend 2 weeks with the man who finished my Rumi poems for me, speaks in incantations, and who encourages me say all the beautiful and awful things I find to be real. He even seems to appreciate my tornado vocabulary and wandering and woman lust. I'm told it's been terribly obvious for months that I'm in love, but for 2 weeks, Very Soon, I get to Live In Love, which is an entirely exciting thing.

Anything else worthy of note?
Well there are all sorts of plans, vacations, bike parts and knit sock patterns in my personal hopper. But that will all wait until things quiet down. Probably in '08. Happy New Year Y'all. If I don't see you before then.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Romantic Cynicism

I sat in a darkened conference room with 25 of my co-workers and 'bosses'. On screen was a slide show of one of my co-workers Pennsylvania late summer wedding. They had a great photographer, an ex-AP photo journalist with an eye good enough for the New Yorker. There was a Nina Simone song playing along and internally I struggled. I can easily understand the women (and men) who yearn for traditional weddings. It's hard to scoff at a lifetime of people, movies, and music telling you this is how it should be.

I wondered how people would react to me bringing a video of my commitment ceremony and reception with the woman of my dreams. As long as it's aesthetically beautiful and light-hearted, I believe our culture's become accustomed to accepting "other" sexuality, but it would still feel scary to me. I imagined becoming the token lesbian of the office. If they thought about it people would feel confused, perhaps, by my pencil skirts, thrust out curves, and heels. People might feel reassured when I tromp in with my snow and salt covered combat boots and hand knit hats; who knows any more.

These struggles are in competition, of course, with reality. My real idea is that marriage is unnecessary, save the tax breaks and partnership sanctity. My real idea is that I don't particularly want monogamy and don't know if I can even successfully "do" monogamy.

Nevertheless, I haven't let go my histories of the "dream" man or woman. Who doesn't want safe homes and arms to come to?
Well, she was one effective photographer then, wasn't she? Well, I was lucky enough to feed on fairy tales at one point, wasn't I?

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Inspired By a Phone Call

I stood, straightened my fancy suit jacket and decided to do a walk around the 25th floor perimeter to socialize. I leaned on her cubicle wall, making the usual small talk, when my phone began buzzing in my pocket. "I'm buzzing," I told her, "I'm going to take this." Pulling the vibrating device from my pocket I read Amelia's name on the little screen. I smiled and walked quickly through the copy room to an empty stairwell where I could have a bit of privacy.

"What's up?" she asked.
"What isn't!?" I laughed,
we haven't talked since she moved to Portland in August '06.

When I leapt into the the city I knew Amelia was living here with her girlfriend. I knew I needed to make her, and possibly her girlfriend, the base of what I hoped would become a community, to help me get grounded in the large new city and sexuality I would try calling home. I found myself talking a lot when she and I would get together for beers, or cigarettes, or poetry, or a combination of the three. Her house smelled like all my favorite homes from hills by the woods. I clung to the roots she represented, in my heart, of home.

I used to whine to her about nobody knowing I'm gay, about not looking gay, about not knowing how to approach women, and all the other angsty shit that one encounters when first engendering a new way of being. She helped me turn old office skirts into bar wear with the swipe of scissors, she cut my hair short, and reminded me why rolling your own cigarettes is a smarter choice. I ran with her, to catch buses in sub-zeros, and played darts in smoky Silvie's while she related the unimaginable things that she faced as a dula for inner-city teen moms. When she left for the west coast I told her I wouldn't know what to do. We'd barely known each other 6 months and she was the closest thing I had to home.

From Skin, by Dorothy Allison:
"since I first realized what it would mean to my life to be queer. Home is what I have always wanted--the trust that my life, my love, does not betray those I need most, that they will not betray me."

This yearning fear has been a constant for me, when navigating the ebb and flow, or implosion, of relationships with women. When I began absorbing consciously what the world was saying, at age 7, that culture tore off all the wisdom the pack of women who'd been raising me had instilled and I became homeless in a way. The women, I intrinsically knew I needed, disappeared and were replaced with beauty queens and weight loss groups for 'fat' kids. The children in these groups, ages 9-12, were always girls with their mothers. I was in these kinds of groups, dieting without conviction, for 10 years until I finally gave up my body image for waste.

I have had 1 girl best friend. I didn't realize how strongly I loved her until 5 years after she announced she was moving to California with her boyfriend, two weeks before we were to reunite for our sophomore year of college. I felt mortally betrayed by her and was depressed and bitter for months.
I have had girlfriends, the first one I implored to understand why I wasn't comfortable with kissing her in the small town bar I'd been straight in for the 4 years preceding.

Many of the women I have loved, I have also feared.
I fear she will find something in me she dislikes and leave. I fear she will find someone more exciting or fulfilling and leave. I fear she will think I am too needy or too distant, too loud or too deaf to her language. They all do leave me eventually and create again the same hole that I feel every month when I realize again the meaning of despair: not sadness or depression, but separation from that which I know to be my sustaining home.

Monday, December 10, 2007


I had my interview and got hired for the job I've been temping at for the last 10 months. I get my first "big-girl" paycheck at the end of this week. All sorts of goodies comin' my way. Now, with all the time I'll save not worrying about how to pay the bills this month or the next, I can day dream travels, plot adventures, and buy sex toys.


Wednesday, December 5, 2007

and so I said, "Oh My God That's Awesome."

Another reason to love A Softer World.

Today, I learned of Free Rice through them. It's a multiple choice vocabulary game in which every correctly answered question donates 20 grains of rice to a UN food fund. I won 760 grains of rice in about 8 minutes. I also learned that "nimbus", besides being the name I gave my first car, means halo. I wonder if 760 grains is even 1/2 a cup...

Feel smart, slack at work, and apparently help the systematically disenfranchised and starving at the same time.

What will those wily websiteers think of next?


I keep eating too much. And too much sugar. Both.

I started working out on my abs again. My, haha, abs. Lunges would be good too. I'd like a rounder ass. I believe a lot of "high octane" dance music will have to happen in my apartment. Maybe I'll pretend strip for a pretend audience. Maybe I'll also hula hoop, I think my downstairs neighbor likes when I do that especially. Because I drop the hoop a LOT.

Too much and too much sugar, yes. Once again - damn holidays. All these cakes and cookies.
Though, the xmas cheer is infecting me a bit more. And, on a more comedic cynical note, there's lots more pine in the city now. Even if it's in the form of murdered trees and swags and, I've always liked those twinkly fairy lights.

On Friday I'm getting interviewed to become a "permanent" employee at my job (after 10 months of being a "temporary" employee). Getting hired would mean a big raise, benefits and paid time off. The major hope is that through some "financial security" I'll be able to
A.) pay down some of my more "manageable debts"
B.) learn to live a life less dictated by worrying about not making ends meet and
C.) spend my non-working hours writing, subverting, and making general mischief through artistic expression and fucking. Oh, and
D.)use my paid time off to travel more frequently.

Fear not though Revolutionaries (are you there?), there's a healthy amount of impending doom/dread in my heart at the prospect, but I'm ready to make that part of me wait a bit while I make more $$$ dolla dolla bills y'all.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Monday, November 26, 2007


I just love that word.

Here's another that I love:

and another,


Besmirched Molten Edifying.

It's been quite a day.

ah, Thank You, Thank You

I was wanting to blog this morning, but hadn't anything to say. So now it's lunch, I've settled for the fact that only caffeine and sugar will get me through work and am trying not to focus on anything negative for now.

Rather than "work" I decided to spend a few minutes or so catching up on some blogs and possibly researching extra $$ ideas. Turns out, Tara has given me this Wonder Woman award and I feel blessed.

It's not the simplicity of the blog award, it's the thought, you know?
And so I pass it on!
Amy Goodman my uber-hero definitely gets one for being tireless, courageous and totally bad ass, Inga Muscio for writing a revolutionary declaration of independence for girls, women and men to come to sense by, and Pulley Whipped, for inspiring me on a more personal level.

Hooray for ladies!
And thank you Tara for showing me new doors to open that used to blend into the background (and for giving me Wild-Alaskan-Herbal dreams).

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


the holidays.

i like my family, and am lucky for that.
the traditions are nice enough.

but damn, fuck. thanksgiving.
really? thanksgiving is a lie.

the holidays are a lie and make me want to retreat to quietly independently owned shops, drink tea, and read adbusters.

all of those things require consumption.
people are telling me they're buying me gifts.
i have only myself to give them, and somehow i still feel embarrassed or guilty.

Ten Days Later***addition***
from the "quote of the month" at the end of my yoga studio's news letter

"You give but little when you give of your possessions.
It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard
for fear you may need them tomorrow?"

- Kahlil Gibran

at turns

at turns positive and negative
constantly hustlin'
beginning to consider sex work
and how it might fit
and how i might do something way wrong
and how i might discover might

at turns determined and helpless
constantly strugglin'
won't give it up
won't lose my passion
it's impossible for my spirit to be
no matter how many hours i waste
putting her off

{{happening? sure, things are happening, but i seem to be consumed with other flames at current junctures}}

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

New Year, Part 2

My new apartment was, and still is, everything I had hoped for. I worry about money, but no more than when I had roommates. I have Billie and worry I don't give the lonely kitty enough time and attention, but at least we're back together and have time to work it all out. When I was readying to move from the old apartment with 2 roommates and their large dog each, I met some people that held promise.

She and he aroused me. He and she titillated my mind. He introduced me to hot phone sex, new poetry by Leonard Cohen, and the concept of a Good Man. She led me to sassy confident sex, current witty humor and feminism. They were not alone in the panoply of lovers and friends that kept my late summer weeks whirling by relentlessly.

I moved. I painted the walls and climbed onto the roof to watch the moon rising. I bled and worshiped it. I read poetry aloud to myself while Billie lazily purred across the room. I bought groceries and incense and shelving. He came to visit. I was afraid. I was afraid he would be something I didn't expect, in a bad way. She slept over the first night. I was afraid. I was afraid I was getting involved with someone who didn't have personal boundaries.
He stayed, I realized I had nothing to fear. He was unexpected and everything more wonderful. He fed me chicken vindaloo, chocolate and the sweet spot that comes from pain begged for. I began loving him as secretly as possible.
She came back again and again and stayed. I realized fear was incomplete, a non-emotion of avoidance and, useless again. She surprised me with her deft humor, determination, complete strength coupled with total care. Bit by bit I decided secrets were worth even less than fear. The only secrets worthwhile are the ones that involve only 1 person, myself.

Secrets serve only to protect that which one is afraid of, in love.
I make declarations.
Giving love and receiving love two fold has taught me more than 4 years of college did, about myself, in a span minute in comparison.

I look at last November and how I progressed to fearing love. I look at last November and see how driven I was to have someone take all of me in loving acceptance. I look and I see how I gave up the best parts of myself in that drive and I am more thankful now than any turkey could ever make me. I have gained infinity and lost none of myself into the void I used to imagine and create in love.

New Year, Part 1

A year. Everyone reflects (if they reflect at all) at different points in their years and for different reasons. I am Narcissus, but do not drown, I am mirrored, I am glinting in my own puddles.

November 2006.
I had just come out of being laid-off my office gig with the Reading Skills Company. I spent October on unemployment keeping busy every day with writing, researching political players, and applying for jobs. There was a good amount of yoga, walks and Ellen at 3pm daily. I was going on dates, most of them bad and luckily leading nowhere. I met Sharlene in November through the Chicago Reader Matches. We began corresponding while I was in a hotel room in Terre Haute, IN filled with ennui (both the room and myself). At Thanksgiving I was head-over-heels and coming out to my family members.
I went to my first queer dance party in November and drunkenly ground against Sharlene, filled with lust, pride, and fire. I was ecstatic to have finally cracked the code on the lesbian safe in my city. I met women who worked in abortion clinics, at Planned Parenthood, as political activists and Rape Victims advocates. They all seemed very serious, but also, very fashionable and quietly fucked up. I didn't feel a familial connection of any kind but I figured I'd fake it with authority. I wondered what they laughed about.

After my dreams of connection and partnership dissolved I remembered again my "bad" habit of losing myself into another's being when I fell in love with my idea of their person.
I made a lover, I read the Ethical Slut and declared it a useful bible. I proclaimed happily, "Swinger!", and was introduced to OkCupid. I went on more dates and had sex. I was too polite because of sex. I encountered my first bouts of drama and rejection based anger. The anger never seemed to be mine. I was pleasantly transient and self-focused. I wanted my own space. I wanted money. I wanted sex and clothing and independent strength and spirit.

I got everything I wanted. I worked hard for it all, but never felt I was working hard enough.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Wasp Frosts

Stalking through the silent grey
stairwell. I said, "I think I am
getting s.a.d. disease." which is redundant.
The slate sky and browning ground
cover over the bulbs being
pushed down for months'
hibernation. I am in love and still
seeking submission to some thing.
I am willful as a wasp and just as
fragile in the frosts of a void.

-for the lovers and Leash-

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Join the Military and stay out of jail!

Lacking Good Ol'Boy Patriots, the U.S. Army begins accepting outright criminals.

Pentagon Mulls Easing Recruitment Standards
Meanwhile the Associated Press is reporting the Pentagon is secretly reviewing plans to ease enlistment standards to make up for a recruiting shortfall. The number of recruits seeking waivers for criminal behavior rose three percent last year to nearly one-fifth of all prospective servicemembers. Two-thirds of the waivers were approved.
From Democracy Now's Headlines for 11/7/07

In addition to an illegal war being fought in the name of ideology, we're now importing probably angry and mis-informed domestic terrorists. Amerikkka, spreading democracy and freedom like and STD!

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Blatant Puffery

One of the reasons I love myself:
in 1 day at work I can multi-task for 8 hours,
listen to amazing soul, roots, world music,
write an inspired love poem,
search for new possible kink friends in the city,
be turned on,
learn about what's happening in the world,
play with my hair,
be disgusted by the government,
be smugly pleased by my own sexuality,
and look good while relishing my b.o.

In short. God bless the internet.
New Site Found. Check it out. One of the most informatively outraging things you'll do all day.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Fetish Night Number 1 (3rd edit)

After nearly an hour of drinking in the scenery and second hand smoke, i moved to the main room. The main room contained many things. There was a suspension frame where the shibari rope Master worked. The old doctor's table with stirrups went unused through the night, i leaned there for a good view of things. i was surrounded then, by a St. Andrew's cross, a leather covered spanking bench and a very large wooden throne. Not far above me was a chain/pulley system for suspension.

The spanking bench turned out to be one of my most fetishized pieces of equipment. Beyond my avarice for most things bottom-related, this bench is where my eyes would transfix, once Lady Maria went to work mounting it. Before Her i was, at turns, interested, amused and occasionally perplexed. i was passive, not terribly hot, but not bored either.

i began watching Lady Maria from the second She walked in. i saw Her get a very attentive foot massage. i felt mild longing as i watched her tickle the sub attending her with a crop while She carried on a separate, seemingly casual conversation with another Domme. i followed her with my hungry eyes as the minutes passed.

She disappeared for a bit, and i watched a little plastic girl toy get tied up and teased into ecstasy by the rope Master. Then, She returned, walked Her sub to the spanking bench nearest where i stood. She instructed him to remove his pants and get on the bench. he did so, She walked away, as nonchalant as ever. She kept him waiting this way, his ass in the air, raucous couples teasing him for nearly 15 minutes. i watched Her glide back, a determined pallor cast over Her deep eyes.

She stood behind him and began spanking him with a firm hand. She warmed him up and then went at his ass with a leather flogger, then a crop, until his face was red and sweating and Her nipples were rocks beneath Her vinyl top. She unceremoniously pulled his boxers down to his knees to reveal a blushing bottom, to the hoots of smaller minded onlookers near by. She walked away again. My Date chuckled at my new obsession as i panted over Her.

i relished the waiting She tortured this sub with. i took notes on Her every step and wondered where She went off too to let his steam back build. i rested on the arm of a couch a few feet closer to the bench and joined in waiting with him.
She returned.
Wearing a strap-on.

i tried vainly to block out my racing pulse and the guffaws of the nearby stooges and kept my eyes fixed. She walked around and sat in a chair, legs casually splayed before Her subject, and twisted off the cap on a bottle of lube. She dropped the cap and it rolled out of sight. i started a little then forced myself to remain seated. i wanted very badly to get on my knees and crawl around on the floor to find the cap for Her. i wanted Her to pat my head condescendingly and tell me i was a good girl.

She squeezed lube into Her hand and began stroking Her cock. She slid two fists up and down Her shaft until, in the mirage of my mind: She was shimmering, Her cock was shimmering, and my cunt was glowing crimson in the juicy shimmers of it all. i licked my lips. i glanced at my Date across the bench and He smirked at me. Oh ho, my heart palpitated roughly.

This play couldn't last forever of course, She had to deliver eventually. Before She got up and walked around to Her sub's ass i moved again to reposition for an even better view. i walked back to Him and leaned as He roughly whispered thoughts into my flaming red ears.

The tips of my ears turn scarlet sometimes, when my arousal is loosely contained.

Lady Maria went to town. She smacked his ass again and again, warming him up. She moved immediately from Her violent arm swinging to thrusting. She had held the cock's head to his anus and generously let him ready himself. She placed Her hands firmly on his haunches. She bent her knees and straightened Her strong back. i shamelessly drank in the hardness of Her nipples fighting against the taught latex. i mentally licked the sweat from Her shoulders and neck. i psychically placed myself behind Her, pressed against Her, readied myself to thrust with Her. Finally, She penetrated him. Slowly She slid in each millimeter of Her cock and he pulled his head back in the ecstasy of feeling each bit of one's interior walls stimulated simultaneously. he moaned his mouth into a silent O. i moaned to myself a little and pushed my own ass against my Date slowly, as if i were the one receiving this act.

She worked Her way into it until Her fingertips were white with gripping, Her feet in their dainty strappy heels planted, Her knees bent and spread; She fucked that man until i was blue and begging.

Favorite Things From Fetish Night, October 20,2007
Pre-play, in which I learn the riding crop is a very delicious and evil thing.
Eye candy in shiny black vinyl, fishnets, boots and zippers
Shibari rope tying
Spanking horse (Dear Santa...)
Watching women fuck with strap-ons
Ecstasy faces
Spending an evening wet and shaky because everything around is titillating

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Dark Lush Path

As I sit, quarter-heartedly (yes, that's less than half) trying to get myself to proof a storyboard for a third time, I think about excitement. The best actors base their work on scripts they're excited about. They know that's how the best work gets done.
So I sit here, and am irritated by my closed chest cavity and tight shoulder muscles. I can't even contemplate the wildcrafting herbal life I read about in Gaia's Gifts. It's too much, too large and away from me. Sure, I can imagine it, but contemplating it is far too dangerous.
I'm like a country held under a precarious dictatorship sometimes. I am my own dictator with an iron fist and troops screaming over and gassing to tears the masses trying to revolt. Why does the dictator act so monstrously? Because s/he knows hir power is fragile and as soon as the proletariat realizes it and gets pissed, shi'll be another speck in bloody history. So I clamp down and don't really ponder the freedom I know is out "there" because, well, I'm "in here".

I logged back on to today. I'd lit onto it about a month ago, and then forgot; a mess of lovers, a lovers mess, trying to find financial stability, trying not to freak on the corporation, loving fall, wanting peace, all of that day-to-day shit so easily distracts me, but I always return. Here's a crazy realization I just had: I've been kicking the idea of teachforamerica around for about 4 years now. For 4 years I've been going to that website and thinking, huh, this could be perfect for me. Or I've heard of people I know joining and have been envious of it. Four years! What the fuck am I waiting for!

I wish you could hear the cacophonous echo and scream that just rang through and through my skull when I asked me that question.

So I printed off the deadline page. There's one tomorrow at 8 pm. I could make that deadline if I wanted to cram it, but I don't want to cram anything anymore. I want to do something because it is right to do, not because I'm sick of desperation and desperate to get out of it. The next deadline is on January 4th. If I apply and get accepted, it's likely I'll spend 5 weeks in Philly getting trained. There's a little squee for Zem in that for sure.

In moments like these, when Ani DiFranco won't get the hell out of my head, and the best way for me to get off the dark lush path and back into beige-2D-fuck work mode is to type words glorious prosody words, my throat hurts. I literally get choked up on the kicking spirit that wants to violently bloody scream out of me. I have to rock her gently back to right here. And proof the fucking storyboard 1 more time. And tell myself all is as I made it.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Free Veggies from the City

Last fall was my first living in Chicago, but I've noticed the practice of using totally edible hearty greens as mere landscaping for a few years now. While on a walk at lunch yesterday, I took pictures of a couple of them so I could research (google) and to find out what they were, then embark on a sneaky plan to harvest them, and eat good on the city's millions of dimes. Mwa ha ha ha!!! This plan may not come to fruition this fall, but I'm sure, if I'm still here next fall it will. And so, for your delight and suggestive ways of cooking these treats here are our leafy green friends. Also, if you notice I've mislabeled a plant, please let me know!

Fig. 1: Kale (yum!)

Fig. 1.1: Kale up close

Fig. 2: Purple Cabbage

Not only do I delight in taking from the man, I think it's a perfect example of the disgusting waste in this city. If the mayor wants to spend millions on landscaping and not schools or public transit (red alert! red alert!) then maybe he could help make it known the hundreds of homeless people about that they can harvest these veggies and gobble them up. Free! And more nutritious than the prepackaged shit they can afford with the change the pan handle.

Also, Happy Halloween or Samhain or whatever you dance your little devil's ass off to.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I am sitting, Both hands

Let the Blatant Work Slacking Begin Again.

I'm here, in the office with a pretty bad u.t.i. which I'm still not sure won't blow up in my face. I'm listening to Ani and hoping the words of my RN Aunt will hold water in front of the blood on my t.p. Ani sings "The Resistance is just waiting to be organized." She's right, that's the thing. It would only take leaders, from every city and town; 1 leader for every 100 lambs that want to be led to the fray.

Do you ever watch riot footage? I have an ex that calls it riot porn, and it is. It's like porn in that it gets you really fucking excited. Really revved up to blow something. My Aunt told me if the blood doesn't go away in 24 hours I have to follow up with a urologist. When I passed this information on to my Mom I laughed bitterly. Obviously, Aunt hasn't been given my version of yesterday's events in which I sat in a hard plastic chair at the free clinic in shades of agony and embarrassment, my humility degrading as the minutes, then hours ticked by.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

cigarettes for sale

CIGS FOR SALE $5-6.50/pack depending on brand. also have cigars, good deals.

my weekend in notes:
friday, 8 pm -
small bar, jameson, beer, delicious companion
gary IN, cigarette costume binge, deja vu strip club
"They're with me."
"Oh they're with you now?"
"Let 'em in!"
("Think she's a dyke?")
dual lap dance from Chynah.
table dances, amazing pole work
real names, karaoke kevin
"We're at fullerton and california."
saturday, 12pm -
bad u.t. or bladder or kidney infection
brunch with an(n)as
rubber snakes and lobster oven mitts
4:30pm -
collapse in bed
chicken from feed
real cranberry juice
feverish tossing and reading
phone with devyn
adventure dreams
sunday, 11am -
drive to cary with billie
football yelling, family, snapping fireplace
smell burning leaves, fresh air
bbq, constant comment


Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Generation Overwhelmed

Danny posted an intelligent and well articulated article on his blog today, and I wanted to make sure more people were able to read it.

She captures the frustration we battle everyday if we are lucky enough to have energy left over; after working to make ends meet, and keep our health intact and away from the pockets of big pharm.

I only hope the NY Times Editor has this article brought to his attention.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Rather be...

I have SO not been slacking today. Really, slacking is DOWN 86.34%. British Columbians are feeling unpleasantly tense at the news of this Slack Market Crash.

I still can't slack, so! In lieu of the posting I want to put here (re: this weekend's trip to my 1st BDSM Fetish Party) I'll post down home needle work, spotted in Danny's Bathroom Friday night.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Time: granted

It's official, I have only 1 job again. Wishbone called to tell me the restaurant is going to be closed until December 1st due to catastrophic renovations required because of a snafu with the parking structure on the building's roof.

I'll be ok. Like Devyn says (and the Marines, I guess), I'll adapt and overcome. And besides, I've been complaining about not having any time. Now, I'll simply switch my kvetch to not having any money.

For a Jew without a kvetch is like a Christmas without Chinese food and movie theaters.

Work Poem for the Kinky

When caught up, amid human throngs
funneling toward a street level exit,
banishing the images of lab rats,
drones, and soldiers with no mission
is impossible. The world is khaki,
drab, pleated pants, and button down shirts.
I coax life into my grey eyes--
I look for women in all black,
with shiny brown pony tails,
and wonder about their sex lives.

I hope the man next to me, in mild
wool slacks, goes home to his Domme and gets hooded,
whipped red, and made to beg forgiveness for his submission
to other Masters for 8 hours a day.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Gone again

Devyn's gone and I'm sad. I'm also terribly under slept, BUT it was WELL worth it. New horizons met, new ideas formed, new lines drawn, old lines erased. I want to shout his name from the rooftops. That's a sure sign of "in-love" which, I'm not quite ready to accept in thought, but in heart, I'm there.

And a whole lot of damn damn damn damn good sucking and fucking and play time.
Damn good.
Toronto visit plan in the works.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Teacher's Pet

I am the proud new owner of an authentic school girls' uniform.
Walking the street with the wind blowing up my plaid tartan while obeying my lover was sublime. I couldn't keep the smirk from my cheeky little face.
There were many moments of sublimity, breathless excursion and humbleness.

Not to mention all the good sticky hotness of fetish sex for a newbie (that'd be me). And the following tender, sweet and rollicking love.
My ass, cunt and hips are all rather sore today.
And jeezus jesus I need coffee now.

I may indulge in a naughty cigarette while I'm at it, then, back to work while I sadly try to slow the clocks before his departure.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Really? Indeed...

Which generic smut novel character are you? (With somewhat relevant pictures!)

The Well-Endowed Kitchen Wench

Look, if you’re going to keep slipping in the rain, at least stop wearing those revealing cotton gowns.

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Three Parts and the rest

Boss lady returns Monday, we're all off tomorrow. I have 2.5 more hours of deliciously unsupervised time before my weekend from the day job begins. I have a feisty busy week ahead of me, beginning tonight, but that's not why I'm here.

The real reason I'm here is hard to admit, but I feel the need to do so. I am so incapable of shutting down or off, so I have to Let Out somewhere. And where better but to a cyber-vacuum full of "strangers", friends and lovers? Essentially, to everyone one and to no one, I release.

I just deleted part of a text message I was going to send to a lover. It pained me to do so, as it pained to me tap it out initially. I wanted to admit something to him that I forced myself not to. Here's why: I'm afraid of losing myself.

In reading some information about my signs (sun: aquarius, moon: taurus), things that are usually true about me were articulated. I love both comfort and the alien. I am a chameleon and a homebody. It's true, I thrive on contradiction.

So while I yearned to tell him, "I'm yours", I couldn't because parts of me are at odds.

Part 1: Fears I'm admitting defeat; as if by allowing myself to be In-Love, to be "Yours" I'm then, no longer Mine. I know this isn't the Truth or the way things Would be, it's a fear. It's based on history I think, and more accurately: insecurity, about my own track record with things like focus and motivation. Damn Aquarian ideals!

Part 2: Wonders why I'm suddenly spurred to say such things. Does it have to do with the reading I'm doing in a past blog of his, in which he is in a relationship that sounds very loving and hot. Am I'm romanticizing the partnership, envying it because I love comfort and ease (as much as I also love discomfort and difficulty)? Damn Taurus grounding!

Part 3: Tells me I'm being an overly analytical idiot who's not seeing nuance, who's not relying on being able to push and focus myself when there's nice and comfort at hand. Tells me, say it: it doesn't mean the death of anything. Say it: it's only the beginning. (Devil on the other shoulder? Don't say it: it's only the beginning. Save it.)

Ah, I'm sure we'll all reconcile and keep tripping, traipsing along through the scent of wet leaves and decay. Mmmm, autumn. I need the woods now please.

Monday, October 8, 2007

Home Again

I cross the alley, six pack in hand, and glance to my right to check for kitty bodies laying immobile. I see only an amiable couple walking toward me. A mew then stops me dead in my tracks, ears piqued. Another, more yowl like noise and I do a 180 on the spot. A bell-jingles, and there's Billie, trotting to me, crying at me.

I drop my keys, wallet and beer into the grass and scoop her up, elated. The couple, now stopped to stare, congratulate me, having seen the 1 of the 25 posters I put up earlier. I gather myself, and carry her home loving, lecturing, and smothering her the whole way. It's true that this relationship with Billie IS my committed relationship.

To celebrate I drink the beer that caused my walk: New Belgium - 2 Below, and laugh at her as she indignantly cleans herself of the bath water I subjected her to.

Here's a picture of the silly cat, all washed up.


Spurred by a Headline

The good thing about this week is the annual convention, happening for my employers in New Orleans. For the next four days I will have no direction, practically zero e-mail, few calls and 4 co-workers on my entire floor. I will play my music (gotta love the Kinda Cloudy, the Tehuti, the Democracy Now, the Pinky Show)through my computer's speakers, I will read comparative news reports and scoff at the Bigs, and the consumers as they report them.

For instance:

From today's NY Times article titled
Death, Havoc and Heat Mar Chicago Race
(Front page material and yet, not that interesting, important, or informative)

By the fourth mile, she said, her shorts were soaked with sweat. “Everyone was sweating so much,” she said. “We knew it was going to be pretty brutal.”

She and Ms. Bock vowed to try to stay hydrated, but it was difficult, she said, because the stations set up to hydrate runners were running low on water and Gatorade — and another crucial supply. “We were picking cups up off the ground,” she said.

Ms. Costello said she saw runners on the ground, being treated by other runners.

Seriously? You SAW runners on the ground being treated by OTHER runners? W.T.F.

From Ani DiFranco's song "Subdivision"

i remember the first time i saw someone
lying on the cold street
i thought: i can't just walk past here
this can't just be true
but i learned by example
to just keep moving my feet
it's amazing the things that we all learn to do

Friday, October 5, 2007

For Sharlene

Sharlene the Cancer, the designer, the New Yorker from Jamaica/Queens who retained her accent in the words orange, terrible, and water. On our second date she brought up poly-amory to me and I explained that I'd heard of it, wasn't terribly knowledgeable beyond the basics and suspected it could work for me under the right circumstances. By our third date we were rolling around and by the tenth day, fourth date, she was telling me she wished she could find something wrong with me so she could say "I love you."

I fell so hard for her the ground of all my notions shook. I was like Alice and didn't know when it would end, if I would still be me, if "Shana" would be able to stand.

I didn't learn a whole lot from Sharlene, but I did learn a lot about myself from our relationship. While Sharlene taught me how to ride a fixed gear bicycle and add the right amount of dill to everything, I forgot how to write poetry. I forgot how to see the divine in the plants in the cracks of concrete and in surprise caterpillars on my car's windshield.

I imagined a life I didn't know I wanted in which we moved to the East Coast for her to go to graduate school and I worked my way into the industry of writing advertisements to sell shit to consumers. I began watching FOX news in the morning.

But that was later, that was after I came out as a lesbian to family and declared to my Gramma that I was in love with a wonderful woman. My family was great about the declaration; after my mom got over the shock, she was good too. She just couldn't understand why all of Sharlene's shirts were plaid. I loved Sharlene's style. I love that she rarely showered and that she had thick calves and forearms and wide shoulders. I loved the way she would declare things about people and it sounded so profound I wanted to quote her on billboards. I loved how broken she was and how she was held together with ink, picas and electrical tape.

By our sixth date, we were monogamous. Her other lover and she had been spiraling toward the rocks and the lover had smashed it apart. She cut Shar out of her life. Shar was upset by it because she didn't understand it, but she said, she wasn't a sentimental person so she wasn't terribly sad. As I understood it, the ex-lover played a big role in Shar's development in recent times, but none of Shar's friends liked her much and they liked me a lot. I didn't think about the implications.

By our sixth date, Sharlene told me I was her "heart song." It was cheesy and stolen from the animated penguin movie we'd just seen, but it was so romantic I melted. She told me I held her heart in my pocket, and to be sure to keep it there and keep it safe. I felt it beating against my leg, I kept it warm in my palm in my pocket at all times.

I stopped sleeping at home, I started eating greasy fast food with her and watching her play video games. I was stagnant but so comfortable in love that I didn't notice any of those things. She called me "huggy bear" and "squish monster" and loved me in a way that felt totally new and full.

Within four months Shar began to grow weary of my full time attention and devotion and tried to tell me about it. But, because we'd been in newlywed monogamously blind bliss, I didn't want to hear, and so didn't. For three months things slowly ground down until I was without a heart in my pocket, without an understanding of healthy poly-amory, and wondering where the hell all my dreams had gone off to.

She eventually cut me out of her life for quoting a Carole King song to her when she was feeling really fucked up bad. Her broken family was changing; breaking and mending, and bending, her ideas about herself. For anyone this was a shit storm, for Sharlene, who'd felt more like an orphan than anything, it was a Shit Storm and an excuse to be totally blocked off and emo full of angst.

The Carole King lines? "You just call out my name, and you know where ever I am, I'll come running, to see you again. You've got a friend." It was Pride Weekend in Chicago. I'd thought I was moving on and becoming able to have a friendship with her that would be good for both of us. It was Saturday morning and I was going to the Dyke March. I thought I was showing some love in an unobtrusive way.

She used to tell me she thought I had borderline personality disorder, I even joined an online discourse/support group for it. She used to tell me that I never listened and would pick apart my semantics and tell me I was a hypocrite. I never understood any of that, but I tried so hard to be good for her.

Sharlene loves Jews. She loved that I am a Jew, however non-practicing and new-age I may actually be. Jew often were the parents or Bubbies of her friends and would clothe and feed her in the cold winters or hot summers. She feeds her friend the way the Bubbies fed her. She connects to a common Jewish identity and familial generosity, she has a traditional image of "the wandering Jew" tattooed on one of her calves. I hope Sharlene finds herself at home inside someday. The world needs her strong and clever, she can do a lot of profoundly good things.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Post from last night, carried to today

I feel tired and a bit down. I also feel myself rallying internally, telling myself, "it's ok for right now, but you've got to get to it."

I had another new experience last night that's rocked my little boat and added to my world.
He uses the phrase "flavor explosion". I liked looking into his left eye, like Shed learned to do in The Cowboy Who Fell in Love with the Moon.

Today though I am wrestling with the Taurus in me that wants to bull ahead and make revolutionary changes but, still have creature comforts. I'm listening to the Aquarius in me struggle with idealism, the perfect me, and still impatience and material greed.
I am thinking repeatedly of The Softer World strip called "Saying your plans out loud is a good way to hear God laugh", which is on my work computer's desktop.

Really, a life needs ideas of what I want, then secret plans, that only those who'll cheer me on can hear.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

the last 2 days "at work"

Can't. Focus.

Painting dandelion silhouettes,
Hot Latino men in leather,
Toronto, Ca.,
Burma (Myanmar),
Dead Monks,
Dying Chinese Farmer Peasants,
Living wage,
Chick Peas,
Rock the nation,
Hobo Stripper,
Dominatrix Teacher,

Cunt, Art, Politics & Revolution all in the way of me doing anything Pointless.

I would say this "Productivity" block is detrimental. But, that'd be a lie.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Friday, September 28, 2007

Not a Rant, A Dream

I was in a MOOD this morning. I tried not to chalk all of it up to menstrual irritation, realizing that my current work situation plays a very large role. Something cool happens to me when I bleed. I become fucken lucid. Like, things I Know As True are Completely clear to me. The reason, therefore, that I am more irritatable is due to the Truths becoming Unavoidable...until work weariness and the blood lucidity wane off. Then I can go on stuffing my passions into a sock that I bury under my kitchen sink.

I Hate It.

Here's my current dream:
I work, three, maybe four really part time jobs. I continue at Wishbone, for the cash in hand and attractive bartender's company. I write articles covering topics like: books, city events, media, music, food, relationships, and myself for money. I am a receptionist/instructor's apprentice at a Yoga studio. I nanny or teach or something having to do with young people's education and roundingness. For fun, once or twice a week, I'm a phone sex worker.

-None of these jobs' hours add up to more than 50 hours per week and I get 2 full days off.
-All of the cashola I earn working these varied and informative jobs pays for my current lifestyle, which is quite modest and involves saving money for possible travel, which will be encouraged by all my employers.
(-I will write about my travel experiences!
-I will get cool new educational games/toys relating to new cultures/places!
-I will visit other yoga studios to get ideas for the one(s) I know in Chicago!)

I will also have time to: write prose for myself, read books for myself, meet, greet and ravish lovers, see friends, take walks, cook, play with my cat, nest in my lovely dream apartment space, make random art like paper collages, mobiles, painting, knitted things and lovely meals for my lovely friends/lovers.

Are these unreasonable aspirations? Can these things actually come to pass without me being totally broke?

Writers-- please help me find a way to get my work out there beyond blogging for free.

Teachers-- please point me in a direction of wholesome teaching opportunities.

Lovers-- please touch me and be kind.

Friends-- please encourage and push me and don't be upset when I don't respond because I'm in a MOOD.

Mother Earth-- please help.

Thank you all, in advance.
Shana Rose is getting fed up and upset by the feeding

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Three Stooges

A slow night at work brought me home 13 hours after I'd left it, with another 11 hour day on my clock. I was vaguely kvetchy and floundering at the prospect of returning to days without touch. The Small Bar, Ready Made magazine, and all my cigarettes seemed the perfect way to feel cynical but un-isolated.

I sat at the bar and ordered, and 2 men approached me. I decided I'd tolerate their presence until they began hitting on me. If that happened, I'd pointedly bury my face in some amazingly interesting article on the many uses for empty wine crates. The boys were pretty and nice enough. When they began quarreling behind me I realized, Hoorah! They're gay!

They filled me in on the argument, which was over the "territory" of the neighborhood bar and the men therein. I agreed with Sam: Ryan could metaphorically pee on the corner of the building all he liked, but that marking did not cover the contents inside. Finally, I asked who it was they were claiming dibs on and Sam nodded his head in the direction of a taller, also pretty, boy coming our way.

The tall one clumsily introduced himself as Ralph, laughed, and told me his real name. I was dumbfounded by his barrage of cleverness and the real name didn't stick. I told him I'd be calling him Ralph for the duration of our acquaintance. He told me he was from Oklahoma City. This was not a lie.

As the night wore on, I found myself appreciating the company. They introduced me to our bartender for the night, John. We talked about our other favorite bartenders and who lived closest (I win by 20 steps or so). Ryan was the only one who wasn't being flamboyant and churlish and I found myself feeling affection for him that went beyond beer sot and amusement. He confided in me that he's terrified of committed relationships, but is sick of meaningless sex. I tried to woo him to the ways of polyamory, an idea which he and Sam were both astoundingly ignorant of.

I think gay boys stereotypically take the assumption of sluttiness that culture foists upon them for granted.

More and more drinks were had, and still Ryan made no move on Ralph, who had been loudly declaring his heterosexuality for some time. Well, those claims were made between the other pronouncements on his attractiveness, French heritage, and successfully platonic man love with the boys back home.

None of us believed for a whit that he was straight. Well, I conceded that on the Kinsey scale he might be a 2 or 3. I asked if he was bisexual, he said no, but he liked to "put it in girls' other places."

Me: "You mean, you like to fuck women in the ass? Cool."
(Uproarious laughter from Sam and Ralph as Ryan looks uncomfortable)

I got Ryan's number after Sam decided to make his exit. We had discovered a shared love for marijuana and he informed me of his attractive dyke roommate (huzzah!). We became friends.

That left me alone with Ralph, who was bumming cigarettes from everyone in the place because he'd helped me smoke all mine already. Now that the attentions of Sam and Ryan were gone, 90% of the words he sloshed out were about his attractiveness and success with the ladies in bed. He couldn't figure out why he'd never had a real girlfriend though.

Beer 3 had me feeling nicely buzzed and it was closing time. Ralph bummed us another cigarette and asked me if I had any beer at home. My want for touch had stumbled into a vague desire to make out with the obnoxious boy.

Sure, I said, I have 1 beer and some whiskey, let's go.

He assessed my apartment as cute and nice and asked where the beer was. I handed it to him and he spied my computer.
"Can I check my myspace?"

This is when I aught to have sent him on his merrily gay way.

"Sure, but my computer's sort of a piece, so give me a few minutes to get you there."

He was too drunk to type his password in, and because the "n" has worn off it's key, he couldn't ever find it. I got him into the 'space and he decided to show me all his pictures. He was especially keen on showing me what a pretty girl he made one Halloween, thanks to his "gorgeous bone structure" and the half hour his "sissy" ("the most beautiful woman in the world") spent making him up.

He was a Playboy bunny. I could no longer contain the laughter bubbling up in me at his buffoonery. I laughed at him and laughed. I made him feel badly, and tried to assure him I didn't mean any harm. He took offense when I wasn't knocked dead by his bunny costume and showed my the pictures from his 30th birthday bash instead.

I spent at least a half hour of my life looking at pictures and getting narrations from one of the most drunkenly conceited dopes I've ever had the pleasure of dying a little on. He kept telling me how much I wanted to kiss him, a thought that had died immediately after he knocked over his beer on my floor for the second time. He kept saying "Pretty is Pretty."

At 3 am I wore out. I was tired and wanted him gone so I told him to go. He was laid back on my bed lazily, with his pants unbuttoned (when did he do that?), and looked at me in confusion.
"What? What do you mean 'go'? I'm comfortable, come here, just lay down with me."

I humored him for 20 seconds or so, then sat up again. "Nope, you have to go."
"But lady" (he'd forgotten my name 2 hours ago) "I'm comfortable, let's just go to sleep."

"No Ralph, you're going home. It's 60 steps away from this door, you're getting up and walking home."

It took about 7 more minutes of this go round for him to grasp the concept that I Really, Actually, Seriously, didn't want him to grace me with his presence throughout the night. I stood, pulled him up, and opened the door to motion him out. He was still trying to playfully argue with me when my wolf mama impatience mentality was getting warmed up. I was not going to fuck around any longer.

I had my hand on his chest, firmly pushing him toward the exit, and he was trying to horse around still. That's when my angel kitty, Miss Billie the huntress, decided she wanted to go for a walk and scampered her cute little ass into the hall. He noticed and gave chase. After he picked her up and handed her to me, he began to back down the stairs. His parting words were "hey, let me come over and watch you have sex with a girl sometime."
"Yeah Ralph, that'll happen. Three flights down and your out. Bye."

Hooray, he's out of my house.

With Billie in my arms, I locked the door, kissed her little nose, and thanked her for provident timing.

Today, I paint the room a lovely lovely lovely hay golden color.

Monday, September 24, 2007

my own softer world

i watched the women flow to the elevator for an all staff meeting.

i wasn't invited

and decided to spend the hour alone listening to music and falling in love with myself.

Yes, at work

Monday morning. Have lots of processing happening.


Also have bleached blond hair and pixie bangs.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

the ampersand of my heart


i haven't been explicit about much of devyn's visit. i did jokingly think to myself about sending a text message, or posting a cryptic myspace bulletin that said

"i've come up for air to let know i'm going back down, happily, and will resume regular scheduling on monday."

it was 4 day skip through decadence, ecstasy, and expanse.
in the 2+ hours of coitus that occurred every morning. in the way we both knew relief, after a tense moment of getting to know one another, and the way it spread our hearts. in the ways i can know myself better by making new friends and welcoming new lovers. in teaching me acceptance and some grace.

and now, in the cooing of the rock doves in the eaves above my bedroom and the satisfaction i'm going to go pull from a quiet cigarette, alone with my world on the back steps.

the seeds of all things are blest

this begins a new era. i have the internet in my studio now. no more at work blogging required.


i've drawn the shades half down to keep some of the morning cool safe from the heat of after summer sun. the last of 3 cds my lover put in my cd player is playing.

"i need
you here with me
not way over
in a bucket seat."

billy has passed out among the folds of the rug where she was chasing her tail. my clock has been wound and set to the correct time. my plants have been watered, my dishes put in the sink and left-overs in the fridge.

the silence around me is soaking me up.
the city's movements outside of me; silencing me.

i told him i was sad seeing him go, but was preparing for it.
i told him that an hour before he left. i was ready when he went.

i told him before breakfast that i would be there for him as much as possible. but that he should be warned, that when i've grown impatient, i tend to kick the ones i love when they're down.

the laugh not dead in his throat--
"good to know,"
he and his eyebrows said.

on the path to the house before saying final goodbye, as i walked ahead of him, and just so subtly threw myself up the stairs before him, i marveled at the apparent truth in that statement. it was off the cuff, and right on.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

crazy whirlwind of desire

that's my new, very long, middle name.

Nice to meet'cha. My; you're attractive, my name's Shana Crazy-Whirlwind-of-Desire Cobb.

But you can call me Mlle. Dynamo.
Something to drink?

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

fickle, 'fi-k&l, adj.

Etymology: Middle English fikel deceitful, inconstant, from Old English ficol deceitful; akin to Old English befician to deceive, and probably to Old English fAh hostile -- more at FOE
: marked by lack of steadfastness, constancy, or stability : given to erratic changeableness
synonym see INCONSTANT

One of the longest running traditions among the women of my mother's small family is singing in the kitchen when doing the dishes after a large family meal. My mother, her 2 sisters, and each one of the sisters' daughters would gather, doing her respective work (washing, drying, stacking, putting away), while singing her part in a handful of oldies or folk songs. The most prominent song we sang went like this, in 3 parts:

And the door, is still open, to my heart.

Foolish little girl, fickle little girl,
You didn't want him when he wanted you.
He's found another love, the one he's dreaming of,
and there not a single thing that you can do.

But I love him.
No you don't, that's just your foolish pride.
I still love him.
Tomorrow is his wedding day and you'll be smart and stay away.

Foolish little girl, fickle little girl,
You didn't want him when he wanted you.

I've been called fickle my whole life. I can understand it to some extent. I'm adventurous, exploratory and insatiable with my love for the world at large. Shiny things distract me. I'm blond, an Aquarius. I can see how people might mistake all that for infidelity.

My ex-partner, in the preeminent primary relationship in my past, would tell me that fickleness was one of my biggest flaws; that it was a thing that caused me my hardships and him his headaches.

I'm thinking about the term fickle today, because I am digging into the world of sluttdom, dating and polyamory. Who, but ethical sluts, could more easily be slapped with, what I consider to be, a derogatory term of disloyalty?

(Amnesiacs I s'pose.)

Thing is, I am anything but fickle.

Here's what I am: fiercely loyal, even more fiercely independent, curious, salacious, quick, given to romantic fits, sometimes oversexed, sometimes undersexed, confident, smart, incredibly adaptable, and thirsting for the elemental bounty of life. (Not to mention a good lay!)

Fickle. Do men ever get called this? Doubtful. Just as slutty men often get admired for being charismatic and successful, I suspect that fickle men get cheered for being selective or "a good catch".

Anyway, digging into sluttery. I have been blessed with a handful of sexy and incredible people, and perhaps, the rewards of hard work in the last few months (or it's cosmic timing) and I'm finding myself loving it so much that I want more. I know I've only begun to dip into this amazing pool of sex positive, playful populous and (in my quiet moments) I want to continue down this path with my present effervescence. I am poorly equipped with the time to explore in the zealous way I'd like to, but will do my best to make do.

Looks like I'm simply processing here. Don't know that I have a point to make beyond my suspicion about, and rejection of, the word fickle. I may also be reassuring myself; saying that, when my lustful frenzies calm and I'm holding onto a gem of a relationship and friendship and person, it doesn't mean I care any less for him or her. It means the opposite in fact! When the cyclone of lust that sometimes whips me around calms, I can actually think and develop feelings for a fallible and real human; rather than basic visceral desires for someone who tickles me pink.

I guess also I might add that I think slut potlucks may be a thing of the future in my new apartment. Think of it as netfuckworking with dinner and drinks...guess I'll have to get more chairs.

Monday, September 10, 2007

The Oedipus Complex, a conversation starter!

I lay in bed yesterday, idly. I was thinking about work. I was thinking that I don't "work" enough at work, that I've taken my sticking-it-to-the-man too far, because it's hindering my progress (by which I mean, making more $$$).
I was thinking this for 2 reasons: 1. I realized I've been feeling a sort of entitlement re: getting the job that I may not deserve (despite my being an above average employee for nearly 7 months) and 2. the girl in the cube next to me is going to "clinical congress" in N'awlins in 3 weeks and I'm not. We're both temp., started at the same time. She works for a different program than me, for a boss who doesn't have panic/gas attacks three times a week.
So, I vowed to myself, then, to start anew this week and keep the slacking to a minimum and wow my boss, and eventually/hopefully, the managers that walk by me with my go-get'em ness.

I'm disgusted. I use the words "the managers" in my life now. I make vows devoid of real passion nightly knowing I'll never follow through....maybe that's why I'm here. A part, too large to ignore, of me doesn't give a three-hole-punched fuck if I get ahead in the business world. I don't care about climbing ladders to places I never imagined going in the first place.

What I began thinking about later, when bound for sleep, was fetish sex and the obnoxious Oedipus complex.

Thoughts on one annoying shrink's perspective:
Right, so I haven't read a lot on this subject. All of my knowledge on the Oedipal complex comes from reading the play by Sophocles in high school and again in college. The incestuous implications have been enough to go "boo" at me from within the depths of my own fantasies and fetishes for a few years though.

I'm sure my three readers are perverts enough to know already what the implications are, but for the sake of being thorough I'll throw in the basics: Freud's version of the Oedipus complex basically says that all women dream of marrying/fucking their fathers (and perhaps killing their mothers) and vice versa. I feel like breast feeding and penis envy were thrown in in his analysis. Also, probably, was vagina envy.

Braced with my incredibly vague and un-researched knowledge on the complex Freud made famous I can attack the theories from the viewpoint of gender-fuck queer theory, and it's much easier to scoff at Freud's quaint little vanilla ideas on sex and sexuality... a la: So what if women crave dicks? Well of course men want cunts! Who wouldn't??

Enough of that romping, I'll get to my point: I've become aware of a(nother) fetish of mine recently: I dig older men. Specifically, I dig older men that largely resemble my own father's character aesthetics. More specifically, older men who have the biker/sweet dreamer/blue collar/artistic qualities to them. I like them with rough hands, faded jeans, beards, and easy laughs.

I was fantasizing about a lover of mine who fits this bill last night, and I stopped short because my mind wandered off into Freud's rumpled mine-field of theories and I got grossed out. I began to wonder about the 'daddy' fantasies (which really turn me on) and how acceptable I can find them when getting mired in the Oedipal conundrum. I moved to contemplating the functioning gay men of the world who have no problem with their 'daddy' fetishes. This little merry-go-round then led me to a generalization (which I'll hopefully debunk later) and I thought; perhaps it's possible that only people without healthy/nice/good feeling relationships to their fathers can have wild 'daddy' sex fantasy fetishes.
This generalization was borne of the stereotype re: gay men and their bad relationships with their fathers as well as thinking about a friend of mine who enjoys the 'daddy' fantasy and has a crappy relationship to her own father.

I never really came up with an answer, for it's hard to have a philosophical conversation with yourself, especially at bed time when the brain is a little lazier. Instead, I told myself that those rationalizations were silly and poorly thought out, and the key must be (duh) don't think about your own father when you want to have hot 'daddy' sex you pervert!

At that point in the story I set free all notions rational thought, resumed hot fuck-me-daddy fantasies, and jacked off to sweet dream oblivion.

Discuss amongst yourselves please and let me know your thoughts!

Friday, September 7, 2007


Can someone tell me how to quickly search for other blogs within the blogger space? There doesn't seem to be a "browse" function...muchas thanks <3, S.R. Cobb

Thursday, September 6, 2007

lonely riot

Dear NPR and Readers

Dear Reader,

I am the picture of the "millennium generation". My spelling skilss are steadily decreasing due to text messaging and automatic reformatting. My attention span is short and...what was I talking about? My vocabulary, for an English degree holder, is atrocious.

Atrocious is one of my best adjectives, for example.

I have been at work for 1 hour 48 minutes and I have accomplished the following:
1. chat with co-worker re: daily commute and the blue line
2. 8 minutes of work for my supervisor to get set up for a meeting
3. trip to s.bucks for sugary coffee confection
4. brief budget on the back of a receipt while at s.bucks
5. check yahoo, gmail, myspace accounts and reply accordingly
6. read the front page of the ny times
7. fetch water from 27th floor cafeteria
8. building fire drill
9. chat with co-workers about "69 S. Washington" tragedy 4 years ago
10. chat with co-worker about my boss
11. read Overqualified and feel warmth in my chest which I am trying to be consciously opening according to healthy posture and yoga practices
12. type this blog while considering the npr report I heard yesterday re: "the millennium generation" and how we're all discontent to work our way up the corporate ladder.

Dear NPR,

I am writing this to you from my cubicle at work on Michigan Avenue. I am not an expert on anything and I only have 5 minutes before I have to go to a meeting.

This letter is regarding your report on 20something workers and their behavior in the work force. Employers regard us as the most technically savvy and educated people in the workforce market, but they think we're also unreliable cry babies who's parents suckled us for too long. They think we don't know how to take care of ourselves.

Here's what I think in brief (the meeting): this isn't your world anymore. You bougie 45 - 60 year olds think that it's still possible to work your way up in a company for 25 years. You haven't heard about all the pension plans that fall through, all the lay offs that happen, all the disloyalty from companies now-a-days. I want to embellish these points but, I have to go pretend to work now.

Fuck you, bougie NPR. I'll listen, but you better be damn sure I won't donate. I don't need your $30 bougie coffee mug.

With respectful affection,
S.R. Cobb

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Chocolate, where no chocolate's gone before

oh. my. god.

Bacon Exotic Candy Bar

Sitting at my desk, enjoying DJ Steeley's most recent show on kfai stream, and eating up my last 20 minutes of time clock at work, I perused 24 Boxes, a lovely blog about one woman's use of her year round subscription to boxes of farmer's produce from Angelic Organics in Rockford, IL.

Once again, in case you need me to clarify:

bacon + chocolate = mouth watering extraterrestrial orgasm explosion

skeet! skeet!

o-oh-ooh...Ok! *boosh!!*

Ah, oh. MMMmmmm, yeea-a-a-ahh-h...
there it is. Yesss. Oh geez, oop*!

{blew my load}

Labor day weekend past. Summer effectively over for all the white pants wearers of the world (pshaw). Kids back in school. Oprah show being taped again. It's September, people. Wow.

Roommates: nil
Shana: 1 (+ cat)

Had a quick vision of a dream for the future last night while on the roof, stoned and horny. The quick visions are the most annoying ones actually, because they're nearly identical to whims but could lead to reality should I actually slow and think them through.

Vacations to hope/plan for/think about in the order in which they've been presented to me:
Hawaii (which island, grasshoppah?)
Burning Man '08

I need processing time.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Anti-War Cats with Guns

I'm having an apathetic day fueled by supreme irritation with my supervisor.

I sent in a resume/cover letter chock full of witty chutzpah to Pink magazine today. It was fun even just thinking about it.

I've stopped all work because I'm pissed off and don't give a hoot if I'm being irresponsible or a slacker at this job right now.

Cats with guns is making me feel happy. Pinky is talking about the AK-47 as representative of freedom and revolution for millions of people, as well as oppression and violence for others.

Nothing more thoughtful right now. Mostly, I wanted to kvetch.
Thanks for listening.
hearts & stars,

Friday, August 24, 2007

happy ears and insides

My forever solid brotha DJ_Steely has gotten hisself a radio show in his new city, Minneapolis. I'm pretty effin' stoked for him but that's not to exclude me! I get to listen to the man do his thang again! Check it out if you have a soul: Kinda Cloudy Radio. It's good for you.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

The Pinky Show. The Fight.

Thank you, Devyn, for turning me on to this: The Pinky Show

I'm listening to a comprehensive, yet simply explained, show about the U.S. in Vietnam. The disturbing similarities between the war in Vietnam and the war in Iraq are pointed out. Now that Bush is publicly comparing the two wars it is unthinkably foul to really understand the implications.
The reasons we went to war with both countries were falsified to the American public. In both situations the essential reason we went to war was because the countries at hand were attempting to make Democratic progress toward economic stability (aka: freedom), BUT their markets were not open to American Business. The united states' entire history of Foreign Policy is based on a story of heroism and fighting for freedom/democracy while behind the curtains the ruling/elite class is actually fighting for power gains and economic control. The majority of the 'american' public believes 250 years of lies and fairy tales.

I am green...back to work and the struggle, while my head and heart are elsewhere.

Below is part of the transcript. Part of the reason this show is impressive. It's thoughtfulness runs very deep.

Bunny: ...Did the Americans not try to learn anything about Vietnamese history before taking on this war? Why did the American leadership disregard all reliable information on this matter, choosing instead to impose their own paradigm on the situation regardless of whether or not it fit? Was it just arrogance?

Pinky: I dunno - which one was it?

Bunny: I... I don't know. Maybe it was all of the above. You know, I've thought about it quite a bit, and I kind of have this idea that maybe it had something to do with America's denial of its own colonial past. Maybe when a nation's own history of genocide or taking land by force is erased from memory, maybe that helped to render the Vietnamese people's struggle for land and sovereignty invisible. I can't think of any other way to explain why they couldn't see what was happening right there in front of them.

Monday, August 20, 2007

plucked from a wheelbarrow of thoughts

All I can say about these last 14 days or so is: WHEW! I want to keep thanking some kind of lucky stars for all the amazing people that have been shading my days as of late, but then I think I must have something to do with it too. It's as if I've found something inside of myself I didn't know I had, and am now successfully working it. It's a little scary at times...

There's a peacefulness coinciding with my plethora of activity that's refreshing also. Re-focus on possible career in academia/poetry is turning up. ChiRP is moving along gracefully, and I had a pleasant realization that, specifically, what I want out of any involvement in radio is a great show.

From an article in August's Sun Magazine, some interesting writing on the indifferent world vs. a God; via bugs.
"In his splendid natural history of predators, The Red
, Gordon Grice notes that the black widow spider's venom is far more toxic than necessary to kill its prey...

'Evolution does sometimes produce such flowers of natural evil... No idea of the cosmos as elegant design accounts for the widow. No idea of a benevolent God can be comfortable in a widow's world.'

...[The] element of chance defies the powers of reason and inquiry.
'We want the world to be an ordered room,' but there are flowers of natural evil, and unexplained goodness and glory, growing right across the road."

Friday, August 17, 2007


I'm signing a lease Monday!!
Shasta's 1st OWN apartment!!!

Me, Billy the cat, and my plants will be happy to welcome friends, lovers, neighbors and new spirits after September 1st. Maybe we'll get a fish too. Oh. My. Goodness. I'm excited.

Let's think: terra cotta colored kitchen and maybe a green or teal main room? I have a cool idea for shade on shade wall stenciling. More mobiles made from twigs and leaves. Sewing projects. Minimal furniture and a yoga spot...

(combined with Friday-cube-fever, an amazing, new, electric fellow, and Bruce Springsteens's "All I'm Thinkin' About is You"...I may have to outside and click my heels a few times.)

dooby dooby do!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Why I love Amy Goodman

Because she runs this most most most excellent program.
Check the headlines from today. Always interesting, but today there's information about poetry and radio, two of my favorite subjects.

Shooting at KPFT, Houston
New Book Compiles Gitmo Poems
<3, the miner

Some of this morning's thoughts

It's looking more and more like Bin Laden and Al Quaida are going to accomplish their goal of ruining the U.S. and it's economy with never ending war. Another operation, with another snazzy name, has begun, and another score of Iraqis have been terrorized. It's a disgusting scene over there and what's worse, the U.S. response continues to be exactly what Bin Laden hoped for. All the while the people in the country blunder along in lives that are increasingly difficult, bereft and poor; not seeing that we're being robbed and torn down as a country, economy and people.

I saw this book at Quimby's yesterday and as soon as I can muster up an extra $18.00 I'm going to get it. Sure, I could get it cheaper online, but I'd rather my dollars support something greater. War tax resistance has been an interest of mine for several years and in an age of on-line petitions, 50,000 person rallies, and a government that would rather look at our library check out histories than listen to our positions, I feel that the most effective way for me to voice my protest is to stop paying for this war.

In other "news":
These people are interesting and so is their goal.

I'm feeling rather detached from my daily routine right now and can't stop day dreaming. I made a list of what I'm dreaming vs. what I'm doing on the bus ride to work this morning. I started to let everything slip this weekend and tonight I have to pick it all up again.

Other interesting information
And, God love Jewish Moms...on bikes

Monday, August 13, 2007


Adios, Karl Rove, and don't let the door hit'cha where God (in all his intelligent design) split'cha!

Wow, I'm 1 part beside myself with the news that this Evil-F**ker is leaving the White House (cheers went up across the world, I'm sure), but I'm also 2 parts skeptical. Karl Rove lives in G-Dub's pocket and I don't believe he's going to stop main-lining his strategies into Bush's head. I'm not being euphemistic about his address in the prez's pants either; a google search of "karl rove george bush's pocket" gets 227,000 hits.

Hilarious embedding aside, I'm serious, I don't think Rove is actually removed from this picture. Not that it matters much, as there's a national countdown of seconds left in the current administration's reign, but I did want to open up the eyes, of my 2 readers, to this possibility.

Now that that important business is taken care of I must return to work, where I'll hopefully accomplish 2 more things in the next 2 hours. This double duty on the job front is seriously impeding my productivity.

Friday, August 10, 2007

time for a drink now?

I vowed to do yoga last night, but naughty sexy funny smart emails in my okcupid in-box kept me up too late. At 6:30 this morning and got up and did 25 minutes of sun salutations and triangle poses. Then I began my 2nd job at Wishbone, at 8 am. Now I'm back at my other, desk, job with a tired back. The building is emptying out, and I'm listening to "Funky Friday" found on

There's been a sudden upsurge of interesting correspondence on okcupid (i.d.: redacted). I was asked: what's 1 thing I wish more people knew about me.  I replied, I wish more people knew what a pervert I am.  I tried to think of a different answer, but nil.

I use the word "pervert", there, the way I use "dyke" or "slut". It's a positive thing for me, not my best or worst attribute, but something I've acknowledged about myself and come to appreciate. I thought, last night, about how that was 1 of the difficulties I had in high school. I felt wrong then.

I met a boy who's been blessed with a really appealing aura; I wonder what my aura is.

website: Funky Friday
article: "Bound for Takeoff in Business Class" check the ChiRP mention!
person: Shawn Campbell for rallying us to starting up ChiRP with vim and vigor.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

new home!

In addition to phone numbers, old text messages and memories, I've deleted my livejournal account. I'm finding more and more awesome blogspot blogs, and want to do more writing/embedding than myspace's format really encourages. Besides--we are young, heart ache to heart wait, that's not what I was going to say--

Besides, if we can't meet up in community squares, coffee houses or rallies, then Blogging's the new black.

I am SO 3 years ago.

Why am I compelled to blog?

1. As a way of sharing my thoughts with my friends from within the confines of my paper filled cube.
2. To join in a larger community of writers, thinkers, activists, d.j.s, shouters, jumpers, and d.i.y.ers.
3. Because it's 2007, I'm 25 and this is what you do when you work 9-5.
This is what you do when 5 corporations own all the media (25 years ago that number was 50).
This is what you do when when the "liberal/left/democratic" party's darling advocates attacking victimized countries on behalf of...what? What is the need they claim now?
This is what you do to keep sane and communicating.
4. I'm a writer.

Today's new website:
Today's new word:
Today's new person: