I had a list of all these things I wanted to do. Not a physical list but a list in my head of goals, wishes, and dreams. I forgot about all of the things I wanted to do, just for me. Ideas and dreams that involve no one else but me, and things I want to do and see.

I created a life around others. When it fell apart I spent years living in the ruins and with the ghosts of “better” times. Being depressed is much like being haunted, and there were so many poltergeists living in my memories.
It didn’t dawn on me that I had stopped planning for a future. I had stopped looking forward to one, thinking there would be one. The plans I made were haphazard. Weak. They faded away as a new hill appeared on my slate grey horizon and before I knew it, the hope was gone. Replaced by something else, or leaving a hole where it once was.

I attempted to conjure up was the memory of happiness. An idealized version of events. Completely glossing over the unstable emotional setting I was in, despite my calm memories. The happiness, the peace, came from being able to think straight and finish goals and tasks. Cleared away were all the wraiths and the demons they conjured up, not gone, but in a place where I could deal with them one by one.

Without goals, or any type of motivation I was merely playing catch up. Running from one fire to the next and putting them out as fast I could.

A Blip

Being honest with myself above everything else will be one of the hardest parts. Letting go is not something that I am good at, but I am tired of reflecting on people and things that only really have meaning in my past. Holding space in my mind for people who do not do the same for me. I grew stagnant and the dull, repetitive thoughts and emotions left me feeling hollowed out.

I have a chapter two and three written… as well as others. They were short, and now they aren’t. But now they show no signs of slowing down, and are begging to be edited. So in the next few days I hope I can put those up.

I have a pint of Half Baked by Ben & Jerry’s calling me… and some work to do.


Elyse – I


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Originally this was published on a tumblr blog, back when I had one. I decided to close that (or stop using it at least) and work on this story for some two years now. Slowly molding it as my own creative abilities and education grow. This is by no means a final draft, expect things to change and hopefully improve before it’s finally out. Comment below or drop me an email at and let me know what you think.


“ ‘Lyse your phone” Her boyfriend’s voice was hoarse and heavy with sleep. He rolled away from her and curled up on his side. Elyse’s cellphone continued to vibrate until it fell from the nightstand. She pawed for it in the darkness. Her slender fingers finding it the slip phone under vibrating violently against the wooden floor beneath the bed. The bright light of the phone was almost blinding. Elyse opened one eye and a name slid into focus.  The phone continued to vibrate in her hand as she slipped out from under the sheets naked, and tip toed toward the bathroom off of the bedroom. She knelt and she fumbled for a cigarette from the spilled contents of her purse on the floor before closing the door with a whispered click of the latch.
Lighting a cigarette, Elyse took in a deep drag, exhaled and then answered the call as her phone began to ring for the third time. Her stomach dropped at the sound of his voice.
“Lyse?” Trevor’s voice was a smooth baritone.
“Hello.” She perched herself on the edge of the claw foot tub. Still in the darkness, as if the light would draw attention to her. Trevor could always inspire anxiety within her. It’d been two years since she decided to stay with Derrick despite all her feelings for Trevor. The road they had traveled while together had not been kind to them. But Elise would ever forget the sound of his voice.
“You need to come home. It’s Diana.”
Chicago. Elyse had not seen it since she left two years ago. Diana had always been trouble but when Elyse left she made sure to cut all ties with her, not wanting to be a part of her downward spiral. Besides blood relation and a few similar features, they shared very little.
“What’s wrong with her now” She replied sleepily.
“She’s sick your mom is admitting her in a few days. “
“What about my niece and nephew?” She flicked ash into the clean white tub behind her. Something wasn’t adding up in her mind. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“They’re going to stay with her for a few days then I guess Aaron will be taking them.” The name alone was enough to snap her out of her sleepy haze. Aaron was the assumed father of the twins and in Elyse’s eyes a complete degenerate human being.
“I’ll be on the first flight in the morning.”   She hung up on the phone without a goodbye. There was still a lingering bit of rage toward Trevor, but this feeling she had were not the normal butterflies of anxiety. Elyse powered down her phone and placed it face down on the black bathmat. Barely awake, she focused on her cigarette.
Dawn quickly came, slashing streaks of purple and pink across the indigo of the twilight sky. Her cigarette burned down to the filter leaving ash on her knees and thighs. She brushed her legs clean, stood up, and dropped the butt into the toilet while rubbing her eyes. There was no rubbing away the sleep she still needed. Elyse looked herself over in the mirror. She was six feet tall with dyed jet black hair that hung just above her waist. She had almond-shaped dark brown eyes and a round nose over full lips. The light of dawn gave her tired eyes and wild hair a ghostly appearance. She examined herself before rinsing her mouth out with the mouthwash on the sink counter and then heading back to the bed she shared with her Derrick.
Climbing in next to him, Derrick rolled back over and his heavy muscular arm fell across her. She found her favorite spot on the cool bed, pulling the grey jersey cotton sheet up over them. Comforted by the smell of his cologne and how he squeezed her gently while sleeping. She ran her hand up and down his arm in love with the way their skin tones contrasted. He was a golden tan against her bronze sun-kissed skin.
Pushing the worries of what was to come once she landed in Chicago and all the arrangements that awaited her in the morning, she resigned herself to sleep and it came quickly. There was no relief within dreams for Elyse. The black waters of sleep reached up and washed over her, leaving her afloat in warm water being brought to the moonlit shores of a place that felt like home.

She sat up coughing, soaked through her clothes, a long purple dress made of several silks and cinched at her waist with a brown leather belt.
“You returned to us.” Elyse looked up to see a woman in a black robe and a similar purple silk dress standing away from at the edge of a forest thick and dark. Lights seemed to float between the trees as far as Elyse could see.
“You’ve forgotten again, but it will come back to you. We should get inside.” The woman had a patient face, lightly lined with wisdom, or age she couldn’t tell. Her hair was dark brown streaked with silver that caught the sunlight, she wore it pulled back into a long braid.
Pulling herself to up on her feet, the sand fell away like dust as she walked toward this woman who seemed to know her. She felt no fear or sadness, only comfort and love that poured from the woman’s dark hazel eyes.
“Where are we?” Elyse finally answered as the woman pulled up her hood, and handed Elyse another cloak of black wool that matched her own.
“Home.” Was all she replied with and they moved through the woods. Elyse realized she wasn’t barefoot, a pair of leather boots laced up to her knees. The woods were thick and the lights she thought were floating moved around her, voices coming from the shadows that held them. Black robes that matched her own, but their faces were shadows, their hands as dark as the night sky around them. A looming stone structure faced them down as they edged toward the clearing the massive woods.

Elyse found herself standing on a deserted Michigan avenue in front of a large old red brick building.

The trees slowly became shadows and disappeared, yet the woman was standing with her still. Elyse wore a leather jacket over her shoulders, a violet silk dress down to her black boots.

“Home, young one. I told you, home.” As if she could read Elyse’s thoughts.

“You are coming here again, yes? Coming back to this city, your city.” She looked at Elyse with those smiling hazel eyes, bright now in the city lights.
“Yes, my sister. I have to come back here. I don’t want to come back here.”
“You will soon. But first you have to wake up.”  The woman’s face became Elyse’s mother’s as the sun rose quickly behind them, the bright star seemed to crack the sky open and fill it with light. Just as the sunlight hit Elyse’s eyes, and she felt the hard corners of reality slowly creep in and wash away her dream.

Tjhisha & Angelia A Summary and Update

TjhishaandAngeliaI ignored Tjhisha Ball and Angelia Mangum initially like everyone else. It’s easy to dismiss tragic news, and that’s what the ending of their story was, tragedy. In the eyes of everyone, including myself, they didn’t matter because … reasons. I shrugged it off, and no there was nothing wrong with them being labeled as sex workers, no there was nothing wrong with their deaths being ignored. It happened all the time. I felt apathy, not complacency. Exhausted and apathetic by the constant struggle for any poor or black (or both) person (especially a woman) to make news when she suffers a tragic end. There is either no out rage, or very little.

Co-Admin of @Whorephobia (a Sex Work Advocacy Organization I Co-Admin as well) @_Peech had RT’d the few articles there were out there about them: Ebony’s Jamilah Lemieux wrote a smashing piece on both women and the tragedy of the constant ignoring of SWs murdered. While I and some others found some of her delivery problematic or maybe hurtful, through discussion we learned why it was so, and how her efforts to relate the information to non-SWs sometimes required a different learning curve and vocabulary. @TheTrudz wrote another article for the girls for Gradient Lair which was also amazing.  But for the two articles that came out when this all came to pass (the girls were found in the wee hours of Thursday the 18th) there have been articles like the damning, public persecution in The New York Daily News which decided to use the girls mug shots from previous sins of their young lives as the lead image. They rolled it out, almost twice the size of the image above… their puffy eyes and sad/angry faces. The same faces most young people who’ve ever committed an offense have made when fingerprinted and photographed. I say most because how many of us reading this now have committed something we’ve looked back on as adults and regretted, or learned from? How does their past some how mean they are unworthy of mention in the future? The back and forth and the persecution left me exhausted and distraught about how to move forward. It compounded the apathy. NYDN wasn’t the only news source to do this, Florida local news followed in the foot steps of its larger media siblings and the ruining of their name and life justified the palpable silence of major media.
@_Peech lit a fire through her relentless posting and updating (and I mean this in the best way) of the news that was out about Tjhisha and Angelia. She contacted family, she contacted Jacksonville Sheriff’s Dept. She did the work no journalists had done yet. She inspired me to not only give a shit but to get upset about it… I had to think what was I going to do? She prompted me “We have to do something.” Within an hour we did.

I opened up a fundraiser on found here: Help Angelia and Tjhisha’s Families.  And within a week we reached over $7000.00 which fills me with so much happiness in the midst of all the fighting, critiquing and ignoring of sex workers. Some of the messages we’ve received from donors have amazed. And we’ve been fortunate enough to have other SWs and Porn performers with massive followings/platforms RT our links to even more people, so a huge thanks to @belle_knox , @Stoya, @JoannaAngel, @BuckAngel among many others.

It was after about 24 or 48 hours that we started to get notice. EJ a journalist for Daily Dot was one of the bigger news outlets (outside of Ebony) to pick up the story and actually write about it, following up with myself and Peech to get more information and taking notice that the only people rallying for these two girls were the local members of their community and the sex workers and some sex worker allies on twitter.  Twitter (as it’s shown in the past) has become the powerhouse for getting the word out to people. With just the click of your thumb on your phone you are viewing the adventures, experiences, and revolutions of people all across the globe. I thank EJ for her work on the Daily Dot articles and helping this get notice. It picked up a bit of traction from there with Ian Blair’s rather problematic Salon piece, which was only edited after a 15 minute rant by myself in which he was directly addressed or @’d, and others, and then voraciously RT’d into the universe. Edited to correct his statements, and to include important information like fundraising efforts by people in the sex work community and outside of it, to do the right thing and give these girls a proper burial.

Some might say, “But don’t you want them to write about the girls and what happened?” An emphatic “Hell yes!” But I want it to be right, I want you to care enough when you write about someone who has lost their lives to do the work and to do good work. I have high standards, but I don’t think them unrealistic. Moving on…

My happiest moment was when @BlasianBytch invited Peech and I to be guest callers on TWiB After Dark  and awesome sex-positive body-positive black-centric podcast hosted by N’jaila (@BlasianBytch) and guest hosted this week by @PiaGlenn who has a voice like velvet. They gave us a good twenty-thirty minutes to talk about Whorephobia, Tjhisha and Angelia and the fundraiser. Truly a fantastic experience.

I noticed that outside of Jamilah, Trudy and N’jaila, there was still silence among black feminists who I considered influential on Twitter. Women who had started hashtag movements that broke major news, women with platforms and powerful stances. Women who remained silent in the face of the death of two black girls who were murdered and who happened to be exotic dancers for their occupations. The stench of bullshit was thick in the air about that one, and I ranted… I tried to keep up some form of diplomatic respect, but this fire had indeed turned into anger. How dare you claim solidarity and ignore the very thing that happens to too many SWs to count, too many black women to count…

@AyadeLeon wrote a piece for Bitch Media.  That received the following criticism I agree with: “The problem with this article is the author doesn’t actually use this space to talk about the two young girls who were murdered (as exploited in the headline and photo), but eventually to talk about the lack of attention her fictional characters receive from agents. Maybe that perpetuates the societal problem regarding compassion toward sex workers? They are easily forgotten and not considered real.” #cosign

Unlike a lot of people who ignore criticism, she actually reached out to me and we had an awesome and impassioned discussion about the critique and why I agreed. Exploring what exactly my standards are for articles about SWs. I am no authority, but if you are going to speak about something you have not lived, it’s best to speak to the people living that life today and use their words. But best of all it is best to let the article be about them, and not as a way to weave in your own agenda. Aya was receptive and understood the outrage.  This was a definite win.

Monday morning Whorephobia’s own Peech released her won article on a long piece but worth every minute to really dig into. Do yourself a favor, pause here and read that article.


At the time I am writing this the fund is almost to the half way point, and we’re making a huge push to reach it. We’ve spoken to CFH (the funeral home in charge of the arrangements) and have found out how urgent it is they receive any amount we have to give. Because of the urgency we’ve decided to withdraw whatever is available so far and send it to them. We will have photos documenting deposits, withdrawal, written check, and post office shipping costs and time frame of receipt.

We will document all transactions and post them to the fundraising page, as well as to the Whorephobia twitter page so donors will know when the available funds reach the funeral home. The fundraiser funds are going directly to the funeral home once we reach the goal and all additional funds will be sent directly to the parents of Tjhisha and Angelia.

I just want to say thank you to everyone who has RT’d and tweeted. Please share the fundraiser page and give if you can. We’re taking ideas for anyone not able to give financially to be able to help in other ways.

Thank you to everyone who’s contributed. Please keep your eyes out for more updates on the status of the fund, how to help, and information on Tjhisha and Angelia’s case when we have it.

To Donate:
Organizer: Everyday Whorephobia Beneficiary: Help cover funeral costs of Angelia Mangum & Tjhisha Ball

This is an effort to help offset the funeral cost of Tjhisha Ball and Angelia Mangum. Two young women slain in Tampa, FL who’s deaths have gone unnoticed by the media. 

Back In Black


Three months since I last logged in and put anything here. A whirlwind of events happened that swept my life clean of so much good & bad, debris all of it. Fragments of dreams not realized and of liars hiding in the shadows, rotting teeth bared. 

From far away even your enemy will look like a mentor and that’s what I dealt with not long after my father died. To say that March was a month of bullshit would be an understatement. But you live and you learn. 

In about 12hours I’ll be uploading the preview to the novel I’ve talked about for over a year. It’s been coming along, and while not finished it’s definitely getting there. Faster than it previously was, but turning the depression and overwhelming activity into a muse for creativity has pushed me forward and into a different direction than I’d originally saw myself going. 

So let’s get this shit back on the road, right?!


It won’t bring you back or make up for the obstacles ahead…

It used to eat me up that you weren’t as prevalent in my life as I thought I needed. As a little girl is entitled to have that presence. Yours came in other forms, none of them resembling you and just you doing whatever it is that fathers do. This isn’t filled with regrets for what never transpired. I made peace with you and I some time ago. But here I am, wrestling a series of emotions I lack the vocabulary to properly name. Nothing inside me but a cacophony of sound echoing through what feels like a vacuüm inside. It vibrates through me, the words my mother said and all I could respond with was “What?”

I’d never expected your words to finally be true and for you to leave us. I couldn’t understand and in my ears so many words rung that the sound of the truth hurt. Torrents of the reality that had adopted me rippled through my soul and I learned what I was really made of. My adolescent rage was gone, and the peace I had made didn’t comfort what screamed inside me. A scared and sad child.

So many questions. So many phone-calls to make and all I can think of is I am ready to go to sleep. I don’t want to be the only child in this part of my family unit. I don’t want this responsibility. I don’t want to have to deal with what’s to come because you succumbed to your own demons. I’m not upset with you, just the situation. I’m awash in different feelings and the person who could be yelled at has checked out, that’s the most frustrating thing about death. The most cliché. Slamming my fist into your headstone won’t rectify anything. It won’t bring you back or make up for the obstacles ahead.

Things have been put on the back burner until I sort out a family loss.

A Westerosi History Lesson


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This is purely fan service.
Consisting of Dornish history from 1000 years ago to the events we’re about to witness. I will try my best to keep this as spoiler free as possible. No promises.

Season Four is promising a lot in their clips and in the 15 minute trailer behind the scenes footage they’ve released, and I am hoping they can and will deliver on their promises. One of those promises has been the long time coming introduction of Dorne and all the characters that consist in that Kingdom.

Dorne is the southernmost of all the seven Kingdoms. Remember the Seven Kingdoms consists of Dorne, The Crownlands (King’s Landing), The Riverlands (Riverrun), The Storm Lands (Storm’s End), The Iron Islands (Pyke), The Vale (The Eyrie), and The North(Winterfell fuck The Dreadfort). Dorne is a peninsula Kingdom, jutting out into the Narrow Sea and connected to Westeros by treacherous stretch of land known as The Red Mountains. Though there are two roads that pass through these mountains, they are known for being incredibly hard to cross, increasing Dorne’s isolation. This isolation I believe assisted in their interesting history.

“Dorne is a very special land, with a slightly different cultural basis than the rest of Westeros… it was politically apart for a long time, it was also culturally apart because of the Rhoynar and the traditions they brought, but they didn’t influence the rest of Westeros so much.” — George R.R. Martin

Marc_Simonetti_throne_of_dorneAt one point there was an arm of  land that connected Essos to Westeros through Dorne but The Children of The Forest broke it off so The First Men would stop coming. When the Andals came and petty kingdoms of Westeros fell Dorne too was conquered by The Andals but not entirely part of the process. My impression of Dorne is that it’d been settled and merely adopted customs and cultural aspects of those who came in, but was never fully “conquered” as House Martell, while having an unknown history is known to have been very powerful at the time of Nymeria’s arrival. During the great Rhoynar Invasion (as they were at war with Valyria). Nymeria came from Essos and married one the Kings of Dorne during her conquering of Dorne and evacuation from her homeland of  Rhoynar in Essos, allegedly bringing 10,000 ships with her. Marrying King Mors Martell helped her continuing the conquering of Dorne while the six northern kingdoms came together.

It took Eight and a half centuries before Dorne came into the fold as the seventh kingdom. During Aegon the Conqueror’s  War of Conquest he won over all six Kingdoms except Dorne, due to Dorne’s guerilla warfare tactics. Aegon’s dragon’s proved  of little use when not in open warfare, and as the war drained the of his resources and of his men Aegon finally returned home.  Deciding it not worth the risk or expense. It wasn’t until another ambitious Targaryen took it upon himself to finish what he thought was unfinished business. Daeron I conquered Dorne albeit briefly leading to one of the best revenge and revolt stories ever.

Basically picture, Vicerys but less crazy with more realistic ambitions and the real funds to finance them. He’s conquered Dorne, sealed the deal and leaves it in the hands of a Lord from Highgarden. Totally makes sense, they’re the ruling seat of The Reach which borders Dorne to the west. But being a Targaryen he completely forgot who he was fucking with, so in the dead of night, having sauntered back to his King’s lair thinking you’ve done what needed doing. He laid in bed ready to close the canopy and as he goes to pull the cord for the drapes of your bed to shut, dozens upon dozens of red scorpions fall on him. Within a week all of Daeron’s work fell apart, Dorne went back to being Dorne and it wasn’t until the marriages brought about through Baelor the Blessed that Dorne bent the knee. First through Myriah Martell marrying one Prince of Dorne and later Baelor’s younger sister Daenerys to another Prince of Dorne.

Pedro-Pascal-as-Oberyn-Martell-and-Indira-Varma-as-Ellaria-Sand-in-Game-of-Thrones-Season-4Thus bringing us to modern Dorne. Season Four we meet Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand. Prince Oberyn is the younger brother of Prince Doran, Lord of Sunspear which is the Winterfell or Great House of Dorne. Oberyn is arriving for a few reasons. 1 – During Tyrion’s term as Hand of The King to get the weight of Dorne behind him he promised his niece Myrcella to Prince Doran’s youngest son Trystane Martell as well as offering Dorne a seat on the small council. Prince Doran is old… like really old… like Gandolf old and ailing. So he sends his younger brother Oberyn in his stead. 2 – Oberyn and Elia a year apart in age. They were very close growing up and Oberyn had wanted to continue to battle the Lannisters in honour of young Vicerys (as Daenerys was not born at the time).

Sidebar: Who the hell was Elia? 
Elia Martell, or Princess Elia was the wife of Rhaegar Targaryen the son of Aerys, the Mad King. Elia and her children were murdered brutally, and though Vicerys was not of Martell blood he was Rhaegar’s brother by blood, and thus the rightful heir to the throne. So I am hoping we begin to see flashbacks, though I am not holding my back for anything until next season where there’s heavy reflection of events from the past.

Oberyn and Ellaria are interesting characters, Ellaria is the mother of the Sand Snakes, vicious women of Dorne who have inherited there parent’s might, wit and passion. I am happy they hired actors of colour to play people of colour. Especially after a very racially shaky third season, in my opinion.

Myrcella_BaratheonCurrently though we have to remember as Oberyn comes north, Myrcella is in Dorne. In Season two during Tyrion’s time as Hand of The King to gain weight with House Martell behind House Lannister, he arranged the marriage of Myrcella to Trystane Martell, Prince Doran’s youngest son. You really don’t see or hear much from her in the books until we get to Dorne and we meet Princess Arianne who’s been charged with keeping watch and basically entertaining and raising young Myrcella.

I don’t know about anyone else but with all that in mind, do you think Cersei’s first reaction (see: sell my daughter like a common whore line) was a bit more logical? Just to back up here, there was a time when Elia and Oberyn went to visit the Lannister’s. I’m not sure if they will get to this bit of a side story on HBO but it was around the time Tyrion was born and the Targaryen’s had decided against marrying Cersei to Rhaegar so Tywin was in no mood for guests. Oberyn remembers feeling snubbed and I’m sure that in some ways they were, so there’s a growing animosity between the two houses. It doesn’t help that not only were Elia and her children slain by Lannister men but so was The King. House Martell has supported House Targaryen since coming into the Seven Kingdoms. This is more gunpowder in the keg. Old promotional material, more relevant than ever.


I want to end here, I fear if I keep going I will begin to go into serious spoiler material, plus I want to section up my reviews by houses and semi-geographically. We’ve covered Targaryen, Martell, Lannister relations because they overlap. A third to a quarter of the way through the series I will do another review, recap, possible history lesson. So as to not get everything all muddled and confused.

Hope you’re all as excited as I am!
I leave you with this!

Been awhile.


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I get tired.
Wandering breathless through this hall way.
Collapse halfway to the door and just take a breath.
Legs sprawled in front of me.
Fuck going back for anything I may have left a long the way.
I like it here..
These shoes are pretty comfortable too.
As long as I lace ‘em right, right?

Curled up on the floor now, knees in my chest.
Digging the heels into the concrete behind me.
Under or overdressed
Disorganized, depressed mess on the precipice of no longer holding back.

Who took away my shoes and solid ground?
Leaving me in this dissolving home, now my swamp.
Not water but the blood of my enemies soaks the ground.
The trees grow fat red leaves and I smell pomegranates.

Unfurl l myself, now clothed in a ratty dress soaked in my new home.
A state of blood and confusion.
Barefoot pilgrimage through thick trees.

The Alligators slither into the river bed, eyes black and full of stars.
Away from me they go.
The snakes and lizards.
I listen for the hissing of cicadas.
The black sun burns hot through thick trees.

Feet heavy and caked in my bloody mud.
I am so hungry.

“All the effort in the world won’t matter if you’re not inspired.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Diary


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Leaning across the back from the desk, fingers laced under her chin, the air heavy with smoke. She, a mentor-of-sorts posed a question to me and a few others. This person, who you are embodying… this character you are portraying, when you see her in your mind, what is it you see… who do you draw from?

dororthydandridge My response came quickly, Joan Holloway, Dorothy Dandridge … wait… wait, shit it went blank. There was a reason. I was drawing up inspirations that weren’t out of reach but missed something crucial. The look in my mentors eyes when we looked at one another was one that was quizzical. Something my friend shared when I expressed the same idols for this character, later in the day during a visit. Sweet faced S took in the response and replied,  “I can see that, but…”trailing off head twisted to the side like an interested cat.

She described what she saw in my face as the ability to embody many things, and I had to admit I love to play many parts. I’ve idolized and romanticized many a woman’s character in literature and entertainment. There’s been something about many women that I’ve wanted to embody. What is it about Dorothy that I loved? My inner goth teen is always drawn to the macabre, and Ms. Dandridge had a sad and all to short story, she was graceful, talented and beautiful. Married many times, of course.

joanSomething tells me she was not to be tried and when I see her work I love it. Enigmatic and fabulous.

Joan Holloway is the Femme Fatale, which I’ve loved. The dangerous beauty but Joan wields her power with a finesse that leaves even the most stoic a bit lustful. Especially in the day and age Mad Men is set in. She knows her strengths and weaknesses, but there’s an undeniable fact about the very way she carries herself. A knowing in her movements that she’s the sweetest red apple in the room.

Leading me to question if these were even inside me in some way. I’d played roles before, in life and … elsewhere. I’d felt myself change over time, but Joan was unwavering in her appeal. Dorothy swimming in talent. My mood soured during  this  momentary period of reflection and I looked down at myself, dissatisfied. I felt as if I was lacking something internally.

I had to ask myself a question, where is my voice? Swimming in my vocabulary (which I felt needed expansion) wasn’t going to do. As I stated before, I hid in books and thus facilitated a hiding in my intellect (read: sarcasm). I had to feel my way deeper into myself, I needed to understand what it was I wanted from myself and wrestle with the inner parts of me that refused to let go, until was truly in control of my evolution.

How I viewed myself had changed over time but a feeling of being in limbo kept me from pushing headlong into anything, until recently. I’d been a tomboy most  of my life thusly I developed a distorted self-image that I hid under baggy pants and t-shirts.  At my heaviest I was pushing towards three-hundred pounds and my inner voice was smaller than a flea fart. Overtime, as my body and I changed I slowly replaced the baggy boy shirts for things that fit more, but I was still lacking a style I felt was my own. Shopping was always an anxiety inducing and saddening event. Nothing I wanted to wear would fit a girl of my size, and in the late 90’s early 2000’s being six feet tall but not skinny as a bean pole left me with little options, many of them in flower print! JOY! 

I’ve recently taken to that 40’s, 50’s and 60’s style for women, but with an edge. I’d love one of those fluffy sweaters of the 50’s era, but with a scorpion broach on the shoulder. Joan’s black silk dress and black sweater but with my spiked headband/crown. My mind always sees an era or style but wants to dip it in my macabre waters.

But digging deeper than my aesthetic tastes, there was something else laying underneath that I was in denial about. An undeniable sense that what lay beneath an exterior many regarded as cold was something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that sleeps below the ice. I picture Marla Singer’s smoke-filled lips whispering for me to let it “slide”, but until my mind forms a tangible picture of the ropes that I am holding on to, I feel bound. But by fucking what? What exactly is it that I know is there but for some reason can’t seem to visualize enough to overcome?

To be wild? What is that? A) (of an animal or plant) living or growing in the natural environment; not domesticated or cultivated or B)uncontrolled or unrestrained, esp. in pursuit of pleasure.

This is a conundrum for me, a witch, a growing woman, pursuing several things. The very idea of unrestrained pursuit of pleasure caressed my brain like silk and made me question what I knew about myself. I’ve talked about exploration, I’ve talked about reflection but this feeling of being an uninhibited woman felt like a dark secret I carried with me. To better  illustrate my point, it felt as if I could disassociate in a way to feel her. This part of my soul I carried around that wasn’t dark  in the basic sense of the word but it was in the shadows.

It dawned on me during a conversation that my inability to find something to hold on to, something to believe in had left many of my efforts hollow. Not to mention the transformations I’d been experiencing since before “Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” This is, as you’ve noticed a recurring theme with no sign of relief, yet. I’d been spinning my wheels until I decided to just walk through the swamp alone. My way of dealing with my problems is to shut out and be a fortress, an island. I will work alone and fix my problems and your efforts will be brutally rebuffed. I apologize for the brusqueness of my decline but I want to walk this alone.

My writer’s mind takes me to a deep swampy forest, and I’ll wander through it until I find my path again. The roots may trip me, I will change along the way but I have to find what I need to not only anchor this character, my new being, but something to truly hold on to and put power into. Without anything to believe in, I and my work my always feel like an exquisite corpse.

“Fuck Martha Stewart!”


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I was talking to a friend of mine, model and outspoken Lady herself, Erin M.W. I decided to share it so that you the readers can see and draw your own conclusions but also as to open a dialogue. As a Millennial there are a lot of feelings I think go unnoticed and unspoken on a larger platform. I want to bring some of this to light with the following conversation.

Erin M.WErin Wright
Side note, what do you know about the “knockout game”? An acquaintance of mine messaged me talking about how his neighbor became a victim of it and I rolled my eyes because I’ve heard so much bullshit about this…

Lady Fescennine
It does exist. It’s perpetuated by youth of various racial demographics, though predominately African-American. They do not specifically target white’s, that’s something being spun by the media to recharge the “scary black male” image.
In my eyes it’s an offshoot of the violence perpetuated on the homeless and random people in cities since the dawn of cities. I assume it is hoodlums just being hoodlums. Unfortunately this game is very dangerous as knocking someone out can kill them… it’s insanely malicious and I’m not sure where it really started, but yeah it’s a thing.

Erin M.W
Dammit I hate people sometimes.
Like, just why?
Dumb shit

Lady Fescennine
Yeah it’s one of those “Fucking people.”
Well I mean there’s a lot of rage, especially in our generation… We’re very angry.

Erin M.W
Yeah, I get that.

Lady Fescennine
It doesn’t help that we’re the indigo kids, so we’ve always had superiority complexes about our life because we’re all very smart.
And very passionate about the things we’re smart about. But as Tyler Durden put it:
“We’ve all been raised … to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”

Erin M.W
Shit, I get that

Lady Fescennine
It doesn’t help that we’ve been treated like criminals since 8th grade thanks to Columbine.

Erin M.W
I understand that completely lol.

Lady Fescennine
and lived in a state of political confusion since 9/11.
Just as we were getting old enough to understand what politics was, we were shit on… and lied to… and because we’re all bullshitters. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.
I can say with absolute certainty that 95% of our generation knew 9/11 was BS as soon as we were old enough to put 2&2 together.
And the only president worth a shit we watched them try to ruin with what… a soiled skirt and a Jew girl with a fat ass?
Only to glorify Kim Kardashian literally 10 years later.

Erin M.W

Lady Fescennine
and people wonder why the majority of us are like “Fuck you.”

Erin M.W
A generation of cynics

Lady Fescennine
Because dude you built us up with hopes and promises… you told us of all the shit you did in college and going and seizing dreams. You told us there would be jobs and homes for all.

And before we were old enough to carry a kid… we watched that shit dry up.

Erin M.W
and now we’re working twice as hard for half as much. Even less

Lady Fescennine
Telling us Social Security won’t exist by the time we need it when we’re 17 isn’t going to inspire us to run out and get jobs.

Erin M.W

Lady Fescennine
and they wonder why we hustle.
They wonder why we don’t vote.
They wonder why we’re not protesting.
Because we’re all too busy figuring out how we’re going to make next month work.
While being told we’re undeserving, snobby, rude little shits who have squandered what our grandparents and parents did.
Woo girl, let me hit the bowl and climb off the podium.
Because my spirit is getting worked up

Erin M.W
We’re being given a broken system and told “it’s not your shit, but clean it up anyway”.  As if we could.
Kind of hard to figure out where to start when everything is a mess.
I get you girl, lol.
The soap box is not without warrant.

Lady Fescennine
This shit gets me mad, man.
D and I were discussing why I don’t vote in presidential elections… and stick to local government.
And I explained to her why, especially at my age. I don’t give a flying SHIT what puppet they put in that white box.

Erin M.W
Same shit different day.

Lady Fescennine
My city is being run into a shit hole by corporate out sourcing, school closings, private education systems, juvenile detention centers, etc.
I knew from JUMP they were giving Obama the wheel of the Titanic
He and Hilary have been polishing the brass on this sinking boat.
They knew they need a scapegoat and what better way to make sure we NEVER get another black man in office but to hand him a 5lb bag of shit with 10lbs of shit in it.

Another friend pointed out the other night that as I’d gotten older, and my childhood marred more and more by the police state and tragedies that occurred (Columbine defining my HS years and living as a post 9/11 child) I became jaded. I could see behind the mummer’s curtain and I was not impressed. I feel pretty confident that most people in my generation had similar feelings of apathy develop because of the realities we face. But not only that as we grew older and learned how this system worked, what we learned (as stated above) did nothing to increase our belief in what we’d learned in our first 8-10 years of education.

Leaving us in a limbo that I believe stalls us from coming together to create change. No only apathy but being overwhelmed by the myriad of problems and the very depth of them. The unfathomable power and reach he selects few who run the world. David consists of millions if not billions of people and Goliath a few handfuls, leaving the physics of how to defeat this giant confusing. Not to mention it’s hard to come together when there’s so much we each battle personally, living hand to mouth, working twice as hard for half as much as those who came before. The dissension among us who are all in similar boats keeps us distracted from the real disease as we battle the each other and the symptoms.

It’s a frustrating and vicious cycle that I dedicate many hours too, day dreaming and plotting my way out of obscurity and the possibility to change the tide within my age group. I’m so tired of apathy that feels fashionable. I’m so tired of the accepted mediocrity, even though we were brought up with high aspirations and saw that there were few of moral value in sight, we shouldn’t accept The Snookies and the Kim Kardashians and ask for more, like helpless children suckling at some diseased teat of continued dependence and zero-dependent thought.

Eventually we have to collectively realize we’re being fucked, right?


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