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Sanity is overrated!

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Writing

Hey You! Is There Anybody Out There…?

Oh blog, how I have missed you!  I began a master’s program in the beginning of July and I am suffering from writer’s constipation.  I am in the midst of academic writing and it is literally sapping every bit of creativity that I try to muster.  I had thought that I would not suffer this malaise due to the program concentration but that has not been the case.  What is it about higher learning that academia insists on leveling every single interesting facet of a field of study into an infinitesimal liturgy of boring details…?  Just writing this paragraph, I am boring myself!

At times like these, I wonder why I am doing this to myself once again?  I enjoy learning, however, I do not enjoy the hair-splitting that occurs in seeking a mastery of a certain subject.  Can’t we just go with our gut and use out natural passion and desire to pursue in-depth knowledge of the discipline instead of having a forced litany of classes and papers and tedium and grades and….

I miss you…

A Foolish Consistency is the Hobgoblin of Little Minds—Emerson

I am so pissed off right now!  I submitted entries to a writing challenge recently and I didn’t receive even an honorable mention for creativity.  I read the other entries and they were fine and well-written, and sentimental and (dare I say it?) predictable!  Needless to say, I feel as though I have been slighted due to my quirky and extremely unpredictable story twists and turns.  I realize that my dark and slightly skewed sense of the world is not for everyone but seriously, I think that the element of surprise should compensate for something…or do we only exist as automatons in this world?  Unless something is mushy, gushy, and has the potential to leave us with a lump in our neurologically-challenged throats, are we to dismiss it entirely?  

Then there is the subject of niche.  I don’t have one.  I may not ever have a definite topic that is exclusively my own.  I just roll in too many directions to state clearly and definitively that this (insert elusive topic here) is what I prefer to examine and expound.  I simply cannot limit myself this way, which brings me to my next point: I believe that the contributions I have made on my blog may have also had something to do with the lack of encouragement and support.  I was careful to take note that the facilitator of the challenge did check out my site and I am merely guessing but I do believe it hurt my chances.  Could it be that there still exists a kind of snobbery and prejudice within the literary discipline? I would dare to venture a guess that if attention had been drawn to my blog, someone might be a tad uncomfortable…?  I don’t know, it’s just a guess. 

This brings me to another point: randy writing has been with us since humans began to carve images onto stone!  Sensuous and erotic prose is as natural as sleeping, eating, and breathing, however, the Victorian bias is still alive and well when the Brontes (talented, though they were) fit our only conception of what is defined as literature.  Any English major has read Chaucer, Lawrence, Wilde, Nabokov, and The Pearl.  What about the Kama Sutra, an antique text which dared to commit to print the most sensuous and pleasurable acts to take place between two humans?

Indifference, not criticism, is the enemy of creativity and I would appreciate any feedback you would care to share.  Now that I have gotten that off of my chest, here are two of my entries that I thought were pretty damn good:

The scenario is a blind date that starts off well until….

At exactly half-past eight, she appeared. Looking more striking than her description, my heart began to pound with excitement. Will she like me? Will she think I am as desirable as I find her? What can I say to her that will not betray my nervousness and faltering self-confidence? She spotted me with ease and walked directly over to me and without saying a word she grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor. Hips swaying to the loud sensuous beat, her dancing had me panting like a dog in heat. I dared to touch her by encircling her waist in my arms and suddenly we were flesh on flesh and I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She was so stunning and sexy that I realized she may not think that I am up to her standard but she seemed to be into me by responding to my lead on the floor. At one point, she turned and I could feel her soft, round bottom slightly pressing into my pelvis and I almost couldn’t control myself. Thankfully the music stopped and she grabbed me by the hand and led me outside to cool our sweating bodies within the embrace of the soft ocean breeze.

I looked at her and thought “What a perfect night…” And then she spoke for the first time, “You look so beautiful, wherever did you find that gorgeous red dress?!” It was then that I heard his deep, baritone voice and realized that to my dismay that she was a man.

The next scenario is a child who is talking in her sleep:

Tonight he would be prepared. Climbing into bed with a pencil and pad of paper, his plan was to have these items ready as soon as the child was asleep and her lips began to move. The child’s sleep-talking had begun a few weeks ago and he didn’t pay much attention to her gibberish at first but over the following weeks the noises had turned into an intelligible form of discourse. Her audible murmurings were beginning to reveal things that a child of four, his child of four, should not and could not know. Her mother had been equally disturbed.

“I don’t know when all of this started but I am not getting any rest since Daphne starting sleeping in our bed,” she had said. “First it was your insomnia and now it’s her talking and rolling around and I am exhausted.” She pointed to the bags under her eyes as confirmation.

“I know, honey,” said Paul. “Let’s start a new bedtime routine tomorrow and we will make sure to wear Daphne out at the park in the afternoon. It shouldn’t take but a few days and then we will be getting a good night’s rest again, OK, honey?” Paul secretly hoped that tonight he would be able to jot down what he was certain was an intelligence from another dimension. Somehow, someway, a transmission was occurring through his child and he could swear that he had been specifically chosen for this revelation. He just wished that his wife would not interfere until he could accurately transcribe the mysterious knowledge.

Paul reached to turn-out the light as his wife rolled over with a deep sigh and said goodnight. Setting the pad of paper and his pencil next to the bed, Paul made certain that his unopened refill of risperidone was still carefully concealed.

 

Enjoy!  XO   DWD

Being Viking

One of my beloved chick friends (coincidentally, also my Muse) told me one day, “Lady, you are a fucking Viking!”  Stunned by this comparison, given that the Vikes were notoriously fierce, ambitious, and mofo tough, I did a little research on these blond-haired beauties and found that I concur 100% with the Muse’s estimation.  So in the spirit of observation, education, and affirmation, here are a few relatively similar facts between myself and my beloved Vikings!  (Cohen 1)

 

First of all, Viking women accrued property and had the balls to get a divorce and reclaim their stuff if the blondie in question was not true to his horn.   Check!

 

Second, the men got the groceries.  Now, this is what I’m talking about!  Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I hate the dreaded grocery store.  Check!

 

I do not wear a helmet (sorry to burst anyone’s fantasies!) and apparently, neither did those vicious Vikes cover their beautiful tresses with such a ghastly style faux pas.  Check!

 

I am resourceful to the bone; perhaps this talent was acquired by the combining of creativity and uncertain finances but I can make a gourmet meal and a stylish outfit from nothing more than what is in the fridge and a couple of yards of cloth.  I guess the Norse Lords were a bit more pragmatic because they used their urine to cure stuff to make it flammable.  (Damn!)  Check!

 

I know that Bettie Page is my Gravatar but that is because she is absolutely fabulous and sexy and everything that I want to be when I grow-up. However truthfully, I have always been a blonde.  I have the natural shade and coloring of the true blondie with the exception of my hazel-green eyes.  Check!

 

Of course the Norse 🙂 were known for their courageous and seafaring spirit and could kick any tribes’ ass when it came to adventuring. They slept out of doors wherever they chose to lay their blond locks and I love the outdoors too!  I love to camp and hike and run and cook outside (we all know how much better the food tastes when cooked on a campfire).  Check!

 

Those blond-haired beauties were also known for their independent and nonconformist lifestyles.  Entrepreneurs to the bone, they marched to the beat of their own drums, never mind what those other tribes were up to, the Vikings lived the Frank Sinatra life and did it their way.  As an INFP, bam sucka—Check!

 

Everyone hates smelly, sweaty, unbathed humans and the Nords were no exception.  Maintaining an unusual degree of personal hygiene, the Vikings were known for their daily bathing and grooming rituals.  I am known for my love of bathing.  In fact, I do not take showers unless I am out of town.  Nothing compares to a long, hot soak in a garden style tub with candles burning and the scent of bubbles—sublime.  Check!

 

I know that my Muse was being facetious when she compared me to a Viking but after hearing my life story at a speaker event, she must have been overcome and appreciative of her own upbringing and experiences.  I have to admit that I rather enjoy thinking of myself as one of those savage Nordic types and I know that I am exploring strange and unknown territory in regard to my family of origin.  I have lived through the sixties with teenage parents, a kidnapping and molestation at knife-point, a rape, and twenty-plus years with a compulsive gambler; I have had my own struggles with booze and sex and come out on the other side; I have raised three beautiful and intelligent daughters, all three college educated and I just completed my degree last year.  Through it all, I have explored, obtained wisdom, learned empathy and compassion, and now I sit here doing what I love: writing.  Yes, I have to admit that I am a fucking Viking!

 

Cohen, J. (20130. http://www.history.com/news/history-lists/10-things-you-may-not-know-about-the-vikings

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, No, NaNo!

Not too long ago, I did something irrational and against my natural tendencies: I signed up for NaNoWriMo and attempted to “make” myself write a novel in a month.  For some strange reason, I assumed that if I had the titles to all of my chapters the words would flow from my brain to my fingertips and then voila’! poof!  a novel would be born!  Not so easy as it turns out, and not so cathartic; the act of writing is a purging of the soul and NaNo is an emetic for the gut.  Both may be productive but only one displays the potential for beauty.  And vomit will never be beautiful, no matter what is being regurgitated; think splatter art versus Picasso…need I say more?

Not only did my NaNo experience completely fall flat but the end result was to squelch any inspiration that may have translated itself into written expression.  It was as if the well had run dry in anticipation of the unreasonable demands that would be placed upon it and in an act of self-preservation, its waters completely evaporated.  Alas, one more attempt to force authentic creativity bit the dust but I did learn something of value: I can trust my process.  I do not have to focus so intently on the end result because if I trust the process, the end result will naturally arrive and that little epiphany has freed me from my paralysis.  I have been beating myself over the head with frustration due to my inability to perform as expected and I now realize that just as the butterfly must squeeze itself from its cocoon in order to wring-out the blood from its wings, so I must struggle, rest, and squirm as the writing continues to emerge on its own timetable and in its own way.

Writer Lady

Since I’m a grown-up lady

With stories bursting in my mind

I will sit and write all night long

Oblivious to the time

The world drops off around me

When keyboard meets the hand

And dimensions never heard of

Are now at my command.

Impossible does not exist

When under my control

Imagination is the limit

Until the tale is told

I wield a nuclear pen

And time is obsolete

Reality has slipped away

And creation sits at my feet!

The Famine

Timing.  This little concept has the power to alter or define futures; the mis-played hand, the too pre-emptive strike, or a complacent attitude can either inspire a dig-in-your-heels optimism or a fatalistic pessimism.  Fortunes have been lost by a hand called too soon, or a sell made too late and the same is true of “chance” encounters.  That being said, I have lately been immersed in a sexual famine and although I know I sound a bit dramatic, the practical realities of sexual malnutrition can influence just about every aspect of life and not in a positive way. The simple prospect of going to work without the magic of those miraculous endorphins coursing through the body can be a dismal prospect; these little beauties affect everything and there is simply no consolation available when I am unable to walk into my daily place of bread-and-butter feeling like a million bucks!  I have had my co-workers comment on those days when I seem to be floating on air, as well as those days when I seem to be stuck in the sludge and the contrasts are obvious, try as I might to keep them hidden.  (In fact, if you work alongside a particular cranky-pants, I would not be surprised if he/she were in a state of sexual frustration and deprivation!)

So, back to my story.  Just when things couldn’t have looked any more bleak in this time of deprivation and famine, there he stood in the middle of the store aisle.  As he spoke, I perceived a handsome and intriguing mixture of lust, charm, intensity, and intelligence and this cocktail of the senses was powerful and impossible to ignore.  My mind began instantly to analyze, scrutinize, and strategize as I quietly thought to myself, “Opportunity is knocking and I must know more…some additional research just might be in order…better act fast!”

So, after about 30-seconds of statistically evaluating my chances of success, I asked him for his number and promptly sent him a text.  Although most men will tell you that they like it when a woman makes the first move, truthfully, they can just as easily become very intimidated.  I have found that most men fear the female who comes on more assertively because having been influenced by the advertising-inspired idealistic construct of romantic love, it is assumed that she must be either interested in having a ring on her finger or have the desire for control via a relationship.  In fact, if she is attractive and nicely put together, they can automatically (and wrongly) surmise that she has to be nuts or conniving.  The motive they almost never guess is that maybe this discerning female would like to take a test-drive before any of that even has a chance to develop…?  Therefore, I am very careful and calculating about who I invite to swim in my pond, so to speak, sexual and intellectual chemistry being mandatory water safety skills along with the requisite physical attributes (yes, shallow I know).

Back to my story.  We set a date; so far, so good.  The evening began a little later than usual which made for the perfectly clear message of there-cannot-be-any-misunderstandings-as-to-the-purpose-of-your-visit and although that may sound a bit unromantic, I can assure you it has the exact opposite effect.  Transparency in the female-male relationship is one of the sexiest and most effective forms of foreplay and allows a woman the luxury of relinquishing her anxiety to make room for anticipation (which is far more fun!).  Playing and fantasizing with the idea that there exists a strong probability of a physical connection, allows the release of energies that can better be utilized through the embodiment of mental and physical pleasure instead of nervous tension and allows this female the opportunity to connect for a brief time in my mind with the Creative Divine.  Getting naked is truly an art form and the most creative act that we humans are blessed to experience in this fleshly dimension; sex is an exhilarating adrenaline rush combined with the highest form of tactile pleasure known to man and suffice it to say that this natural form of pleasure can produce in me infinite inspiration—in fact, sex is the catalyst for much of my creative edge being translated into language!

The kissing was deep and the touch was soft and then rough…ooh, lah, lah!  Sparks flew and we both dripped with sweat as one caress lead effortlessly to another and the Queen acquiesced to lowering her drawbridge as his tongue bid entry.  And enter he did; first like the quiet knock on a door and then like a battering ram and it was sensational!  I soon discovered that he is a master of language as well and said the nastiest, most delicious things that could have burned down the entire castle if it were not for an unexpected flash flood from the Queen herself!  The smell of him still lingers like a current in the ocean, perceptible and strong, the natural groove of our bodies and the pleasures of sensuous skin-on-skin will likely keep me smiling for a long time to come (no pun intended)!  The despair of famine has been lifted and let me just say that the Queen was very pleased to have her faith in her instincts—and her timing– once again confirmed!

 

Breaking My Silence…

 

I empty myself

with my pen

Drawing upon the

gift

That reveals with

words

What my mouth

will not speak

And of which my heart

is unaware

Until

My eyes see it

Uncovered

And my ears

Ring

With their music…

 

WTF…?!

I am navigating a weird place in my life: I am happy and carefree, completely autonomous and free-spirited but…?  Everything is working, I have a couple of steady FWBs that are more than I could ask for in terms of adventure, lust, and attraction, however…?  I don’t know if that means that I am bored or that I am succumbing to the stereotypical desire of companionship and it’s making me nuts!  I have worked very hard to be at ease with myself and to seek fulfillment from within; I love doing things solo, such as movies and dinner so what the hell is going on here?  I have a solo trip planned for August in which I will be going somewhere without knowing a soul and I will be completely off-radar and I am really looking forward to this adventure in the hopes that it will indoctrinate me into the club of solo travelers, so WTF?!   I don’t get it and I am really annoyed at its intrusion.  One of my close friends is filing for divorce and is so excited about the prospects of singlehood that I couldn’t help but reminisce about my own early days of release from the incarceration of a bad marriage and the peace and contentment that I followed.  So, what the f*ck is going on?

I really hesitated sharing this post and its whiny content, however, authenticity is very important to me so I have decided to vomit the contents of my dysfunctional thinking via the cathartic effects of this blog.  Perhaps my new mantra “Sanity is overrated” has struck a deeper chord than I realized and I am feeling somewhat squirrel-y…?  I had a session earlier in the week of some fine male energy and not-too-adventurous sex and it was very spontaneous and satisfying so I know that I am not just feeling empty (hee hee!) or horny.  I don’t get it…if any of you WP friends have some insights that you would like to share, I would very much enjoy reading what you have to contribute.

Here’s to putting the “D” into “Dysfunction”!  🙂

 

 

so you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or

fame,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,

don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,

don’t be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don’t be dull and boring and

pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don’t add to that.

don’t do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don’t do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

 

 

* this always encourages me when I am feeling as if I don’t have what it takes or that I have nothing original or edifying to share because it often comes “bursting out of me” and “it comes unasked” and it is just like that…DWD

 

 

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