In the Night…a dream

nyc moon

I sat at the end of a pier in New York City, wrapped in the arms of a man who was making me smile. I felt wanted, safe and secure. We giggled at something which struck us as funny and I laid my head on his shoulder. His arms tightened about me making the warm blood flow to my cheeks and head.

There were others about as well, all gazing at the skies and the moon, a plane taking off into the few clouds wispy in the nighttime sky. Ordinary people laughing in small groups, nodding at shared thoughts and talking softly with a look of wonder upon them.

It was a night of lost time and felicity, and all of us out there. This man and myself, all of the strangers, we felt a bond with this sultry and moonlit evening. A bond with each other and life. I felt a joy which had been missing for so very very long.

I awoke from a lovely dream.

~Miss R

Division Day

My sister just called. Seems that someone sent her a link to my WordPress blog. A blog in which I spoke of our family, including her.
The problem is this: The characterization I portrayed in that piece was in no way flattering to my sister.
She is very hurt and very pissed. When we got off the phone she was incoherent in her tears.

Goddamn this. I write to write. I make additions and observations about the people in my stories to (hopefully) give them a life of their own.
I never craft a piece in an attempt to hurt anyone. Only to amuse myself and hopefully my readers.

I apologized to my sister and tried to explain that I never write anything to intentionally distress anyone. The idea that anyone in my family would see these pieces was ludicrous.
Was.
I’m a writer. I like characters. I like stories. I love to write.
Creativity and exaggeration seem to dance hand in hand. At least for me.

What do I do now? Change names? Situations? Edit every word which flows from this keyboard? Allow the people in my stories to be two dimensional? Stifle my own madness and creativity?

I’ve now accomplished the complete division of what was left of our nuclear family. Chances are good that I will never see my sister or niece or nephew again. I’ve no idea what other repercussions will rain down through the family branches.
I’m pretty sure an umbrella will not help.

I’m torn, hurt, humiliated, filled with sorrow and confused. I can only hope that someday my sister understands that I am only a narrator and window. Nothing more. Not a biographer or newspaper editor reporting only facts.

I only want to make other people laugh and think.
I just want to write.

Fuck.

~Miss R

ps thanks for the words of encouragement donna

i’m finished writing porn. that was quick.

Yeah it was a fun writing the SBT piece this morning, but it was after all a toss-off. No full character descriptions, no real mood. It was just a pornographic essay. Wish I found something redeeming in it but I can’t. Oh well.
Maybe someday I’ll go back and make it into a readable story.

It was an exercise, nothing more, and I certainly didn’t have the feeling of accomplishment which accompanies a piece that I really love writing.
That blog will be changed from Preferred to Private by tomorrow morning.

I’ll keep writing for SBT but my future pieces will be commentaries about sex. After all there isn’t anything funnier than sex right? Except death.
Not taxes though. Death funny. Taxes sad.

Anyway, I spent the better part of the afternoon filling out yet another ream of government paperwork. This time in a last-ditch effort to obtain a rent subsidy.
You know it wasn’t so much the pages and pages of the application. It’s the time taken to find all of the documentation which has to be submitted. My god. I had to locate the payoff letter from my last mortgage… which was three years ago.
What possible relevance could this have to present circumstances? Hell if I know.

Tomorrow I have to photocopy all of this crap, send it in and will then be placed on a ‘waiting list.’
After moving up the list (which appears to be based on some kind of voodoo inspired random generator) I’ll get ‘the appointment.’
No not the apartment. The appointment.
Apparently I get to bring in all of the originals of the crap I’ve already photocopied and hang out with a minion of the government agency.
Yeah it’s a laugh a minute here at Chez Noir.

Took a great walk this afternoon. Looked inside a house that was for rent. It’s way out of my price range (hey so’s a roach infested closet!) but I just adore the 1920’s homes here in Old Southwest. Hardwood floors, sconces, huge windows, wonderful woodwork and reliefs. Plus a dark creepy basement.
What’s not to love there?

Worked on one of my songs before dinner. ‘Acquisition’ it’s called.
I may have an opportunity to play three of my original tunes at a show here in Reno on November 29th.
This means I’ll have to perform for at least one open mic this month. Tomorrow night is the Reno Music Project Open Mic but I’m so not ready.
Hell I spent 20 minutes re-tuning the DX-7 tonight because it was ½ step off key.
What the fuck? How did I do that? Better yet when????

Well my friends it’s time to take it easy. There’s a CSI on tonight you know.
My real life as a swinging single gal.
Bring on the popcorn.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Casino Lights
By: Al Jarreau, Randy Crawford, Yellowjackets, Neil Larsen, Buzz Feiten, Mike Maineri, Larry Carlton, David Sanborn

Garcon! A piece of your freshest doggerel my good man

My feet are icy and cold anymore
It’s because I no longer dance
This must be the reason
Laughter still comes easily but
No longer each hour
I’ll still laugh at myself
And at you
Endless nights home alone
Well not if you count Lizzie Borden
Or Court TV
The thoughts in this mercurial mind are vivid
My memory eidetic for things I wish would fade
What am I still doing here
In Fucking Reno
On a Friday Night

—–*******——-*******——

It’s a sad sad commentary that I had the time to PhotoShop Lizzie Borden in to Phil Spector’s nest.

Gah I might need a life after all.

Idyllwild

I’m at the tippy tippy top floor of an old gingerbread tippy tippy top house. Using dial-up.

James picked me up and dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning and after the typically boring layover in San Jose my ass landed in untypically clear (hardly any smog) Ontario.

What am I doing here? There’s no one in the house this morning except for myself and a talkative orange tail-less cat named Bradshaw. My step-mother went to Orange County for a few days but I’ve no idea where my father is.

I don’t have my first appointment at the hosptial until tomorrow so a hike would be nice this afternoon, as I do not really feel like going into town to see any old friends. After finishing this cup of coffee I’ll have to walk down 4 flights of stairs to get another cup. Maybe a hike would be redundant.

The time it takes to schlep downstairs and pour more coffee should be enough time for a page to load on this computer though. Hard to believe that’s all we used to have for years isn’t it? Dial-up I mean, not schlepping.

It’s beauritful here in the trees, surrounded by mountain tops. The air is crsip and clean, since Idyllwild is at a 6000 foot elevation. My daughter will be here for dinner tonight and my old pals and former business friends (same thing) live in town as well.

The sun is bright and the azure sky blue and cloudless. It’s 8:30 am and I can hear occasional bits of a guy down the road singing opera. Yesterday afternoon one of the neighbors rode by. On her horse. This is a small secluded resort mountain town of artists, oddballs, retirees, tree-huggers, the over-educated and the out of place. It’s a reason I lived here for more than 10 years and fit in so very well.

So why am I still crying and craving the darkness?

~miss r

a dance

There was a man
Who taught me to dance
Taking the time to help
A clumsy woman feel better

We danced on the tile floor
Danced on an ash covered deck
Twirled on the streets of Reno
To smiles of passers by

He held me and we danced in a campground
A light touch on the wrist
Our feet in rhythm to whatever music
We heard.

We danced with our words
And not just our bodies
We danced in the darkness and in the light
We were there to catch each other

I can no longer dance
The music makes me weep
My feet and motions are clumsy again
I can’t feel the rhythm. Or anything at all.

~miss r

—- image by: JCH Digital Designs —

12 Bar Piano Blues in A

 

Painful refrain
48 beats
Flatted 7th
I am the blues now

No one to hear
Which is fine
The things I write
Are not for every body

Jesus loves me
But no one else does
I love a man
But he probably doesn’t

My blues are internal
Sharing them would engender
Phone calls visits and emails
I no longer wish to answer

I once had an audience
An audience of one
Who understood
Without much judgment

Well just enough judgment
To keep my mind heart and music
Alive and on sharp edge
To see a future

His blues were in E
Different but on the same plane
Sad bitter and haunted
And I listened with little judgment

The 12 bars I live
In this place of darkness
Solitude without end
Nights without sleep

Are calling me to another venue
Where it is quiet
No more thoughts or tears
Or regrets.

~miss r

ghosts from the past

I’d been drinking wine all afternoon, along with a few margaritas because it just seemed right.
‘Do you want to go hear the jazz downtown tonight?’ he asked.
A bit uncertainly, since I don’t hold my liquor as well as he, I said yes.

We got dressed and I complained about the shoes. A pair of black heels owned by his ex-wife. They didn’t fit too well but I’d no other shoes with me. Being already half bagged I bitched with each step though. I know now that it certainly pissed him off.

His ex was a beautiful woman who is exceptionally talented as well. He isn’t truly over their tumultuous three years together but he no longer loves her.
I’m a jealous woman who is not beautiful and only vaguely talented .
I cannot excise that green part of my heart, so when angered will throw out stupid shit like “You still love her. That’s the problem!”
Except it’s not the problem. The problem is my own insecurity and fear of being abandoned.
He misses her but he no longer loves her.
I cannot ever find the right words or at the very least keep my fucking mouth shut.

So we listen to a decent band and have a few more drinks, then take a cab back to his house.
Alan listens to his phone messages and I black out. Not black-out in a good way, which is to say pass out. I apparently did a full-fledged Jekyll and Hyde spectacular.
I’ve no idea what precipitated my ranting.
I came to with Alan glaring at me
“I’m through Chris. I’m done. I will never go through this kind of thing again!”

He frightened me. I was so scared. Scared of his wrath, scared of what the hell I had said because I did not remember. Not a goddamned word.
Instead of going to bed and dealing with my behavior in the morning I took off like a small child. Angry, full of self-righteousness, and stupidly doing so without telling Alan.

After arriving at my house the entire situation crashed into me.
What in the name of god had I wrought? How could I have done something like this?
I called three times and he would not answer the phone.

When we met there was an attraction intellectual, physical, and emotional. It is intense and our involvement over the last nine months has been one of passion, laughter, understanding and misunderstandings.

When he drinks he can become either affectionate or demeaning. I never know but always hope for the affection.
He has told me before

“I do not love you.”
“I do not care about you.”
“I am not your boyfriend.”
“I am looking for a Barbie.”
I have also heard him whisper

“I love you” and tell me that my art is fine and that things will be alright.
He keeps his distance.

Not wanting to be hurt but not wanting to live.
I understand some of it.

My life has been uncertain and stressful the last six months and my last long term relationship was with a crazy man.
My ex husband.
He did not drink. He was simply cruel and vicious.
Repeating that cycle is not something a sane person wishes to repeat.

Neither Alan nor I ever claimed to be sane.
I just wish that I was not such a fucking stupid cunt sometimes and could have some measure of decorum.
Maybe it’s not in me.
Or Alan.
Or anyone.

~a story by miss r

 

The Entropy of Self-Loathing

Through my own fault I am alone
Again
Forgetting that there are things I am not fit to do
Especially to excess
Especially during times of stress
Especially when I am a bitch born

I open my mouth and words fall out of their own volition
Again
Words that are inappropriate
Hurtful
Stupid
Senseless
Which makes me all of those things

I would like to evaporate
Again
Be a desiccated leaf on a pile of dirt
Finally disappearing
My emotions and mind are already brittle
There isn’t much further to go then

Being alone with this head is unbearable
Again
The smoke and soot of the fire a perfect metaphor
For how I have scorched this chance
Especially when I have inadvertently scalded a loved one
Especially when it is difficult to go on each day
Especially when there is no real reason to do so

Without someone who understands that I am fucked up
Again
Without laughter
Without the ups and downs and right and left
There is no reason
For anything
Again

~Miss R


Currently listening:
The Heart of Saturday Night
By: Tom Waits

Goodbye Blue Monday


I
‘m trying to find some ways to feel better. The past three days have been colored with darkness, occluded by sadness and imbued with both hurt and guilt. Instead of feeling better about things I’m worse tonight.

These are all feelings that cognizant people work through. At times though the abyss is so black and the future so frightening that even finding that starting point seems pointless. Suffering clinical depression, overcoming a severe illness and trauma of all kinds exacerbate despair.

This essay is an effort to help myself.
Maybe you will find something of value as well.
Or, maybe you’ll simply say ‘ohfortheloveofchristrachael!’ call your shrink and take a xanax.
Sheesh.

The kicker is this: it’s my life. You can always turn the page right?

Friends are hard to come by. Friends are people with whom we have real things in common. This indicates that we can also push each other’s buttons and have many of the same reactions to outside stimuli, be it good or bad.

I’m one of those folks who have learned to keep anger inside, hidden and buried. To show emotion, whether happiness or anger, in our family was to be ignored. It was not respectable. Later in marriage it was a cause to be screamed down and abused. There will be no feelings here dammit! Bad Rachael! No Donut!
I still jump at loud noises or a raised voice. Jesus. Slow learner or what.

I’m so afraid of hurting someone’s feelings or being yelled at or taunted that I don’t say anything until my anger reaches levels of epic stupidity.
Until of course it comes roiling out at usually inappropriate times. Or better yet, at a person or thing that does not deserve the level of my ire.

I’ve also been known to make light of the things which scare me. It puts the situation off and diffuses uncomfortable feelings. My own daughter even accuses me of this…. because it’s true. It’s another coping mechanism.

‘Cause what do people do? We’re at heart selfish and self-centered and easily hurt. It doesn’t matter if we’re also a soft touch, caring, giving, loving and want the best for those we love. That old animal instinct is still there.
Even Mother Teresa wanted to kick someone’s ass at times.
Not good for me, my blood pressure or the poor bastard (or bitch) who is around when I finally can’t keep those things inside any longer. Of course by this time my hurts have grown into monsters instead of simplistic problems that could have been worked out.

Rule Number One: Talk things out right away.
Why in the hell do I forget this on a regular basis? It’s so simple and effective but I am so afraid. Your partner or friend cannot read your mind, no matter how much they love you. Ouija board not included.

Rule Number Two: Learn to forgive
I’ve found over the years, when I fucking remember, that the best way to get over any anger is to forgive. Even if the anger is misplaced.
Either forgive the person who has said something to hurt me, or harder yet, forgive myself.
It’s a bitch to forget the hurt and anguish you went through. It takes a lot of convincing on your part, but it can be done. Forgiving releases pain.
Writing a letter to the person who has caused me anguish and pain helps. Writing in detail what they did and its effects. In the end, I normally write “I forgive you for all the pain you caused me. Much Love.” then I BURN THE FUCKING LETTER AND do NOT send the fucker.
TK gave me a great piece of advice one night when I was pissed off at someone. He said “wait 24 hours before you send that!”.No shit, it sounds simple.
I forget the cathartic effect of simply writing about how I feel and then just deleting, or better yet, burning the missive. It works too. Oh god I’ve mentioned my version of drinking and dialing… it’s called insanity and writing –shudder-.

Rule Number Three: Admit my part in an altercation.
We ALWAYS play a part somewhere. I have said something somewhere somewow to incite the current incident or problem. Doesn’t matter if it was knowing or unknowing. Everyone STILL plays a part in the outcomes of their lives. Thinking back to see where I fit in is a big step in allowing me to find a bit of understanding. Damned if I don’t forget this one as well.

Rule Number Four: No one is perfect
Say it ain’t so. Who has not had a disagreement with a friend/lover/spouse or family member? If you have strong feelings for someone then it’s gonna happen. It’s about remembering that we all make mistakes AND we can learn from them. Making amends means changing a behavior that is hurtful and it just cannot happen overnight. To me it indicates that willingness to give it all I have to change my reactions AND actions. Willingness and action together. Fuck more work no not again.

Rule Number Five: Exposing Vulnerability
This is the hardest thing in the world for me. Seriously. I’ve been accused of being unapproachable. Never unfriendly, rude, cold, or lacking in humor. Just unapproachable in matters of friendship. Sadly I feel the need to keep up that facade.
It’s true. How can I share myself with someone else when I don’t really appreciate anything about myself? More work on this one. Although humanity in general DOES tend to piss me off.

Rule Number Five: Be Friends
Share the good the bad and the oh-so-ugly. If someone is really your friend they will understand. If they’re not then it will hurt but you’ll know. Do stuff together. Make fun of retards. Kick back and just read a book in the same vicinity. Do the things that make you both happy. Together.

Rule Number Six: Always order extra sour cream at the Mexican Restaurant
Betcha didn’t think that this belonged her but it does. Why, my last marriage broke up over just such an incident. Never underestimate the power of enough sour cream to bring joy into your life.


Well clearly I’m not a doctor. Hell I’m a two time loser at the Alter (with the exception of that human sacrifice thing but that’s another blog for another night).
I just write this to try and sort out some feelings and thoughts and maybe have something to look back on.

My natural state is laughter at everything including myself. Being this sad is killing me, and that goes literally for a person such as myself.
We all want love and acceptance. Crave it. It’s the human condition and that’s the proverbial Good that goes with the Bad.

Talking it out, admitting vulnerability, being friends and sharing the special experiences and most of all forgiveness.
Wonder if one of the tattoo places here in Reno can ink that paragraph on the inside of my eyelids. That’s gotta hurt.
Mmmmmmm.

I can be right or I can be happy.

Happy is healthier and more fun.
Life is so fleeting. I could be dead tomorrow.
You could be dead tomorrow.

I want to spend the little time I have here smiling, joking, making love, being a smart-ass and learning.
Not gloating in private.
Well okay sometimes. Just for a few minutes each month.

~miss r

Currently listening:
Little Shop Of Horrors: Original Cast Album (1982 Off-Broadway Cast)
By: Alan Menken
Release date: 25 August, 1992

What’s in YOUR Inbox?

So you think your life is filled with the odd, unusual and surreal?
Well let’s take a look at just a few emails I’ve received in the last 2 days.
For your reading enjoyment I have included the original text of the email and my response, including pertinent links.
You can’t make this shit up.

Bon appetit!

Nutbag Number One


A bit of background here: I have the remains of my old e-commerce site still online. Most of the mail I get is directed towards the Ouija section of the site and not the retail area but sometimes….

——Original Message——-

From: Raven Slaughter
Date: 5/16/2007 12:21:39 AM
To: blackraven@damnedgames.com
Subject: Ouija Board?

So, I’m on your website and put ‘Ouija Board’ in the search and get:
http://www.damnedgames.com/SearchResults.aspx

Why?
You suck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_______________________________________________

Dear Ms. Slaughter,
First let me apologize for your inconvenience. The Search function on damnedgames.com no longer works.

Perhaps you did not read the enormous paragraph at the top of the website which states:
“After 10 Years We are calling it quits. As a matter of fact we are pretty much out of business”.

You must have also inadvertently missed the graphic image link which says OUIJA BOARDS, located directly above the aforementioned paragraph.
Perhaps you also did not notice the additional drop down menu located under the Search Box which gives a direct link to the Ouija Page.

Once again my apologies.
For the record you should be advised of an error in your logic and elucidation.
I do NOT simply suck. I suck exceptionally well. I swallow too.

Have a great day!

~blackraven

——————————————————————————————————————

Nutbag Number Two

More background: This idiot made a comment on one of my blogs.
Today was not the day to do something so silly as to push your personal beliefs as opposed to critique into my overflowing Inbox ‘o Crazies email program.
To quote Bill Maher “If I wanted to hear about Jesus every day I would have voted for Bush”.

The best part of this knuckle-draggers tirade is that he Missed the Entire Point of the Blog.

You’ve probably already read the blog as I’ve posted it here.
Scroll down to the last commenter and then my reply.

Oh life only gets better!

I Am Not A Godless Heathen.
now with moronic reader comment goodness!
—————————————————————————————————-

Nutbag Number Three

Background: This is one of the NORMAL emails I get in regards to my Ouija page every day.

From: LAIMES88@aol.com
Date: 5/15/2007 1:43:13 PM
To: blackraven@damnedgames.com
Subject: Evil spirits and demons. . .

Well my sister once had a ouija board and she told me that it really freaked her out. Siince it freaked her out. She was scared so she threw it in a dumpster. The next day it was under her bed. She tore it in half and threw it out again. Same thing happened and it didn’t have a scracth on it. So finally she put it in a bon fire. It once again wound up under her bed. She asked why it leave her alone. “We need you.” It responed. My sister was really freaked out so she gave it to her friend and never saw it again. Now i’m not the supersitious type but this still disturbs me. I want to get a board of my own and keep a log of what happens with it. Also I think I am starting to believe in these sort of things. A few days ago my sister had gotten some tera? cards. She used them on me and it said i was going to be moving soon. Well yester day i found out that our Apt building is sinking and the Apt manager is to freakin lazy to fix it or doesn’t want to pay for it. So it’s going to be demolished and we have to move. Along with that have you ever heard of forming a symbol with playing cards and then black means yes and red means no. Well me and my friends were doing that once, talking to ghosts, yes or no questions. Well since my friends are weird they ask out of the blue questions. So accoding to that little incident i’m going to be kidnapped this summer, what ever happens to me will be good enoff for me to make into a story and i’ll become a famous auther (My dream) and i’m going to hell. Well that was a lot for me to take. Anywhom my friend, jess, was the one holding the cards. I asked the spirit if it was from hell. It said yes. It the room we had some candles. One of my other friends asked if it was the devil. It said yes and all of the sudden the candle fell over and the flame went out. The cards caught on fire and jess suddenly started to choke me. I gasped for someone to mess up the symbol and someone did. Jess snapped out of it and passed out. So that makes me believe even more. Do you think it’s a good idea to get a ouija board or will i be attacked by an unseen force.
Rei

——-Original Message——-

From: blackraven@damnedgames.com
Date: 5/18/2007 1:43:13 PM
To: LAIMES88@aol.com
Subject: RE: Evil spirits and demons. . .

Dear Rei,
I definitely think that you should purchase a Ouija board! From me of course.
Clearly you’re meant to have one. If nothing else the alphabet is featured prominently and can be of great benefit in the use of grammar and spelling.
I promise that the only unseen force which attacks you will be yet more teenaged drama and angst. Take it from me. Did I mention I’m a doctor?
Also the next time a string of dangerous occurrences plagues you, your friends and your sinking building this happens PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE dial 911.
When the police show up they will know exactly what to do. You’ll have no more problems with dumpsters, cards that catch on fire, homicidal friends or parlor games made of cardboard mysteriously appearing under your bed.
You WILL have a kick-ass room-mate named Weird-Ass Wanda at West hills Hospital and a lovely new white jacket.

By the way I’d give up on the famous author dream. That part IS true. All famous authors go to hell and with what you’ve been through don’t you think it’s time for a rest?

Remember: I care!

~blackraven

————————————–

Okay I just can’t go on. It’s too much.
I laugh. Yea verily.
Write on kids. Write on.

~miss r


thanks to Ramblin’ Roger for the cool bush pic

 

 

Currently listening:
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 / Mehta, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
By: Gustav Mahler
Release date: 13 June, 2000

Misanthropy and Why You Should Convert to My Religion

“I hate and despise the animal called Mankind but I like the occasional Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
-Jonathon Swift

I’ve been thinking a lot about humanity lately. In general that is.
Between the Demon Seed’s visit to The Home, exchanges with lumbering cretins during my last night out on the town, and past experience I have come to a conclusion.
Humanity cannot be fixed.
People as a species, are selfish, mean, petty and unwilling to change. Oh sure there are exceptions.
Me for instance.
Also the majority of my friends. Of which there are five. On a good day.

Religion says we’re all born with original sin. This is far closer to the truth of the matter than communism which insists we can all improve ourselves and become the best.
It is my expert opinion that both are bullshit.

Webster’s defines Misanthropy as‘a hatred or distrust of humankind’.
Wikipedia defines Misanthropy as

‘whoa dude you guys all suck’.

In the famous words of Pliny the Middle Aged “Cogito ergo doleo!”
If your Latin is a bit rusty it translates to ‘I think therefore I am depressed.’

Are YOU a closet Misanthrope? I’ve devised a test. If you answer 8 of these 10 questions YES then you are probably a misanthrope. Or an alcoholic.

If you’re lucky you’ve hit the double jackpot on that one and should seek immediate intervention in a 12 Step Group.  Or have a drink.
See if I care.

Got a pen and paper handy? Let’s roll and NO NICENESS!

1. I do not understand why solitary confinement to ‘the hole’ should be considered punishment.
2. Mark Twain was not really a misanthrope he just grew into a bitter old curmudgeonly bastard.
3. I plan to leave all of my money to my cat (or dog. if you’re truly crazy about ass-sniffing smelly sneaky walnut brains my ex-husband is single though) and absolutely none to charity.
4. People who applaud my creativity but do not UNDERSTAND the point should be beaten senseless. Not by me because that would indicate interacting with them. Guido in Detroit runs frequent specials.
5. Not only do I know who Ambrose Bierce is I wish I had disappeared into the damned Mexican jungles as well.
6. Political Correctness should be punishable by speedy Execution. No trial.
7. Being blunt but telling a simple truth loses friends but increases knowledge… and it’s worth it!
8. Obviously humankind is to be reviled. Even aliens hate us for godsake. Ever seen Independence Day, Alien or Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Duh.
9. When a ‘friend’ tells you they would prefer that you didn’t swear so much around their kids you say “Go fuck yourself.”
10. You understand that hating people is easy because there is no one else to hate

Well, it’s time to put a hot compress on my hand and find the vicodin.
May you have a solitary and joyous evening. Make yourself a great dinner. Put on some delicious porn.

Solitary confinement is a state of bliss.

Misanthropes of the world unite. We have nothing to lose but our minds.

~miss r

artwork by Sandy Huffaker

the last valentine’s day post swear to god

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
Hard to believe I’ve posted only two rants this year. I’m slipping.

I’ll be home tomorrow night listening to Miles and watching a flick with the kid.

Well, lest you think I’m getting soft and complacent I have a little something to cheer you up.
Even others such as
Druish philosophers can find the absurd with love and sentiment.

To honor this most joyful of occassions I’ve written an ode to this day of love, smiles and chirping little birdies that should only get shredded to hell in the propellers of a plane.

Continue reading