Dear Kate,

You are lost little girl.  I feel for you.  And I hate you.

You enter the joint with head held high, until your hair is covered in your 6pm scarf.  The carpeted earth beneath is now laid waste with shed souls and your latest meal.  No one gets you, for what is there to get?

Are you an empty shell or the most robust and well rounded human in existence?  I saw a glimpse or two of what yur capable of.  So fast removed from sight and back to the endless giggles and empty gaze.

Are you a psycho?  A philanthropist?  A prostitute?

Your hair changes with your mood and no one gets your style.  You flash your tits...for attention?  For love?  Did Daddy never care?  Did DADDY care too much?

You are barred now from the one place that could have supported your weird.  Now where will you go?  Will you disappear in the night, never to be seen again?  Is this how weekends are spent in Kate's world?  Does Kate have a world or is she everything else for everyone and then nothing at all...

I wonder.

I see myself in you darling;  Complicated, vapid, addicted to that which only harms.  Men, liquor, self.  You just allow it more than others.  I have great restraint when it comes to the world and you let it happen.  I envy your impossible vulnerability.  Where are you tonight?  Were you a figment sent to teach us what it truly means to be a human being or are you a mess of a head case with disease and a broken heart?

I wonder if you're phased.  Do you feel as us regulars do?  Do you pity us in our perceived and tainted normalcy or do you long for something that resembles function.  Were you fictitious?  A wraith set upon the world to shock and wake the world asleep?  I wonder.

See you around you filthy whore.

Sexism is Over!

Townspeople, you may now rejoice...

Fifty percent of the humans I work with are male.  Seventy-five percent of them are confused about women.  Still.  The confusion is this wild concoction of fear laced with prejudice covered by a dollop of insecurity.  My male manager called his counterpart who in all eyes is his exact professional equal, a "whiny bitch," when she simply requested equal treatment; To her face and then to mine, as though I would side with him and think his faux pas hilarious.  It was revolting.  The female manager of our sister store was so in shock, her jaw agape, she simply left the scene.  What does one even say in this situation?  Freeze, flee, or fucking knock his ignorant lights out.  Most unsettling is that my anger blinded me to the best course of action so I too, have a long way to come.

A fellow male employee asked me in regard to the apparel of one of my best customers "How does her husband let her leave the house dressed like that?"  Where to even begin to dismantle the latent fear and sexism oozing from that statement.  Let her?  We need to be allowed to don certain garments when leaving the house?  How dare she even roam free without an escort!  Were her heels and pearls not adequate enough for your male gaze?  Was her fucking ankle showing and driving you so very mad with sexual desire that you could not help but comment?  How dare you even be allowed to pass judgement in your thoughts about what another women is wearing.  The scariest thing of all, is that he is raising a young son.  My coworkers backwards views about women and equality will survive another generation.

The #METOO Movement isn't enough.  It's not entering into our 'regular Jill' lives.  Sexual harassment in the workplace, on transit, in the grocery store and on the street are just as prevalent as they ever were.  Men clearly are not contemplating that we have had enough.  What saddens me most is that these are not ol' timers, ready to kick the bucket and have their fucked up opinions perish with them.  These are men in their thirties.  Men rearing offspring.  Men with wives who are kept down and brushed aside.  Men I face everyday in every facet of my life.

If you as a man are reading this and think you have no blame to bear, think again.  Think about every inconsiderate interaction and fear based nonsense that has spewed from your mouth at some time or another against a women.  We are not against men.  We want you to join us on the evolutionary plateau as we shirk this debilitating social engineering and enter into the next phase of humanity.  If you're not ready, we can hold your hand as we've done a thousand times before.  But the steps are happening with or without you as there will be no more waiting.  No more silence.  You will not be met with aggression but intellect and the dulcet tones of ones wiser than you.  My mouth will open and it won't be for your cock.  It won't be as frightening as you perceive.  It may hurt at first.  I promise you'll like it.  Just take the tip of what I have to offer you.  I'll go slow.  As you become more comfortable, that's when the reality sets in.  You may squirm and squeal and protest, but our evolution is inevitable.  It's only a matter of time.  Now wipe your chin and let's get you something shiny to wear.

Puke Party for One

Something happens to me when enough alcohol is consumed.  Ugh.  I become...gulp, friendly.  I'm less hateful towards the opposite sex, always to my detriment.  Makes for an interesting story though...

I met a man.  He was one of many trying to sit at my table of eight chairs.  They could choose any chair from the eight.  Guess which one is chosen?  If I wanted to talk to you, I would.  I don't enjoy feeing obligated to converse with a stranger in a loud bar.  At least the second one asked.  The first one did too but he was weird about it and reeked of old cigarettes.  I politely asked him to move the fuck away from me.  He obliged without much fuss.

So second one sits, after politely asking if he could.  I clearly stated when he asked that I was not interested in chitchat.  He looked bald and appeared boring in his ugly sweater.  So ugly.  Orange is not a good color for most.  Anyway, judgement aside, I tuned in to the music when he set his focus upon me with his words.  It was rude, but I had enough of dudes trying to get with this.  Can't a lady go out on her own and have it stay that way?  I don't go out looking for a lay, unless I am and then I'll let Ya know.  Why is the expectation that I want your company?  Ladies out on their own don't wander around the bar, scoping out who's alone and then inconvenience them with their presence and transparent tactics.  I go out alone because I want autonomy surrounded by people I don't have to talk to.  Hence my cold reaction to dudes doing it.

I digress...

Drinks flowing, a couple sits at two of the eight, respectfully distanced I might add.  Ugly Sweater becomes distracted by them and I seek refuge in the tunes and an interesting article on narcissism.  The night wears on and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I attract the attention of US.  He cracks a pretty funny joke about my earlier reaction to his sitting beside me.  I can laugh at my walls.  After all, words aren't so scary.  I engage and we start to have a pretty good time.  The other couple came aboard to chats, she had a beautiful sweater on.  Really into sweaters right now.  More drinks were had and conversations carried on.  The band ended, the music was off, lights on and hideousness of how much I imbibed became all too fuzzy-clear.

The room begins to empty and he tells me that he's in a long distance open relationship.  After flirting for a couple of hours and asking me to go to his high school reunion, he pulls that shit out.  I don't understand and I think my face showed signs of my confusion because he quickly asked if I were in a relationship.  I don't understand open relationships.  They've been on my radar for some time.  I struggle with understanding how they operate and if they are plausible.  To have a future with someone, do you not need a unit working towards the same goal?  I mean our 'same goal' is death but while we distract ourselves from that, do we not need that unit to be solid and reliable and two? 

Maybe three heads are better than one. 

Or is it just there are so few decent men out there that we've now been reduced to sharing.  Do I need to share a man to find a good one?  Are all the good ones married or gay?  Did I somehow miss the relationship boat where everyone choo-choo chose a drowning buddy and I was in the bathroom peeing for the ninetieth time?  Or is it simply that men are going to fuck everything anyways so women have to be 'open' to this?  Better to be honest about being a monster than hiding your truth, I suppose.

Our conversation couple had found each other four years ago.  I of course asked a great many question about how it happened and how it's working.  She said the most heartbreaking thing: "When you find your person, you know."
How?  How is it known?  Where in my person will I feel it?  What if my person is an asshole and I hate him?

So US springs this shit on me as we're set to depart.  I wanted to ask him more, but I was really feeling the effects of that last tequila shot.  Hurtling towards warp 9, I said a quick good-bye and bolted.  US grabbed my arm, said my name a couple times and leaned in to kiss me.  It was fucking bizarre.  Lucky for me, the day before I had done a kick-ass boxing workout so my instincts were primed for some ducking and weaving.  So I ducked.  I weaved.  Told him no and left.  So weird.  Was there a connection.  For sure.  Was it a result of a lot of time and alcohol?  Probs.  Was I going to kiss this fucking guy after he told me about his current gf?  Fuck no.  Do I want to explore further the concept of polyamory?  Kinda.  I got home at two, bewildered and curious, vomited my guts out until four then passed out til nine.  Productive evening.  Am I gonna see US again?  I would like to research his life choices.  So we'll see.

He Called Me Gilda

He told me I was his inspiration; His Muse.  Not once did he ask how I felt about it.  Not once was I consulted on what he was to me.  I had been created for his pleasure and sure as fuck, he would use me thusly.  What's funny is he didn't and still doesn't see it so.  He believes that to be a part of the problem in how men and women relate to each other sexually is caused by the married man that creeps into a room at night when surrounded by eighty other men with thoughts running a muck...or the monster in the shorts at 4am who gropes where no consent was given.  He doesn't see that by wearing down my defences, that are there for a reason I might add, he contributes to a culture of 'boys will be boys'.

I asked someone dear to me advice on the subject of 'not being in the mood'.  She said that sometimes, we have to just concede to keep the peace.  We have been silently keeping the peace for far too long.  So long that this behavior is now expected.  Men aren't men if they're not playing grab-ass.  Men aren't men without pussy.  This is true but not in the realm we've been existing in.  Women are the backbone of every major accomplishment, every stride the human race has ever achieved.  Finally some light has been shed and for that I am grateful.  We still have work to do.

He would randomly open his pants for me to see his erection.  Like I was to hop to it because he was aroused.  Oh!  Boner?  For me?  Let me just put down this novel I'm writing to put IT in my mouth a while because if I fucking don't, I won't be left the fuck alone.  What happened to my arousal needs?  For once, I would like to be on my bodies sex schedule.  When I want to fuck, I will ask you like a fucking lady.

'Excuse me sir, pardon me...but would you mind fucking at this juncture in space and time.  If you're not overcome by some other activity at the moment, that is...'

'By all means Madam, let us coitus.'

And off we'd go!  He mentioned that previous women were alarmed to the fact that their insides were being used as something merely to rub against until ejaculation occurred.  He couldn't fathom why they would think such things.  'But this boner is for you and only you.  Are you not mesmerized by it's weight and girth?'  What he didn't realize is that women want to be asked to receive not given to.  Don't get me wrong, I like to get it.  I would like to feel like I had a say in the matter.  His erections ruled our short relationship and until now, I had no idea how angry I was about it.  The anger was there but now I know why.  His dick became something to fear.  I feared kissing him, changing in front of him, moving my body a certain way.  I was aware of all of it.  I knew that as soon as a little bit of blood had entered that fucking thing, I would not be left alone.  When I did say no, it became a tantrum.  Or a pout.  Or worse yet, after days of fucking, he would ask me 'if it hurts so good?'  No.  It doesn't.  It just hurts and I want you to stay the fuck away from me.

Men think that just because they're not wearing a mask and jumping out from behind bushes to accost you that it's ok.  It's ok to pester a woman until she submits.  It's ok to annoy her into a surrender just so you shut the fuck up about it.  It's ok to try and turn every situation into a reason for sex.  Or worse, that it's cool to emotionally manipulate her into feeling like she's ruining your bond because her legs remain closed.  Whatever happened to true intimacy?  Does anyone talk to one another anymore?  Do we just spend our days surfing porn, waiting for the next opportunity to fuck something, eat something or watch something while fucking and eating something?

I wish that how I felt at any given moment was given weight.  That I was heard when I say, 'nope, not now.'  I wish I was asked so that I could respond with something more than a sigh and the peeling off of my underwear.  Are we getting there?  Can us old dogs be taught before we murder suicide each other in a naked pile of parts and sadness?  I sure as shit hope so.

What saddens me most is that many men, if they get all the way through it, will have already decided that this isn't in reference to them and forget about it.  My hope is that it creates a glimmer of doubt that will awaken some really important questions:  Should I ask this women if I can kiss her?  Should I ask this women if she would like to be touched?  Should I ask?  Fuck yes and always.  And then, and this is the real challenge...be ok with the answer.  Whatever the answer is, accept it and move on.  No cajoling, no begging, no getting emotional about it.  Accept, respect, move on.

Procreation: For Those Afraid to go it Alone

Timing in life is everything.  I ponder such things while staring out at the river before me, seated on a wooden bench.  I was feeling inspired or maybe just desperate to make a major change for the better.  I had the day before thrown out all of my junk food.  The rich caramel covered popcorn, the salty cheesy chips, and the newly purchased pistachio gelato chilling in my freezer.  I had never been able to do that before and for this I was feeling empowered.  Who knew the hold such ingredients had on me.  Some people realize far too late.  Anyway, as much as this new journey I am on excites me, it's not what brings me to the keys at this hour on a school night.

With my healthy shopping list guiding my steps, I removed myself from the soothing thoughts of river and solitude and made my way to the local food jobber.  Distracted by the music blaring in my headphones, I climbed the slender overpass walkway up and up and up until I hit the point of no return.  Before I realized what was happening it was too late and there could be no retreat.  There, at the top of the hill with no place to go but through, was the married man I had an affair with for over a year and his glowing wife.  She was glowing because of the little wrapped bundle swaddled in her new mother arms.  Fuck.  Please do not mistake that I am wanting any form of sympathy for my misdeeds.  I merely aim to pose some queries to the necessity of me bearing witness to my folly.  I knew what I was doing.  It was stupid, selfish and unevolved.  Nay, this married man did not inform me of his nuptials until after we had slept together.  But I was the one that continued on after knowing for far too fucking long.  I was the other woman and I vow never to be again.

In a split second I thought seriously about turning coat.

I had to face it.  Whatever "it" might have become.  Like her knowing who I was somehow(not bloody likely as Married One was quite the coward) and gouging out my eyes.  Or myself and Married One locking eyes, falling deeply in love and he abandoning his newly minted partner, sweeps me off my feet and away we go to live happily ever fucked forever.  I soldiered on.  I looked at her and smiled although later I thought how fake that was of me.  How dishonest.  People with children get scorn and judgement from me and nothing less.  They are polluting our planet with people and must be stopped.  I digress...So I smiled at her without really making full contact and I looked at that motherfucker right in his stupid coward face.  I thought about saying 'hello' just to make him squirm.  He kept a wide berth and refused eye contact.  And that was that.  I started to laugh, really hard.  Almost maniacally.  It was painful and hilarious.  If I had sat on that fucking uncomfortable bench for five minutes more, I wouldn't have run into them.  If I had walked a few steps slower or went a different route...not to mention all of the variables posed to the opposition.  Not that we are opposed per se but fuck her and him and their stupid baby.  Fuck her for carrying on with a man that doesn't want to be a father and yet marriage plus time equals baby making.  Fuck him for being a lying, cheating deserter to his wife, to me and probably to his growing offspring.  Fuck time for making this so.  What lesson am I to glean from this spot of garbage?  IS there such a lesson or is everything just fucked and random and stupid and painful...don't answer that.   Afterwards I thought about bearing all right then and there on the overpass to his beaming lady and laying waste to her happiness and his sense of security.  I fantasized about taking some power back and wasting truth all over their sham of a marriage that will only be realized twenty years from now when their kid's a cutter and the resentment has swallowed them both.  It would have been very Hollywood and awesome.  I guess deep down, I'm not a total asshole.  Let them have their fallacy.  I will be old and hot, slighted yet superior.  I  don't need to contribute.

I bought a bunch of really healthy shit after I stood in front of the lettuce for a while with tears welling up, trying to contemplate why any of that experience was necessary.  So not all was lost.

My Muse, The Butt-Hole

I am ashamed to write this.  I feel ashamed.  I feel weird too.  Like, powerless and weird.  I am sloth-like.  'I'm not here, this isn't happening.'  Then what are these feeling things for?  I don't feel guided by them in a supportive fashion.

"What are you DOING!"

What are any of us fucking doing here.  Don't answer that.  If I am consciousness attempting to realize itself, what does that make you?  Are we really all so connected?  Why do I feel so much more connected to some than others.  Why do I behave in the manner that I do?

Why does anyone behave in the manner that they do?

Fuck you Louis C.K.  Fuck you a thousand dirty, ineffectual times.  You are my intellectual equivalent and as it turns out, you are a fucking nasty piece of shit.  You can take all present and future apologies and shove them up your butt-hole.  If you'd enjoy that, we can find some more creative and disturbing options.

You were suppose to be above the gender drivel.  You were suppose to be a part of pulling us from this mess, not encouraging more filth and degradation.  You have daughters!  Two of them.  Would you ever allow another human male to do to them what you have subjected others to?  Piece of shit...

On a lighter note...

Amongst the din of a live rock bar downtown, I was presently surprised.  Two young, intoxicated males came bounding up to me halfway through the night.  The one in the straw hat and sunglasses pronounced ' Hey!  I wonder if two men smothering you with their presence is cool for you right now?'  It was the first time a man has ever thought long enough about his behavior to ask such a question in such a setting on such a night.  He thought about me, a perfect female stranger specimen ripe for the taking, before he allowed his baser instincts to take control and plunge the moment into uncomfortable chaos.  In all of my years on the planet, I have never experienced an intoxicated man in the clutches of intoxication, have the wherewithal to consider my needs before his own.  It was astoundingly awesome.

If this is what is to come of my role models being shamed in the public eye for human indecency, so fucking be it!  If Louis C.K is the man that sets everyone else straight...I will gladly and forever witness his fall from hilarious grace to that of the "Everyman".  If everyman is changed just a little bit by all of our idols plummeting to earth, accompanied by the ridiculous media coverage, so be it!  I felt seen by the opposite sex for once.  And alcohol was involved!

There Goes My Hero

All of my adolescent heroes are dying.  Is this what happens as one strolls down the 'secret path'?  I was raised by musical genius.  It sounds egocentric to say but I knew these people  They helped shape me to the stellar and moral person you see before you.  I feel like I'm breaking apart.  My little universe I created and cultured as a kid is now nothing.  A hollow structure unable to resist the ensuing storm.  I hurt all over.

'I've tried nothing and I am all out of ideas!'

I thought I would have these people for longer.  I thought I was strong enough to go it alone.  I'm not.  I need these people just as much now as I needed them then...covered in pimples, paisley and a sense of my own tortured ineptitude.

It's not right.  Brain tumors are not fair.  Death at such an early age when one is so prolific, inspired, necessary and essential to my very existence and understanding of the world... is not fucking fair.

What do I do now?  How do we survive without?  Is this a mass exodus by those deeply aware of the end of times?  Do these creative types get something we simpletons don't and are fleeing the earth at a phenomenal speed?  Those I so revere are abandoning me as my father did in death.  Things are arsing in me now.  Overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness.  Can't type...tears welling, filling sight.  Now not only do I have to handle these most recent of events, but the death of those I've buried deep down.  Fuck you.  Fuck you all for dying.  Fuck you all for leaving us.  That bullshit about smiling because it happened, you can shove up your asses.  There.  That's better.  When the anger comes I can let those emotions evaporate and exist out in the world again.

The tears are back.  The anger only lasts as long as the alcohol and then the feeling of empty remorse and longing kicks right back in again.  The Hip were the second concert I ever saw in my younger days.  I was overwhelmed with his stage presence.  He was odd and I fucking dug it.  His sound has followed me throughout my experiences and luckily, I've allowed no other man to taint this.  I know I'm lucky to have had this energy in my life but I'm so sad presently that it's hard to see out of it.  So young.  So gone.  He really did something while he was here.  They all do.  And I will forever love them for this.  As hard as it is.  I still love.

My first album of Mr. Downie, I stole from my moms bf at the time.  Best thing I ever took.  My process began here.  Music my teacher, my lover, the level head in my discontent.  All I can do now is wait for something to come along and eat me too.