L8Rmeebs....

'twas nice to see you people again ~thanks for the invite even tho i no longer work there.

until litigation is over with mute records, and official permission is received from Boyd Rice on the use of his music (from the NON album of the same name) much of the Children of the Black Sun soundtrack has been muted on the youtube film, but here is a nearly hi def version that is hiding on vimeo til then: 

*u can call me ph!*

nude krampus and bleeding eyes descending a staircase #2

this might cheer you up Lance.... 
but it also might not. 
i dunno. 
i tried. 

after all that stressing out, i finally just said aloud "i need some time off." yesterday, on my 3rd day of the only paid vacation i've had since 2000, i wondered why my stomach wasn't churning...for more than a whole day, no pain!!! then it occurred to me that This Is What Being Relaxed Feels Like.... FUCK!! so normal people must feel like THIS all the time.....DAMN.... no wonder everyone thinks i'm crazy.  so much of my time is spent in the turmoil of avarice...and just to stop myself from saying something i might regret on my last day at work, i randomly opened The Book That Has Changed My Life, "When Things Fall Apart" by Pema Chodron, 

and read "OPINIONS: When we hold on to our opinions with aggression, no matter how valid our cause, we are simply adding more aggression to the planet, and violence and pain increase. Cultivating nonaggression is cultivating peace."  and the sentence that was like a kick in the stomach and brought me instantly to Ouch-This-Much-Compassion-For-Self-Hurts tears, "Never give up on yourself." once, again - exactly what i needed to think about all day. it has already made a huge difference in that the attention paid to Nonaggressive Thoughts actually gave me a full 3 days of painfree living. it's a truly Great book, in the best sense of the word. that might be why i've never read it cover to cover and have only ever read the pages i open randomly in times of peril. 

it continues to serve me well...  

after watching a documentary about Delia Derbyshire, i was inspired to do something with the massive pile of tapes with piano recordings on them. in the process, i experienced a tactility that reminded me of editing super 8 film, but a Digital Tactility~never thought i'd see the day... so i made a new song, but can't really call it a song since it was more like an exercise in exorcism as there is also a large pile of things written on paper since 2010, and in order to put it behind me and throw them in the Ever-Increasing-Pile-O'-Things-To-Toss-Tosser!, i wanted to choose the best one and DO something creative with it so that all of that horribleness wouldn't have been in vain. 

so i did. some unexpected stuff came right the hell outta me. 

not sure how other people feel when they make things that end up scaring them, but it is most certainly an odd experience that i cannot say i like or dislike, as it almost becomes Someone Else's Work that you are looking at after completion.  [there is no easy way to say this, but...] the reason the music i make is so varied, as well as my general eclecticism, is probably due to the fact that there are a lot of us living in here. although we are a lot closer, aware of each other, communicate far more frequently out in the open, and are far kinder to one other than ever before...it's almost funny to me now, having actually met the alters and discussing this, that i used to think i was Not Lucky Enough to have my brain fracture into several different people in order to deal with the war that was declared on me by my mother and father, starting  when i was 19 months old until i was 19. then of course the post trauma ghost war that officially ended in 2013.

it was a good day, when i realized at sunrise, walking home down capp street after seeing my parents for the last time, trying to hold in the bliss fueled tears, that 

The War Was Finally Over. 

it's important to have things to look forward to, it helps curb the depression, so in an effort to reduce current uncertainties about where & when & what to do with myself(ves) when i move out of bleakhaus, out of sf, out of california altogether, i've been intentionally attempting to contact certain helpful entities during lucid dreaming and ask What Would You Have Me Do? but i have yet to actually have a lucid dream -- and it's been over a month of waiting for lucidity to happen....  while listening to a new Kate Bush song tonight, suddenly the word "horses" in her lyric reminded me of last night's insanely colorful episode in which i was lucid for a mere 30 seconds but went back in to dreaming without waking up. so, once again, for the 8 billionth time, i say Thank You Kate Bush, for without your work being in this world, i would probably not still be alive -- Hounds of Love, and specifically The Ninth Wave kept me going during a particularly crisis filled period from 1984-86 and it's still difficult for me to listen to that album without becoming overwhelmed with gratitude that you exist, that Dan Wilbur in high school told me about you, that the album came out when it did, and that i bought the tape immediately upon it's arrival in new jersey.  The Sensual World : same thing for 1989-91 in Massachusetts, but all for a crisis of uplifting because for a person who is accustomed to living in darkness, sometimes the light can be too much even though it feels fucking amazing & great to be in the light instead of lost & alone in the dark. (((0)))

SOME THOUGHTS ON BEING FELT UP & SOME THOUGHTS ON THE ACT OF KILLING

WHAT YEAR IS THIS?


almost every job i've had, i've been forced to "put up with" some form sexual harassment. in most cases, icing out that person and not laughing it off helped. in some cases, i brought the issue to management, which though it would be backed up by other women upon voicing the issue with coworkers, they would then be unwilling to take the next step with me. in more serious cases, a lawsuit ensued, in which one other worker and myself won the case and the offending person was fired. 


it seems strange now, that the actions for which that one manager was fired turned out to be the most prevalent behavior behind every job i was hired for: because men viewed me as fuckable.  that statement was actually aired, along with it's hilarious physical gestures to a group of coworkers immediately upon my leaving the scene of the interview.


the last job i was fired from was actually due to the non-fulfillment of that fuckability, so other minor infractions were blown out of proportion in order to get rid of me, as no one wanted me around if i was not willing to participate in the incestuous activities of the employee-after-party. 


time is the only true loss as it is irretrievable. 


generally, in life everyone makes the choice of either time or money. 
clearly, i chose time and therefore view it as extremely valuable, not something to be wasted attempting to please men or avoid the unavoidable loneliness of being a single woman with little to no friends. instead, it was spent on the only true love in my life: art and music.

but one has to survive, doesn't one? so i work as much as i have to, but that is all. 
after that, my quota for pleasing and putting up with others is full and every thought and activity turns directly to my true love. 


often, i find myself asking "what year is this?", not only due to the overwhelming frustrations of being taken seriously as a human being with thoughts and opinions that also happens to have a pussy, but when i am confronted with the victorian era thinking of other women who behave as though they must always appear to be the most desired woman in the room to all men present so that she will be taken care of.  even when not aware of this type of behavior, that is usually what is behind the malicious type of girl-on-girl assaults women regularly commit upon each other by spreading false rumors and gossiping in group scenarios. 


it's almost as if, on some unconscious level, women do not understand or fully accept that they are able to work and support themselves and no longer need to be sold like merchandise to a man that will have them because it would seem as though we still view ourselves as second class citizens if we continue to treat other women as obstacles in some deluded competition for whatever it is they are thinking they're gonna win.


it's sad, but now that i understand where it comes from, i try not to feed into it, and instead take the stance of the black wolf, choosing instead to remain on the outskirts of any group scenario, having felt the full brunt of false rumors that have followed me around for years, thanks to having come in contact with several women who get great pleasure hurting other women that they mistakenly view as some kind of threat. a threat to WHAT?! i always wonder aloud to myself... a threat to achieving that great big gold medal made of shit hanging from the sky, perhaps. now that i have embraced hopelessness and am no longer participating in sexual or romantic notions with others, i stay on the outer ring with the black wolf.

PUT THAT IN YER CRACKDOWN AND SMOKE IT.


i've always wondered why more murders, rapes, and violence of that nature is committed by men than women. statistically, over 80% of violent crimes are committed by males, upon females mostly, but also upon other males. 


recently, a neurologist in germany was wondering the same thing, and discovered after years of conducting research on test subjects, that the male frontal lobe is CONSIDERABLY smaller in size than the female frontal lobe. this region of the brain is responsible for controlling our impulses, so when a man has the impulse to hit something, there is very little gray matter in the form of reasoning that stops him, and he hits something. women, on the other hand, want to hit something, but go through a lengthy mental process that diffuses that impulse, and they don't hit anything. 


it makes sense, cave man: men kill animals to drag home and eat while women have to put up with all the irritations of raising children without reacting violently.


since having learned this, it has made the act of communicating with men completely different. 


less often, i come home seething with rage after having my opinions, ideas or abilities ignored, interrupted or invalidated.


now i see the male brain reacting to my face talking as it fights itself between the impulses to either fuck me in the ass or punch me in the face, and that battle is so loud - "fuck her in the ass! punch her in the face! fuck her! punch her! FUCK! PUNCH! FUCK!PUNCH!FUCKPUNCHFUCK!!" -  it's no wonder they can't hear a word i'm saying...  


for once, i agree with my browbeaten mother's complaint that i expected too much from others. but also, i feel a great sadness for all the things that society has done to women based on their brain size. let's not forget the theory of relativity was a dream that Mileva Maric had, which she then brought to the chalkboard to work out with her fiancee Albert Einstein. of course, her name was erased from later versions of the publication.


i don't have any close friends, obviously, but conversations with men who do not have those fuckpunch impulses toward me, the ones who are actually listening, are usually gay - both in and out of the closet. with most straight male friends over the years, i end up discovering that they will never view me as a person of equal value to their best friend from college, and when i break through the i'm-a-feminist-too display, i'm still viewed as simply a vessel or trophy in reference to them. always in reference to them. never as individual. never as an individual who does something well in their own regard. something to be won and possessed, and then, inevitably destroyed. strong women are of no interest to men, as these victorian era social standards still make men abhore being viewed "as a satellite" to a woman. just ask venus. 


when you feel like people are performing their mating calls and strutting around you to win your affections, it is in fact, in their greater interest to win against the other competitor, and you are just the pawn in the middle of a massive pissing contest.  and is it just your orifices they want to win, not YOU as a whole human being? without then imposing controls on what now belongs to them?  i've discovered this sad fact with both men and women.....so....yeah, no more for me ma.  there are more important things in life i'd like to concentrate my efforts on, like basic human rights....

and leaving california.

   *u can call me ph!*

FASNACHT & THE BODY'S NEED FOR DARKNESS

i've been searching for the origin of why, for as long as i can remember, every february of every year, i would experience a severe deathwishism.  a pattern i had not noticed until 3 years ago when it got so severe, that a month-long mantra began: 

just hold on 
just breathe 
do not hit yourself in the head with that hammer 
this feeling will pass 
just hold on 
do nothing rash
on march 1st
remember february last



i had remained convinced that it was yet another childhood trauma that might never be discovered. i even asked my parents about chronological events, which of course, produced no results. 




this morning, while watching a documentary about jung called "the wisdom of dreams", there was a scene of basel fasnacht, the yearly festival in switzerland, germany and some parts of the netherlands in which the city turns out all of it's street lights and for 3 days celebrates the end of winter and the coming of spring. predating christianity, it has been incorporated into the week before lent when all pantries are emptied of sweets and fats and consumed in feast - similar to fat tuesday, also called dirty thursday. most other festivals during the year are male-dominated, but fasnacht enters as the woman in black, she is allowed to kiss every man she sees and cuts the ties of all businessmen that cross her path as this is her celebration of the non-workday. it is also imbued with open mockery of political figures, and allows people to speak truths while wearing hilarious and grotesque masks and marching through a flurry of confetti to the cocaphany of drums and piccolos wailing. 

it was a scene of the fantastically painted lanterns, spinning from out of the dark alleyways at the festival's start time of 4am that triggered this memory of The Something That Caused Deathwish February, for without an annual celebration of Truth, Liberation, Free Speech, Mockery Thru Art and The Small Beautiful Light In The Sea Of Total Darkness that Fasnacht represents during the first four years of my life, i sensed subconsciously that something was not getting expressed or released at this time, and would then, like clockwork, turn inward and attempt to self-destruct.

in the same way that the disneyland ride "it's a small world" seems boring to an adult, to a child in the darkness, trapped in a small boat, surrounded by strange faces singing funny and frightening songs, it is a nightmare...and nightmares are the key to awakening lucid dreams, those dreams then bring you to the doorway of the higher mind, whereupon the realm of collective consciousness is discovered. 

*u can call me ph!*

I T I S C O M P L E T E .

Children of the Black Sun
though i was originally calling it a graphic novel of sorts, 
at the end of it's progression, it's probably more accurate to call it "a graphic manifesto".

in case you receive the Not Available error message from youtube
the 'high quality video' will be posted on my site soon [post coding video app]
so that we can all feel A Little Less Stalked By The Google Monster.



speaking of feeling stalked:
The Most Good My Stupid Smart Phone Ever Did For Me: 

during a recent trip to sacramento to play at the NORCAL NOISEFEST (**!fun!**), 
i decided to make a somewhat holiday of this short, but much needed trip away from sf.
  
I <3 Motels ~ especially Motels with Swimming Pools that You Can Actually Swim In, 
so upon arrival around midnight, i got a room at a motel 6 and excitedly looked forward to a swim in the morning before going to the festival.  

while doing the heavy-noise-gear schlepp to my room on the 2nd floor, i was greeted at the top of the stairwell by a guy staying there for what looked like an extended amount of time, as his wide open door displayed a disturbing array of long term debri strewn about the room.  he bummed a smoke, then said he'd buy it off me.  as i rolled him one - which takes a minute - he asked several questions to which i responded with a vague but cheerful answer. then, he attempted to slip a dollar down the front of my shirt, rather than Hand It To Me like a human being.  instantly, my face fell from cheerful to disgusted and i took my leave of him.

across the street stood an all-night diner and i was starving at my usual 3am dinner time. my phone had died during the drive, and to get food, i would now have to pass the creepy guy again on the way downstairs, so i brought the dead phone with me and proceeded to have The Most Intimate and Hilarious Phone Conversation With My Most Awesome Other Person In The World Who Will Also Cut You In A Crazy Heartbeat If You So Much As Think About Fucking With Him Or Her.... and it worked!!!  

fearing possible witnesses, he said nothing to me as i passed him to go order food, and again as i came back with my food, once more to get a drink out of the vending machine, and finally back to my room, not a mother fuckin peep... needless to say, i bolted the hell out of my door the second it closed.  
   
SELF-DEFENSE BY SUGGESTION...!! 

about 20 minutes later, around 4 AM, the dude felt he had some sort of right to come POUND on my door. [HOW RUDE!] and AGAIN at 4:04 [THE AUDACITY!!]  i did not answer, all lights out, nor did i respond to his jeers across the parking lot about wanting to "see something good" while i swam a few laps in the pool the next morning.  for some odd reason, i had packed the straight razor i used to carry every time i left the haus, back when the PTSD was at it's THREAT LEVEL RED, and although i haven't even seen it in over a year, i came across it while packing for this trip and brought it Just Because....i had come across it. it did indeed come in handy when that next morning came, even if just for emotional support - because i'll be damned if that fucktard was gonna get in the way of me being able to Do Something That I Love To Do, like swimming in the pool on my One & Only One-Day-Vacation.  

as i packed up to check out, the desire to kick him in the nuts or at least rip him a new facehole and/or asshole was MASSIVE.  sat down instead, did my daily meditation and was quietly swayed by THE GUIDING LIGHT IN MY GUTS that told me this:

the male ego, being the fragile little baby duck covered in vanilla pudding and chocolate sauce that it is, will not take kindly to any form of scolding; not only would he Not Listen To A Word I Was Saying [as per usual], his resulting frustration would probably be taken out on another woman, or on a kid, or on an animal later on that day.  teaching him a lesson in how i make peanut butter with my steel toed boots was also a No Go.  i'd be standing there, in front his room-house, likely to also be the home of at least one loaded gun.... then, i'd still have the heavy gear schlepp through the parking lot = plenty of aiming time = not worth it. 

SO WHAT TO DO WITH THIS EMOTION ?? as i drove in the general direction of the festival, i knew i would have to expel the rage before it had the chance to solidify and coagulate into Anger Unexpressed aka Depression. pulling over, i wrote added verses in a new and incomplete track called "I'm Being Stalked By A Corporation".  most of the words in the first version were just funny, focusing more on the Corporation-As-Human aspect, but after the refresher course in what it's like, i was now compelled to focus on that feeling in human terms and began scrawling down words like mad. 

although this was a fairly slight and somewhat insignificant episode of The Grossness That Is, especially in relation to my last 40 years of life, is it possible that a mere 5 minutes of daily meditation has made this shift occur in my thinking and reaction to yet another example of The Grossness That Is? the life-long empirical theory i have held onto is that The Only Way Of Ceasing A Male's Repetitive Violence Upon You Is By Extolling Sudden and Severe Violence Upon Him Once Or Maybe Twice If He Wasn't Listening The First Time. 
and it served me well from 19 to 39.

but here i was, Managing my rage, Giving it free reign in one well-lit area, Letting it express itself while still being contained and not hurting anyone or myself with it...  
all while drinking the much appreciated large cup of peet's coffee.

suddenly, feedback squeals and sound check hums caught my attention, so i looked over my shoulder and realized i had parked a mere 40 feet from the venue where the noise fest was starting... 

a couple hours later, i performed the new "song". with all the mic effects, i'm certain no one could understand a fuckin word i was saying/singing/screaming but it didn't matter. 

catharsis is as katharsis does. 

and that is why i had pretty much forgotten all about that satchel of rage it until just now, and instead remembered the whole experience as The Best One Day Vacation Ever.   


*u can call me ph!*

introverted with jung

in dreams we enter a world entirely our own

.

it's weird, some of these Children of the Black Sun pages take me about 4 hours to finish, others, like this one, take almost 4 days. dunno why...process is as process does i guess.
"I DO I UNDO I REDO" as the sculptor Louise Bourgeois says.

it felt extremely validating to see this video. inadvertently came across it during one of those nights when i realize i haven't spoken to anyone in days, and in that Something Must Be Wrong With Me head space that wonders why i'm not Out There with some misguided and doomed to fail attempt at having a social life. but group dynamics and empty words really don't do anything for me in terms of feeling good about life. so alone at home i stay, with whatever slight breeze of tranquility i can experience over a good cup of tea.


found this little recording the other day, and although it's difficult to remember ever committing it to tape at some point in the last 4 weeks...there it is. i would imagine that it sounds like the closest thing to happiness i'll ever know because it is so small and short and fleeting and fragile. don't try cramming it into a jar with a bunch of butterflies, they will all die.
a tiny light returns like fireflies at the end of summers night

*u can call me ph!*

enjoy the silence

too often, i have too much to say to those that are not listening, so i'll talk about shit again someday but for now it's easier on my constitution to not talk to people.... 

and just keep working, just keep going, and continue making gradual progress - because without Perseverance, slow progress can grind to a halt and leave you with nothing.

    Children of the Black Sun parts 1 - 4 [WORKING EDIT #12]   


    i do i undo i redo 


 *u can call me ph!*

fuck it like a duck and a muppet in a bucket seat truck

this is edit #6 - the first 2 of 16 pages that will be inserted into the text footage.

and tho probably no one will bother watching this, that is beside the point. it's about completing the creative bucket list, so that i can face eviction and possible living in a cardboard box & the inevitable death in a gutter without feeling as if there were a bunch of things i wanted to create.

here's a link to the youtube video tho which is a little less compressed as we all should be.

~~~~mmphrmmmgrr~~~~~~
Know what's AWESOME?
when you tell your friend you are Done, as in No Longer Interested In Attempting to Be In A Relationship For The Rest Of YOur Life & Have Committed Blood To That Oath, and a few weeks later, they tell you that some guy you used to like (in that Dumb Girl kinda way) is single now..... Not Only Do I Not Care, but worse, i became very disheartened by the lack of meaning any of those words coming out of my mouth had to my friend. So, Stop Talking To People, Because Clearly, No One's Listening or Putting Any Value On Anything I Say Anyway since i'm just a joke, someone to talk shit about and laugh at but Never Hang Out With, a cunt that is difficult to fuck, and (according to one of my awesome ex-boyfriends) if you did fuck this cunt, you'd wanna make sure you don't give it your phone number in case it follows you back to the apartment you share with your girlfriend. so, all in all, of little to no use to you.
has it been a total waste? all 20 years in this town? SF taught me how to Enjoy My Own Company and to not rely on anyone else for anything. ever. So FUCK IT, FUCK THEM ALL, FUCK THEM ALL WITH AWESOMENESS.






*u can call me ph!*

the Incredibly Irritating Invisible Individual In Yer Face.

despite threats of eviction from the property owner of our building, i decided to focus on finishing the text for the graphic novel instead of being a Blue Assed Fly - anyway, half of my shit is already on ebay for sale, so i was already going down that road regardless... tho the thought of living without my red piano is UNBEARABLE, and i will miss this room in my haven -- the only place i've ever lived longer than 2 years in my life -- and it's been over ten. so it might be difficult to leave this haus that i love, but Not So Difficult to leave this city now that it has become merely a reminder of all the things i wish i would have been more grateful for while they were still here... can't say i'm gonna miss many people in general, since i obviously  - oh never mind. pointless to end that sentence.

here's a couple things that DO Matter, especially after having thoughts about people and society that leaves me feeling completely irrelevant and invisible:

1 - discovered today after recording music on various instruments for over 12 hours that i nurture my gear, both electronic and acoustic, as if they were my children. then i looked around the room, and after doing a short count, concluded That They ARE My Children, as there is One Musical Instrument that i cherish for every child i Did Not Give Birth To and Try To Raise Alone With No Money and No Clue As To How Damaged I Was & How Incapable I Would Have Been To Raise A Child Without Doing Irreparable Harm- Thus Continuing The Vicious Cycle Of Violence....  i owe so much to Planned Parenthood, and the instinctual knowledge that there was No Fucking Way i was gonna be somebody's mom...
[this, of course, is the same reason why i cannot be anybody's fucking girlfriend either.]

2 -. finished the text to the [first part] of the Children of the Black Sun graphic novel/animation thing....
(* if it's Ever REALLY Finished*)  writing is hard. it's like whiskey. i love/hate it ...

 *u can call me ph!*

The Ouroboros Years...

**  a lot of this post is a broken record, but the longer it plays, the more things you begin to hear..  stuff you never noticed before....
so i wish you luck, gentle reader...**

obviously, i half-aborted this blog…  

as well as many many other things since 2010 - having fallen into an abyss of the unamusing kind.  it was very difficult to process things in life the way i normally did, by seeing the satire and absurdity in each event and tri-annually turning what seemed like crisis at the time into small, dark humored comix. i did not realize how important this process had become as a coping mechanism until, after the events of said years of darkness. i could not find humor in this new series of Total Failures. nothing about any of them was funny. and i could not see how they ever would be. 

a couple years passed until one night's events replayed in my head, and suddenly, YES it's FUCKING HILARIOUS, so i laughed a lot and knew that i was indeed healing without drawing it all out in comic book form, but i also knew i needed a major shift to occur, both in my work with art and music and also in my brain.... 

all of the supposed progress i had been making as an adult woman who had grown up in an abusive home was instantly shattered the second i found myself in an abusive situation AGAIN. i knew the only common denominator was me, so the problem HAD to be ME.  

@ 850 Bryant Street: to fill out a form in which hospital charges can be waived for women of domestic violence based on income level and lack of health insurance,  as i was entering the building, i realized why i was subconsciously drawing psychotic men into my life: because i wanted to 
Be An Artist, 
Not A Mother, Not A Girlfriend, Not A Wife. however, human needs and incessant loneliness would seek comfort, so every few years, i'd meet someone with whom i'd become intimate. instinctively, i knew they would never stick around long enough to have "that talk" about children, or meeting their moms, etc.   those few that did express this desire, would at some point, feel that they were not getting their needs met, that i was neglecting them to spend time painting or drawing. even the men who initially said they loved the art i make, would eventually force the ultimatum "it's me or the brush". needless to say, i always chose the brush. 

but this last "relationship" became a brush with death - literally - as he screamed at me while grabbing my neck and pushing me to the ground just outside my front door on mission street, "I'm gonna fucking kill you!!" staring into his eyes and on fire with rage, i replied "Go Ahead! Put me outta my fuckin misery!"  but he immediately went limp, let go, and ran into my house, throwing things out windows and destroying various pieces of musical equipment.

this moment gave me 3 extremely important things:


1. 
my left ring finger was broken in this altercation, i did not seek medical attention because i interpreted this particular injury with symbolism. all the years of longing to be with someone with whom i would feel the kind of love that i felt when i was making music or art, was BROKEN. it was never going to happen. here i was 40+ years old, still having the same issues with men that i had at 23, it had become completely pointless, knowing that i was not willing to give up on the 2 things that have Been There For Me, the 2 things that over and over have Saved My Life - MUSIC & ART - i would not sacrifice those 2 things in order to nurture a man & his creativity instead of exploring my own, or to do the work that is required to Be In a Relationship, so i stopped looking for the ring, so to speak, from a male OR a female. it's hard enough to have a REGULAR female friend without her Single White Female-ing me (look it up) or doing some other truly shocking, well played, that must have taken you ages to plot out that kind of sinister shit to make me look like whatever you want me to look like to the other people you feel the need to impress... plus,  it already takes me years to trust people that are NICE to me.... so, to commemorate the decision TO STOP LOOKING FOR SOMETHING THAT IS NEVER GONNA BE THERE, i tattooed a triple spiral on my ring finger as a symbol of my permanent marriage to the art and music that have shown me more true, unconditional love than any human being ever has. 

2. 
a man at the bus stop across the street witnessed the choking in public event. as i looked over at him grabbing his cell phone, i had one of those time stretching tunnel vision experiences with someone who is far away, but it's as if you are 2 inches from their face. i could hear things breaking from where i stood outside while the psycho was upstairs, but he ran out of the house mere moments before the police arrived. 
but i had a witness. i'd been telling people that after drinking bourbon, the psycho would attack me, usually by choking. no one believed me because there were no giant marks to show. they looked at me like i was stupid. "WHY are still with that guy? just throw him out." but for someone who has grown up with violence, i knew i had TO WAIT for him to make the decision to leave me - and i knew it wouldn't take long - rather than take the dominant stance and throw him out. he is a locksmith with a giant ego and a gun who would not hesitate to break into my house and shoot me in the face. 
* it should also be noted that the neck can go through way too much abuse before it starts showing signs on the skin - and abusive men tend to know this.*  he also knew, as i told him i had filed a restraining order against him on one of these prior events so as to make a paper trail in case he did actually kill me, that he could not be served with the restraining order since he had no home address, and gave me this sickly grin... rather proudly, he announced that he had 7 or 8 dead ex-girlfriends as well.  
yet here he stood because I LET HIM IN. 
i let him in, not just because he was an old "friend" i hadn't seen in 15 years since the week i stood by his bed at SF General when he almost died after a motorcycle accident, i let him in because i didn't care about my life anymore. i had gotten laid off a few months before, and was losing touch with all the coworkers i thought were my friends all these years, but no one was there for me. i seriously needed some kind of support and could not find any. each one of my longtime mostly male friends seemed to only be, in essence, waiting for fucking to happen between us - they did not want to listen to this, so it became obvious they were not really paying attention to anything i ever said to them over the years, just nodding their heads, acting supportive while thinking about the blow jobs they thought they were going to get for "putting the time in".... i keep forgetting that i am on this planet to please men and clean up after them, and no matter what i write, say, make, paint, sculpt, play, organize, invoke, destroy, scream out, barf up, or do in any way shape or form will EVER BE TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION IN ITS OWN REGARD, it will only ever be considered AFTER-CUNT. 
yup. pretty much over it as i stood @ SF General, after one of those bourbon nights, seeking an x-ray for my ribs that had been in pain for days, but instead i'd been sent to the Psychiatric Ward for evaluation. a social worker asked me, "are you depressed or angry?"  there were no words... i've worked in the mental health eugenics complex. psychiatry is simply a fancy word for house of torture on the unwanted with random chemicals.....so i told her  "i just want an x-ray."   suicidal thoughts had been on heavy repeat even though i'd been drug free for years now, and i knew i was running out of reasons to keep trying because i couldn't win no matter what i did. i was sick of life whether i was on drugs or not and i'd been wanting to die since the age of 10, so finally i realized this threatening person's presence in my life was also due to my own deathwish. 
every time a roommate opened or closed the front door, i'd jolt up instantly - so not much sleeping happened for a while....which was weirdly traumatizing for someone who wants to die anyway.  2 weeks later, he did break in. i stood behind my bolted bedroom door, listening intently. he wandered around for a minute,  then took a crappy old lamp instead of one of my heavy peavey amps.
 and that was that.

3. 
having faced that moment of death - again, as an adult - i remembered facing it when i was 19. essentially, i'd been reconnected to who i was, where i had come from. i remembered that feeling of being more angry than afraid and so sick of this shit that i no longer cared if he killed me, so i fought back, and in a sense i won. 
i am convinced that  ACCURATELY PLACING MY RAGE with a pair of steel toed boots into the groin of my father on that summer day in 1987, saved me from going through years of misdirected anger onto random men. though, i would OBVIOUSLY still suffer several other issues with sex, rage, depression, body image, drugs, alcohol, suicide, night terrors, dissociations, seizures, the inability to trust others, etc. this event of Looking Death in The Eye seems to have been a deciding factor in how i might be able to evolve emotionally without being stuck in the mindset of  My Childhood Sucked, So Now The World OWES ME SOMETHING. 
this time, it was also a battle against loneliness - the emotion that drove me to Every Bad Decision I Ever Made. i No Longer Want To Be With Anyone. instead, i started meditating every day and focused on spending time with my true loves -  music and art, and this might just be the post traumatic growth talking, but i've never been so productive, or present, or felt like a part of the world, and lacking nothing.

 after countless hours watching documentaries and absorbing as much information on the combination of epigenetic factors and environmentally induced behaviors on the developing brains of children being abused - especially those that experience it before the age of 7 - and after doing a checklist of degrees of damage for each type/frequency/time length/relationship to the abuser and other varying factors =  this shocking discovery that i have an 87% chance of growing up and doing one or more of these 4 things:
1. becoming a prostitute
2. dying of an drug overdose
3. committing suicide
4. being incarcerated -  most likely for assault & battery, possibly for manslaughter. 
therefore, if i continued NOT DOING any of those 4 things that, up til now, i still had not done thanks to channeling it all into Art & Music, then i am in the 13%....and that was the shift i needed...to see myself as one of the lucky ones...how incredibly grateful i became to those tiny breezes that would wake the quiet voice inside...the quiet voice that, in those boiling red moments where you want to peel off your own skin, says to you,  "no...just wait....don't cross the street yet...."  

When Things Fall Apart, a book by Pema Chodrin, that my roommate Alex gave to me as i was LEAVING NEW YORK CITY- (the only serious regret i had which i then tortured myself with for 10 years) that book probably saved my life. the ideas in it became such a central part of this transition, i was able to see that regret of leaving new york completely OUTWEIGHED by all the positive things that flowed from that book since then... just last night, he was in sf for one night, on tour with his old band - a total fluke that i saw the show listing - i knew i had to go there.... arriving late and without the $30 door charge, the doorman said a bunch of tickets had been left for latecomers so he let me in free....! after the show i told Alex how grateful i was for that book. he didn't even remember giving it to me, but it felt so good to let go of the regret. it's likely i'd still be going through all the same transitions with different names no matter where i am living.  

another motivating factor to Say Thank You to Alex was that i never want to feel the way i felt when I DIDN"T GO to the anal cunt show on their LAST tour w/ the original members... i had wanted to give them the comix i had dedicated to them - to seth in particular [bitter pie #20] but feeling anxious that night, i did not fight that feeling and go do the right thing...so i missed my chance... Seth died of a heart attack soon after the tour ended and i was Fucking Wracked - so fucking pissed at myself for Not Showing UP, not that it would have made a huge difference to them, but like anything in life, sometimes, it's the small things that actually matter so much more...  as i learned soon after that when, within 6 weeks of each other, 3 separate men from my past contacted me completely out of the blue and verbally apologized for things that happened over 25 years ago -- the almost frighteningly immense power words can have - i was so familiar with those of a harmful nature, but never suspected their equal ability TO HEAL so quickly.... 
it's nothing, a sentence. but it is everything, to say it and to hear it. 

so i am Embracing Hopelessness. i am ok with being alone with no false sense of security to cling to... i'm learning to ride emotions like horses, to not let them take over, but to acknowledge them, even the dark ones...even those Dumb Girl thoughts that pop up from time to time, that self-pitying weakness, the unmedicated mess that cries non-stop & won't get outta bed cuz she's writing the longest blog post on the planet, that Dumb Girl that wanted affection from others at any cost, She Almost Got Me Killed, so she's been told to Stop being Such A Downer & has been grounded with her deluded Dumb Girl dreams until the gradual decline brings us all home again. 





SO ANYWAY>>>>>>

this is what i’m currently working on – 

a 4 foot square painted graphic novel that i’m photographing/animating as it is being created…

this is the 3rd working edit of the project so far... 

it's called Children of the Black Sun 

(named after the NON album)...


most often, updates will spawn from here

but i'll try to be less lame with blog posts

now that i can remember the password.

art and music are nothing without you looking at it, listening to it, and reading it.
so THANK YOU...oh, hey look!! you made it thru this blog post!
BUTT FUDGE. i didn't intend to write all that,
it just kinda..fell out....
*[plop]
love,
xx bitter pie


*u can call me ph!*

d.i.y. tree light made with what was apparently, My Stick Collection - which sounded weird until i saw the remarkable film "Beauty is Embarrassing"....

*u can call me ph!*

Lay Down

lately, i've been noticing that my body REALLY dislikes being exposed to the sun's radiation until it is at least at a 45 degree angle from my face. it Actually Hurts.

here is a video i just made of a song recorded on an analogue 4 track in october 2001. the photo was taken in london the same year.

Lay Down


*u can call me ph!*

This will stay with you until you die

a Deletist 3rd Class version of a Big Black song...
jordan minn


*u can call me ph!*