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.

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:

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. 

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.

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. 


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... 
(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....
xx bitter pie

*u can call me ph!*