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!*
10.23.2014
8.18.2014
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!*
8.14.2014
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!*
6.17.2014
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!*
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!*
6.14.2014
the Incredibly Irritating Invisible Individual In Yer Face.
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!*
6.02.2014
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 –
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>>>>>>
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
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!*
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!*
5.22.2013
5.15.2013
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!*
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!*
5.14.2013
5.11.2013
variations on a theme
LITTLE ANGELFUCK
CTRL/v\3RR0R version of a Misfits song that sounds nothing like the original cuz i don't see the point of doing that...if a cover sounds exactly the same, you might as well listen to the original, therefore, this is not so much a cover song, as it is a variation on the theme of LITTLE ANGELFUCK .
*u can call me ph!*
CTRL/v\3RR0R version of a Misfits song that sounds nothing like the original cuz i don't see the point of doing that...if a cover sounds exactly the same, you might as well listen to the original, therefore, this is not so much a cover song, as it is a variation on the theme of LITTLE ANGELFUCK .
*u can call me ph!*
5.07.2013
here is your big CAREER!
 |
| "here is your big career" by bitter pie 2013 ink on paper 3x5 feet |
 |
| "oops there it goes..." |
 |
| "it looks like shit" |
 |
| "net worth about two dollars and fourteen cents" |
 |
| "most [friends/coworkers/people] rip me off" |
 |
| "reaping only more disdain" |
 |
| "it looks like shit" |
 |
| "you are going to end up [___]. you are too independent. you are autistic. you are overbearing. you are so strong." |
 |
| "the only time i feel happy to be alive is when i am alone." |
*ugh!*
mind control
healing happens -- finally, after waiting over two years to find any humor at all in post-trauma, suddenly one day i was walking home from work in oakland at sunset and this memory became the most hilarious, balls out funny thing ever:::
Noise Show @ Amnesia 2+ years ago in which i showed up with a psychotic homophobic man child during the first (and only) week we were happy together. weirdly i watched as many of my male friends gathered around and began personifying apes. For over 2 years i've been in yer face, single as fuck, but you want nothing to do with me - even going as far as Actively Ignoring me. BUT NOW, the second i appear to be "with" some dude, you suddenly start making interested motions.
it makes me wonder if there was any actual interest in me as a human being, or if i am only considered the female pawn in some grand pissing contest a bunch of men are all having with each other. uch. i was LIVID>>but that's not the funny part.
unbeknownst to me, my "boyfriend" then went about hitting on every one of those guy friends of mine even though he's "not gay" and then proceeded to beat some crap outta me later that night because i'm "too much like a dude".....
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA
hilarious.
making this album saved my life...
Noise Show @ Amnesia 2+ years ago in which i showed up with a psychotic homophobic man child during the first (and only) week we were happy together. weirdly i watched as many of my male friends gathered around and began personifying apes. For over 2 years i've been in yer face, single as fuck, but you want nothing to do with me - even going as far as Actively Ignoring me. BUT NOW, the second i appear to be "with" some dude, you suddenly start making interested motions.
it makes me wonder if there was any actual interest in me as a human being, or if i am only considered the female pawn in some grand pissing contest a bunch of men are all having with each other. uch. i was LIVID>>but that's not the funny part.
unbeknownst to me, my "boyfriend" then went about hitting on every one of those guy friends of mine even though he's "not gay" and then proceeded to beat some crap outta me later that night because i'm "too much like a dude".....
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA
hilarious.
4.19.2012
i think i hate my own blagh....
*ugh!*
which is why i tend to post more often on the deletist/das blut/bleakhaus blog.
i'll bet it's because of something stupid like being more comforted by the colors of the page...
i spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME redesigning the bitter pie comix website in White instead of Black because i was trying to like, i dunno, *Be More Positive* (she says with a sneer) but my fuckin chi is All About the black page with red and white text bitches, i just cannot help my Ever So Demanding Aesthetic Values that O.C.D.-up my weekends CONSTANTLY...
but, ya know... i'm unemployed so at least rearranging objects and painting furniture keep me outta trouble...
extremely soon:
My Massive Ejection of All Negative Past Leftover Crap and Every Remnant of Every ManBoy Who Ever Left His DNA In My Space will be complete and my sanctuary/design-factory/recording-studio/tattoo-parlour/artist-live/work-space/bedroom WILL BE CLEANSED AND I MAY CONTINUE TO WORK IN COMPLETE HARMONY WITH MY SURROUNDINGS THUS MAKING WORK MORE EFFICIENT, FOCUSED AND PLEASURABLE!!!
(it's easier to clean for sterility/tattoo certification with the added bonus of being able to bolt from the grid at a moment's notice.)
it is fairly possible that Bitter Pie Comix #20 might be the last issue "printed" of this 10+ year long series since there are STILL new copies sitting at Last Gasp from when i initially released it, so unlike all the other issue releases in terms of moving units at least to regular subscribers....
**and i know exactly why**
MY PEOPLE DON'T REALLY LIVE IN THIS TOWN ANYMORE.
INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE ANARCHIST BOOK FAIR SELLING DIY WARES (FROM MY $25 TABLE, SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE WHO ARE ANGRY BUT PRODUCTIVE ABOUT IT AS WELL), over THE LAST COUPLE YEARS, book fair TABLE FEES have inflated to $175. NOT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST GLIMMER OF a CHANCE THAT I COULD GO AND DISTRIBUTE ART & EXPRESSIONS. GOLDEN GATE PARK IS NOW A PRIVATIZED MOTHERFUCKING MOGUL PIMPING OUT THE ONCE-PUBLIC PARK, PEOPLE NOW MUST PAY FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING OUTSIDE NEAR TREES.
THE LAST ZINE FEST I ATTENDED WAS DIRE AS WELL.
A SADLY SLIM MARGIN OF ATTENDEES WERE DOWN WITH "A DARK SIDE", OR "ANGRY", MAYBE "POLITICALLY MINDED", PERHAPS "HAVING A PAIR OF NUTS AND A BRAIN CAPABLE OF CRITICAL THINKING INSTEAD OF BEING A VAPID POP LOVIN BEIGE WEARIN BIG DUMB SUNGLASSES SPORTIN APATHETIC HANDBAG THAT ONLY WANT TO SPEND DADDY'S MONEY ON THINGS THAT ARE CUTE."
i knew my time had come and gone.
my audience now exists in another dimension, as i cling to this weathered rent-controlled row boat, narrowly avoiding The On$laught of Invading FratBoy & SororityGirl Fucktards That are Entitled to Follow and Ruin All Colorful Pockets of Affordable Existence Whence The Creative Roses Grow in Life's Inspired Piss & Blood Filled Gutters, Only To Be Ejected From Said Gutters By The Societal Hip&Cool Cyclops Eye That Has Again Spotted Some Shabby Roses Having a Fairly Good Time Together For Once In Their Miserably Struggling Fucking Lives.
might keep drawing charlott as a small occasional e-strip-zine-thingy so that she'll stop looking at me with those imploring eyes...!!
something completely different, as in graphic novel, is about 8 1/2 months pregnant but i say no more so that it does not end in miscarriage.
Here's some music/noise/cinematic projects that may or may not still be currently breathing, some dead in divinity, some screaming like squirming hairless skin prickly little kittens: ok? ok.
http://www.youtube.com/user/0deletist0
which is why i tend to post more often on the deletist/das blut/bleakhaus blog.
i'll bet it's because of something stupid like being more comforted by the colors of the page...
i spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME redesigning the bitter pie comix website in White instead of Black because i was trying to like, i dunno, *Be More Positive* (she says with a sneer) but my fuckin chi is All About the black page with red and white text bitches, i just cannot help my Ever So Demanding Aesthetic Values that O.C.D.-up my weekends CONSTANTLY...
but, ya know... i'm unemployed so at least rearranging objects and painting furniture keep me outta trouble...
extremely soon:
My Massive Ejection of All Negative Past Leftover Crap and Every Remnant of Every ManBoy Who Ever Left His DNA In My Space will be complete and my sanctuary/design-factory/recording-studio/tattoo-parlour/artist-live/work-space/bedroom WILL BE CLEANSED AND I MAY CONTINUE TO WORK IN COMPLETE HARMONY WITH MY SURROUNDINGS THUS MAKING WORK MORE EFFICIENT, FOCUSED AND PLEASURABLE!!!
(it's easier to clean for sterility/tattoo certification with the added bonus of being able to bolt from the grid at a moment's notice.)
it is fairly possible that Bitter Pie Comix #20 might be the last issue "printed" of this 10+ year long series since there are STILL new copies sitting at Last Gasp from when i initially released it, so unlike all the other issue releases in terms of moving units at least to regular subscribers....
**and i know exactly why**
MY PEOPLE DON'T REALLY LIVE IN THIS TOWN ANYMORE.
INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE ANARCHIST BOOK FAIR SELLING DIY WARES (FROM MY $25 TABLE, SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE WHO ARE ANGRY BUT PRODUCTIVE ABOUT IT AS WELL), over THE LAST COUPLE YEARS, book fair TABLE FEES have inflated to $175. NOT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST GLIMMER OF a CHANCE THAT I COULD GO AND DISTRIBUTE ART & EXPRESSIONS. GOLDEN GATE PARK IS NOW A PRIVATIZED MOTHERFUCKING MOGUL PIMPING OUT THE ONCE-PUBLIC PARK, PEOPLE NOW MUST PAY FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF BEING OUTSIDE NEAR TREES.
THE LAST ZINE FEST I ATTENDED WAS DIRE AS WELL.
A SADLY SLIM MARGIN OF ATTENDEES WERE DOWN WITH "A DARK SIDE", OR "ANGRY", MAYBE "POLITICALLY MINDED", PERHAPS "HAVING A PAIR OF NUTS AND A BRAIN CAPABLE OF CRITICAL THINKING INSTEAD OF BEING A VAPID POP LOVIN BEIGE WEARIN BIG DUMB SUNGLASSES SPORTIN APATHETIC HANDBAG THAT ONLY WANT TO SPEND DADDY'S MONEY ON THINGS THAT ARE CUTE."
i knew my time had come and gone.
my audience now exists in another dimension, as i cling to this weathered rent-controlled row boat, narrowly avoiding The On$laught of Invading FratBoy & SororityGirl Fucktards That are Entitled to Follow and Ruin All Colorful Pockets of Affordable Existence Whence The Creative Roses Grow in Life's Inspired Piss & Blood Filled Gutters, Only To Be Ejected From Said Gutters By The Societal Hip&Cool Cyclops Eye That Has Again Spotted Some Shabby Roses Having a Fairly Good Time Together For Once In Their Miserably Struggling Fucking Lives.
might keep drawing charlott as a small occasional e-strip-zine-thingy so that she'll stop looking at me with those imploring eyes...!!
something completely different, as in graphic novel, is about 8 1/2 months pregnant but i say no more so that it does not end in miscarriage.
Here's some music/noise/cinematic projects that may or may not still be currently breathing, some dead in divinity, some screaming like squirming hairless skin prickly little kittens: ok? ok.
http://www.youtube.com/user/0deletist0
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