21 July 2024

a saturday sunrise swim

Saturday Sunrise Swim
taken on a Polaroid IE50FE-NOC
edited in InShot
captured by the bodybuddy/lifemate 

20 July 2024

don't feel threatened by the Illiterati; they frequently find it difficult to get on the same page.

[end note] obviously, i do not really dabble in the wordwork* of jokes and comedy, etc., so if this same sentiment has been expressed by someone, already, in the form of a better joke etc., then i am unaware of it at the time of this writing. sometimes, ideas aren't that good, because they are so obvious, but its obviousness doesn't make the idea any less-funny; it just means it doesn't take a genius to see the funny, etc.

*if you bitch on socials about how people "outright steal [italics mine, cause socials is lame like that, obviously] posts, outright copy and paste!" then you should probably create something of your own, a digital space that you own where, if someone is actually stealing your shit, you can prove it. Like. Duh. but mostly, why the fuck do you care? you honestly think your ideas are so so fucking amazing, so so original? bahahahahahaha!

the bodybuddy/lifemate's turn [&yes, this is seriously turning out to be more of a phlog this month, cause, i'm jobbing at the stupid fucking, ephing, fucking job!!!, {fuck!} six days a week for the foreseeable future, &c., but we are purposefully child-free adults {in essence, free to do whatever the fuck we want, when not at our fucking day jobs, etc.}, &the job is stupid-easy {i just have to walk my ass there, though, and that's the shittiest part of all of this} so don't feel any sorta feels for me; we good *muah* we winning *middle-finger up*]

16 July 2024

a Visitation [in word]

She's nearly prophetic these days

Not necessarily about what

but that

and when

but not exactly

and certainly not why

On the Horizon

the first feelings riding that first photon of the happening 


Everything rides Something

It's hard to know when you've become food

The moment arrives, and before you know it

You're food

the Hierarchy is not not-real

my ability or lack thereof to overcome or succumb will


be better than some and worse than others

Something snatches you

The moment arrives, and before you know it

This is it

She sees

not-because she is special

but rather

because she is willing

Today is not your day

The moment arrives, and before you know it

You wriggle free

I am Free

yet Lost

Arms wide, you fly

The moment arrives, and before you know it

You're hungry

She awakens

And you see her see you

My soul refuses to believe

She stands

You ask why

I ask why

She waits

You wait

I wait

She collects you

You do not resist being collected

I see

She looks at me

You look at me

a Visitation [in image]

catch the video on uTube

14 July 2024


yes, the shirt is/was free Meili merch *yikes*
he, "Aquaman," apparently came by the store
at which i am currently employed
to hawk his vodka

When we're all just waiting around for the next 'big, bad' thing to happen, it IS a relief when the next 'big, bad' thing finally happens.

It's weird to sit down to write about something about which you are definitely not-going to write. 


There are several tactics that can be taken, as a writer, who wants to not-write about something by writing about it. There are several techniques one could use. There are options. Again, I still don't really feel like brain-storming these days, preferring to fly "off the cuff," writing down whatever infiltrates my mind. I think that I would've been a scribe if I had been born during that typa past, etc., and I woulda loved it, except that there's a 99.99% chance that I woulda been born a slave/peasant, so, a girl can dream, just like the girl dreams now *sigh*

Options include, but are not-limited to, metaphors, similes, poetry, essays, jokes, think-pieces *vomits*, acting-like-nothing-happened-type opinions about something else, entirely, opinion pieces about what this all "means" or "signals" *vomits*, equivocations, admissions, story-telling, goddamn, this list ought to have utilized a list-form, or a photo journal of how it affects "me" as a [race-redacted] she/her identifying person who can get pregnant with a vagina &uterus but who does not identify as a woman, cause that's elitist (if this isn't the most patriarchal mindset to adopt as an actual woman who identifies as a biological human female, but who would rather not-be identified by her genitals, cause, to her, being asked to announce or proclaim her pronouns is like being asked to declare whether or not she has a pussy or a cock or neither, and she thinks that it's none of anyone's business except anyone she might want to have sex with, etc., and so would rather simply be referred to by her name, cause to declare herself a "them" has other connotations, again, with regards to her genitalia, genitals, or lack thereof, etc.).

As a side note, it's really fucking irritating to get hit-on by old men-customers at my jobplace. *blech*

So, I guess I'll go with the avoidance option as if none of anything is happening, right now. I don't really do jokes; I obviously have an opinion, and I certainly have opinions on others' opinions, *BAHAHAHAHA*, and the event doesn't "affect" me the way that writers of pieces of that ilk are affected, facts; no need to write an essay or think piece, yet, and I would never waste the precious creative energy that metaphors, poetry and stories require on an event such as this, so, what are my options?

My initial reaction was, "Finally." I'll admit it.

And quite astonishingly, this is the second time this week that I had exactly this feeling of relief. The first time is a story about, well, not-me, and so, I'm hesitant to write about someone else with whom I am in near-daily contact as, as a manager, the person to whom the story belongs, is my "deputy," but I will say this; we (my "deputy" and i) have been waiting around for some time now for some thing to come to pass, and finally, it did, and yes, it is of the same human scale as the other thing that happened that aroused the same exact feeling of social/societal relief. 

The winds of change caressed me, not but one week ago, and I prepared myself.

11 July 2024

too tired for any sorta formalities, cause, i had to surprise-cover a shift, cause i'ma boss, and it sucks, but it also doesn't suck, but it does actually suck, cause i want to live my dream, goddammit!


that which you do every day is that which you get good at doing

yes, you can get good at being bad at things/stuff

i realized—while consuming my favorite Real Housewives location &the only one i watch—that i, obviously, did my life wrong. apparently, if you're hot, you're supposed to make yourself available to rich men. goddammit. my bad. fucking sucks. the problem, however, is that i'm not really the type to "do the work" that being that type of hot requires. so, luckily for the bodybuddy/lifemate, i'ma no-go in the world of rich men. *sigh* plus it's more fun to build wealth with someone, but the reality is that i didn't even know it was a game to play. *shrug* i mean, i've always known what a "gold-digger" is, but i guess i never thought about what it looks like, all played out, lol. 

it's not so much that you "dig" for gold as much as you know that rich men can get whatever they want, and what most men (in every financial bracket) want is what they want. so, if you're willing to "do the work" to be the type of woman a rich man wants, it looks like a fun game. honestly. i honestly wish i had tried to play it. oh, i get it. you're digging around, trying to figure out what various rich men like so that you can be that thing? yea, gold-digger. my bad. maybe. whatever. i don't really care about this as much as it might seem when given the two paragraphs i've given to the subject.


While I was at my job (about two hours to do the basic shit that needs to be done every day, plus a fix on an ad-cover item that wasn't ringing up as the ad advertises, etc.) one of the contractors that does work around the store was on site, and the manager-lady of the group was in the office from where I do my job. We're amicable; it's fine. And so, we exchanged hellos and updates, etc., while she was on a conference call on her laptop. A minute later, she leans over, "I'm sorry, this lady is so irritating," referring to the woman currently speaking during said call. A moment later (lag), the woman who was speaking stops speaking, and then another moment passes, and then she asks, "I'm sorry. Is there something you wanted to share, cause," and then she's not sure what she heard, so she says, "it was silent, and then I heard you cough." The manager-lady in my office talked her way out of it, quite adeptly, sort of, and blamed the whole thing on "me" the other person in her physical presence in the office, as if we were talking about someone else. The woman on the other end of the call definitely did not believe her, but she moved on. The manager-lady in my office double checked that her mic was actually turned off, and we both started to laugh so, so hard. 

The Ordeal

Theoretically, one learns and grows and gains, and then, one day, one must have all of that learning, growing and gaining put to the test.

Pass or Fail proves much

That's why it's best not to boast about things that have yet to be tested

But then, when The Ordeal has been passed, a new level has been reached

Most people, I find, do not like to reach

Change Winds

When you feel the winds of change ... 

... change.

Reach out and hold tight to the Ride that is your life

There's something really powerful about two people

And the lattes just appear

But when the winds of change begin to blow, it can be difficult to know for whom the change will be "good" and for whom it will be "bad"


I think it requires a very stress-free life to accurately distinguish between what is and isn't urgent. If you're living in a state of urgency, everything has the buzz of urgency to it, cause you're hyper-aware of the urgent thing, so it becomes difficult to distinguish between what actually is urgent and what is not because everything feels urgent. If you're living in a state of non-urgency, a state of calm, stress-free-ness, then, when things come up as urgent, you feel it much more strongly. What is the state of urgency other than stress? And we all know that, say it with me, "Stress is the ultimate killer." 


It's good to feel a little stress from time to time. It is when one lives in the constant state of stress where stress can really do its damage. What is exercise but a little stress on the body. The body grows stronger, and the level of physical stress the body can tolerate grows along with the mental strength that grows with your belief in your strength. But then the body must also relax, for to have the body shut down is, literally, death. The body does not shut down, ever, until it dies. The body sleeps, but it does not stop. Thus, the body must be rested to reach a level of lowest possible usage, from time to time. 

Imagine. The body is being alive and doing all of its physical and physiological and psychological duties, non-stop. If the body stops, the body dies. This means that we must actively rest the bodies from which we consciously arise, but rest is very very difficult for the body to find. 

The difficulties include, but are not limited to ::

  • Economic Class
    • How it determines where you can rest
    • How it determines when you can rest
    • How it determines how you can rest
    • How it determines the quality of any rest that can be had
    • How it determines the duration of any rest that can be had
    • Etc.
  • Physical Health
    • Some people are genetically "luckier" than others, fact. The dice were rolled before every single one of us came into being
  • I thought that this list would be longer, which is why this portion of writing is in list-form, but alas, it is not, cause I can't (won't) think of anything else, cause I just don't feel like brain-storming, right now, cause the bodybuddy/lifemate beezed me up real good after getting home from my surprise-jobbing shift, but I'm not complaining, cause I'm not; I'm just stating the facts, cause, as a writer, it's nice to have a day or two away from my fucking day-job every week or so, so that I can do this thing that I can do all day with or without pay, write (think and write [and read {think and write and read}]).
Basically, if you're poor—aka go to a job for your income—then you're sorta up shit-creek as far as rest is concerned, and really, that is the crime against the human labor force that's being committed by profit-motivated corporations, in this second decade of this twenty-first century, just fyi.

The Tag Enforcer

Person A, Person B, and Person C have a quick, in-passing, jobplace social interaction

The jobplace hierarchy is as follows:
  1. Person A
  2. Person C
  3. Person B

Person A sees Person C approaching, but Person B does not see Person C

Person A to Person C, "Yea, Person B is walking around like he's the new Tag Enforcer."

Person B authoritatively, almost smugly states, "I am the Tag Enforcer!" and then Person B gets a glimpse of Person C, and for a split second, terror washes over Person B's face.

Person C, "Yea, that's right! You're the Tag Enforcer!"

Relief smooths over Person B

09 July 2024

She &Squirrel

flick, flick, flicker

thick, thick, thicker

lick, lick, lick-her


Squirrel sonorously screams something suddenly, "AHHHHHHHHH!" She stirs, "What the fuck!" Squirrel sits upright on the stone, paw to his chest, "I, saw myself." "Clearly?" she asks. "Yes," Squirrel admits. "Holy fuck," she whispers. 


"No. It's not that the grass is greener. It's that the grass looks greener," the wind carries a voice. Squirrel perks up and nudges her, "Do you hear that?" "Nooo," she scoffs, sarcastic. They stand, Squirrel upon the stone, she upon the shore, to meet friend or foe.


It's not like, three big mountain peaks. It's more like one large mountain peak that's eroding, and so there are three tips to the one big peak. There's another place, though, where multiple peaks meet, and I thought of this place not so long ago after learning about what beavers are, what they do. And it was because of this learning about beavers that I realized something about this other place where there are multiple peaks to which I could be referring when referring to the place where three peaks meet, and the thing that I realized is that there's a small lake at the base of the valley at the top of which is this other place where multiple peaks meet, and for my entire life, I knew that there was a family of beavers who lived in that lake, because everyone knew, because that was the feature of that lake, and so, what I realized is that that lake was beaver-made by that family of beavers! 

This just opens the floodgates to questions about beavers. Like, seriously, what the fuck. If you want to talk about the things that shape things as we know them, beavers are high up on that list of interesting world-builders, etc.


Water is a tired metaphor.


Some emotions can be ridden into the past.

The future is not a place to which one ought to jump. The future is best-had at the speed at which you consider time to be passing "normally," etc. Think about it. If you jump to the future, you're skipping over time, and in that time things will have unfolded that you will not know about, thus, you are specifically thrusting yourself into an unknown situation, ill-equipped and not-prepared. It's a total loser's situation. Only a fool would jump/skip-travel to the future. When traveling to the past, however, you know a lot more than the people in that past. You're over-equipped to exist in the past. Only a complete narcissist would travel to the past.

To the past, travel on! But don't linger. 

When someone arrives to you via the future, what's the one best question to ask to be convinced?


Wrapping my mind around the idea of fire is becoming increasingly more difficult.


Zooooooiit! "Goddammit, Ladybug!" Squirrel shouts as Ladybug zips around the little campsite she and Squirrel have set up, chuckling; "AH!" Squirrel screams as you approach. "What the fuck?" she scampers atop the stone with Squirrel at the sight of you. 

"Calm down," Ladybug dismisses with both top arms as it finds a desirable landing spot. 

"Why the fuck you bringing a Linger-er, here, Lady?!" she and Squirrel shout simultaneously. "You think this was my choice?" Ladybug gestures in your direction. "Ugh!" she and Squirrel scorn.

A gust of wind blows by. She and Squirrel settle down on the ground as Ladybug zooms over their heads onto the stone upon which they were squirming. "That's better," Ladybug smiles. "Fuck you, Lingerer," she and Squirrel sigh.


You ought to know better than to leave unused/unneeded lights on.


But why?

Must she die?

After every lie?


"Stories either exist outside of an economic reality, or the economic reality is the story," Squirrel pontificates with a puff. "Where did you get that?" she asks, aroused. Squirrel hands the pipe over. "There are lots of stories that exist within economic reality that have nothing to do with the economic reality of 'reality,' today," Ladybug contributes. "Oh yea?" Squirrel challenges. "Maybe," Ladybug suggests. She and Squirrel exchange eye-rolls. 

She and Squirrel share puffs then pass the pipe to you. 

"No," she points, angry, "Go back."

She and Squirrel share puffs then pass the pipe to you. "Yea, now go on, say the parts you left out," she goads.

"You hit the pipe," you state. "Good," she smiles as she reaches for the pipe. 

"Leave the goddamn Lingerer alone," Ladybug pshts with all four top legs as it sits back on its haunches, tired, satisfied, ready for day. "Fuck you," Ladybug yawns.

The three fall asleep cuddled by the fire, backs against the stone. "Shut up," each of them groans independently, like drunk sailors.

04 July 2024

F-Words & some shotgun shots

fraught friendships find fake freedom

falling fruits fly freely from former forests felled

fucking fuckers frolic ferociously forecasting fright

from frothier formations, feudalistic fissures foam fancy financial footwork

frankly, foreign foods finish first

[these were the last words i wrote when i realized that i ought to take a writing rest; all other words beyond this first kitty icon were written, like all other posts, today, the timestamp date of this post.]


If you're looking for some sorta update about the month of June, it's already been posted in the form of food.

Never. The. Less.

June was one long-ass month (from my perspective *iroll* cause this is my blog, remember, duh). I realized that I needed to take a writing break about four days into the month (see writing above), so I took a break, but being the writer that I am, I typically only need about one metric week (ten days) or a week &a half to feel rested. 

After one metric week passed, I started to get antsy and wanted to write, but then, I realized that I have been writing—nonstop—on this site since May 2022. The last time I took a month off from writing was April 2022. Two whole years, writing. I'm a mother-fucking beast. And, as stated, I wasn't even tired. I took the break before actually falling apart and losing it, which is what I would consider, "growth," lol. So, now I know. I have, at minimum, two solid years of nonstop writing in me. Damn. 

Oh, and I've been jobbing a goddamn job this whole time, too, just fyi, full-time for the past full calendar year (and I only took two sick days, about a year ago, and have yet to take a vacation, although I have used one whole vacation day to take off a Friday about three months ago). 


There's no commentary to be had on any current topics that even remotely interest me, at this time.



I, obviously, ended up having a lot of free time during my writing rest, and with this free time, I spent a lot of time time traveling, to the past, and as I saw my life in the decades-long perspective from which I can now view my life (since, yes, I am nearly forty), I understand my life in a different way. I've had one seriously incredible life, thus far. I basically have zero complaints at this point. I have zero regrets, and I give zero fucks. And I have to remind myself—constantly—that not all people get to have the type of life that I've had and continue to aspire to have. And yes, of course, some of it is luck (the abilities/circumstances with/into which I was born, etc), but a lot of it is also my own hard fucking work. The bodybuddy/lifemate and I were in our early twenties when we set out to financially free ourselves. Creating a plan took a few years, and then implementing that plan is what we've been doing for the past decade, and a decade later, we not only stuck to the plan, the plan is working.

"CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE! Oh, this is all so well and good, except that you're not [race redacted]! What do you know? You've just been handed everything cause you're not [race redacted], and only [race redacted] people can ever know anything at all, and [race redacted] people are the only people who can overcome struggle, cause only [race redacted] struggle is real struggle! Check your fucking privilege!" they scream and shout (and blame).

To which I respond with a flippant chuckle.

All I will say on the matter (cause, generally speaking, plebs do not enjoy talking about money, and so, I'm sure some of you have completely tuned out by this point) is that, unless you were born into money (as in, you never have to job a day in your life cause your family just drops cash into an account with your name on it) you should not buy anything that you cannot afford in cash. 

Of course, credit is an amazing capitalistic tool, but it is not a tool that ought to be utilized by the financially illiterate poor.


ANYONE (even those egomaniacal office jobbers [omg, can you imagine being an office jobber who makes, maybe $100K+/year who worries about money! bahahahahahaha! goddamn, that life must suck so hard! they spend as fast and as much as they can make just to show everyone else in that job-tier that they can! Un-fucking-believable, bahahahahaha! i hope you die in that house you can't afford. bahahaha!]) WHO MUST SHOW UP TO A JOB TO BE DOLED OUT WAGES TO LIVE ON IS POOR, A WORKING-CLASS PEASANT.

I'ma poor peasant. I love it. There's so much freedom to be had. 

I show up to a job, five days a week (or forty hours [a soft forty, cause i usually only work about thirty-six to thirty-eight, cause i can, and i'm not so cash-strapped that i must live in a life of miserable overwork to make ends meet]), and the earnings that I earn ($23/hr +an array of manager-level benefits) is the money that we use to pay for our life (the bodybuddy/lifemate works part-time [three shifts per week] for about $20/hr +union benefits). And at the end of every month, we have money leftover. And since we currently have a nice little cash stash (for emergencies, etc.), we invest the rest of our monthly surplus. Our monthly expenses have been so low for the past decade that we've been living in "poverty," on paper, until this past year, when we moved. Luckily my job's hourly went up to the point it is now, which has brought our total living expenses above the poverty line. We intentionally moved to a knowingly expensive place, because we thought we could put our financial literacy to work, and we can. 

We don't have any kids, cause we don't want them. So, if you need to tune out cause your ego is telling you that you can't do what we did cause kids are expensive, then please, leave.

I also work a business that is mine. All mine. (Majority mine.) 

The money from the business, however, gets funneled right back into that business—for the time being—until that business makes enough money to pay me out a salary that I deem comfortable enough for me to quit my job as an exploitee for an employer.

But I also want to have five bank accounts filled with $250K each before I quit jobbing for good. I will drop down to part-time when we've reached a certain milestone we've mapped out, and at some point, when I'm comfortable with our total cash+net worth, I will quit jobbing. 

When I leave the jobbing market, I never ever want to return. 

The point is not to have no-job. Jobs are great. Jobs are easy. You show up. You do what you're told. You make zero decisions. Jobs make the world go 'round. Jobs are places where you can show up and someone will pay you. You don't even have to be good at your job to get paid. Jobs are the reason why you get to live the life you live despite your average intellect. 

Most jobbers should be very very grateful that there are jobs out there that they can do and that someone will pay them to do said jobs. I still cannot get over the fact that there are so many people out there who think that they somehow "deserve" a "better" job when they cannot even accomplish menial tasks with high accuracy. The general mindset of the American (United Statesian *iroll*) Jobber is unbelievably egotistical and narcissistic. 

You think you can run a Fortune 500 company? You think you can run a branch of any company?

You can't even take the trash out and replace the trash bag properly.

And do you even know when the trash ought to be taken out with the greatest efficiency when considering the trash route pickup of the establishment that you loathe so much?

Didn't think so. 

"But that's not information that a CEO needs to know," they say.

To which I reply, "A lot of CEOs did not found the companies they currently 'run,' and if you don't know that the Board Members of most companies are the people who run most companies, why are you even speaking out loud about such things?"


There's nothing worse than a Loud, Shitty Leader. 


Most Liars are Pathetic People Pleasers


Did you know that even complimenting a [race redacted] woman is oftentimes read as insulting?


I'll just say this ...

... my Plans have plans.


I realized not too long ago, that there are some women who complain about people asking to touch their hair. What they fail to realize is that for some women (namely those with gorgeous, perfect, long, straight, thick, black, asian hair) asking would be a welcome act of respect when considering that most people who want to touch their hair simply reach out and start stroking it.  

"You obviously don't get it. There's a whole history of [race redacted] women who have been treated like side shows, and so, when [race redacted] women treat [race redacted] women this way—wanting to physically touch [race redacted] women like an artifact—they're exerting their [race redacted] colonizer supremacy over [race redacted] women," they educate.

To which I respond, "Or maybe you're just giving [race redacted] people or people, in general, who am I kidding, lol, way too much credit, and generally speaking, people like to touch and be near people and things they find to be beautiful."


And how fucking gross is it that both [race redacted] and [race redacted] women purchase the hair grown specifically by Asian women to wear as their own in the form of vanity wigs *barf* like, they have hair of their own, and yet, they opt to wear the hair of other women of a very specific race.

You wanna talk about appropriation? BAHAHAHAHA! Go fuck yourself!


It's better to be nice than right, only if the people around you are all average.


You're there

on your bed

the rectangle upon which your whole body can fit

the bed in a room

a rectangle in which the whole bed can fit

the room inside a larger home

a home a part of a larger neighborhood

the neighborhood

one of many that create the city

the city in a country

the country on a continent

the continent on a planet

that planet


among multiple planets that orbit a star


the center of a solar system

among many solar systems in an infinite universe

a universe of an infinite, unknowable, number of universes

and in that universe

there's a solar system

a solar system with a star named Sun

and of the multiple planets that orbit Sun

there's one called Earth

and on Earth there are continents

and on those continents are countries

and in those countries there are cities

and those cities are made up of neighborhoods

and those neighborhoods are made up of homes

and inside those homes are rooms

and in one of those rooms is a bed

and on that bed

there you are


It should be a relief to you that nobody knows who you are. Your actions are not being made public, unless you make them public ("fame" and "celebrity" exempted, for the moment, as, in general, the vast, vast majority of people are not "famous"). You're a nobody. Nobody cares what you do with your life. It is only you who thinks that other people are even thinking about you. Or worse, not-thinking about you.


Nobody thinks about you nearly as much as you think about yourself. 

In fact, nobody's thinking of you at all.

If this idea makes you want to end it all cause your life is meaningless, congratulations, you're not special; you're human. 

Get up. Let's go.


&as Earth spins on in its revolutionary rotation, the photons of its star will inevitably reach the relative space within which I currently exist, and within this spread of photons, I would rather shrivel up and die than be forced to confront my existence (&or reality) in the harsh, punishing light of day. 


&so, for some final thoughts on some stuff, it's no insult at all to be insulted by someone. I would argue that an insult is one of the greatest compliments a person could give to another, cause, in essence, the person hurling insults is thinking about you. With a known life being but one hundred years—best case scenario in this second decade of this twenty-first century—someone out there is spending time thinking about you. Of all of the things that there are to do in this life, and someone is thinking about you. What a great compliment. 

The next time you feel insulted, thank the person for insulting you. Thank them for spending their life's finite time thinking about you. It's beautiful. It's such a gift to be thought of in this me-first world. 

02 July 2024

June in Food

finally stopped in a local
반찬 shop
&got everything (not literally *iroll*)

i made the bodybuddy/lifemate the cheesecake
on the day
but then i gifted him the budget
to bake himself a cake that he'd typically
not-bake due to it's general expensiveness, etc.