So, if you’ve been reading my blog at all lately, you will have noticed that I’ve been struggling to maintain relationships with people. I do not believe this to be my fault, as I am quite the kin-keeper and have all the free time and only care about people, art, and magic; nor do I believe it to be entirely “their” fault, either. Having done battle magic for the past 15 years against some pretty heavy hitters (the Freemasons, the Catholic Church, the New World Order/Illuminati), I seemed to have drummed up a bit of ill will among them, to say the least. To say the most, they fiendishly pursue the end of my pleasures at every opportunity they can find, make, or foist upon my unsuspecting new acquaintances.
However, ever since they started their campaign to make me crazy and lonely and sad, I have met some of the most amazing people of my life and I wanted to immortalize them here, in prose, in my blog; for some of our stories are the stuff of high drama and truest romance and I want to share them with you all to give you, and myself, hope (and also to keep as much of them as I can remember alive, as well).
Here they are, in chronological order, and segregated by gender. All the men, for the most part, are Christs and all the women are mainly Magdalens. *Sigh* C’est la vie.
The Boys
9/21/22> ROBI
Ah, Robi. The real deal, the realest of the real, the best
I’ve ever had and probably the most unique, too. A Korean-Indian disc golf
player with a degree in Environmental Science from UGA with a minor in English, I think... So, so hot and so, so doesn’t know it. We never ate out, we always
cooked for one another, and one time, I spent like $32 on a bottle of mead for
one of our very few rendezvous. We met ON the Autumnal Equinox (my favorite pagan holiday) at the practice basket on the disc golf
course in the local park, Alexander. He spoke to me first, saying that he liked
my discs, which are actually very cool and something I have curated. I wasn’t looking for a man at the time,
more like a woman, but I had just cleared my heart chakra for the first time
like an hour before, so I was open to it. I was at the disc golf course doing
research on the landscaping layout of the holes in relation to their numbers so I could more easily write the part of my
novel that deals with disc golf.
We started talking and he was cool and cute and we obviously had something in common, so I went with it. He was 25, in between environmentalism jobs, and currently working as a shoes salesman as Fleet Feet in Buckhead (this super piqued my interest as shoes are sexual). I asked him about his shirt, which was a blue, disc golf jersey with that archetypal, wood-cut, wave print from Japan. I asked him if he was Japanese and he kinda called me a racist as a joke, to which I hit him with my advanced knowledge of his shirt and its pattern and he was like, wow, ok, never mind.
He made me guess what race he was and I couldn’t, I kept guessing he was mixed with white. He was not mixed with white, but half Korean and half Indian. He asked me to play the course with him and his dad, a severe, antisocial, but rather attractive, older Korean man. Eventually his dad got annoyed with me (cuz I bad at disc golf), and Robi asked me to leave, which was my preference as I was not prepared to play that day and his dad was fairly unpleasant and did not hide his frustration; but Robi got my number and texted me a few hours later, asking me out. Now, this is one of the only times in my life that a guy has actually asked me out properly. I agreed and we set the date for late on Sunday night, on the 25th. I should have known then (25 is just about the worst number for relationships there is).
I remember I went grocery
shopping with my mom that day and we had an early dinner at Tooey’s, my local
dive bar. I ate their shrimp salad, which is actually delicious. When I got to
the address he gave me at 9, it was a home just inside the perimeter (a
ring-like highway around Atlanta). I was a bit…wary of walking into a man’s
home, alone, at night, but he was so nice and seemed harmless and the home
seemed fine so I knocked and gained entry. I think his roommate answered the door, this tall,
fairly hot, Asian actor guy with no shirt on. I was like, uh…
Apparently Robi was just out of the shower and he came out a
moment later, looking super basic. I was dressed well but not too well, because
I didn’t want to go all out on a first date and scare the guy with my fantastic
fashion. I remember I was wearing my yellow-flowers-on-a-white-background
sundress I got at a thrift store in Little 5 Points called Rag-O-Rama. I had on
cowboy boots, my aunt Jeannine’s blue and silver earrings, and had done my
make-up pretty understated, again, so as not to “scare” him. Robi was wearing
like cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I was a bit unimpressed, but not entirely
deterred, because he had cooked us traditional Japanese fried chicken to
perfection. It was all battered and bubbly and crispy, and it looked fantastic, but
I had eaten my salad earlier and wasn’t super hungry, so I didn’t eat, a bit to
his chagrin. He offered me bean-paste bun things, which I declined, and his
other roommate, a goofy but affable Asian man, smoked me out.
Eventually we got the idea to get bubble tea and he looked up
a place that was still open on his phone. He drove us there and we got the same
thing, some Taro milk tea thing that we both ended up hating. They had like,
coated the cup in Taro paste and then just poured in milk, without mixing them
at all. It sucked. The cool part, though, was that for some reason, there was
this like, gutted VW van from the 60’s inside the place that we sat in and
talked. I found out his mom went to UNC like mine did, she was Indian, and she
liked to talk to strangers on the street or out in public for an inappropriate
amount of time. I found out he had an older sister that he said was the only
child his parents wanted. I found out both his parents were black belts, and
one time, when he talked back to his dad, he found himself on his back on the
floor without knowing how he’d gotten there. It was pretty cute and ideal and
funny that we both didn’t like the milk tea and were sitting in this vintage van inside a bubble tea place neither of us had ever been to. As we were disembarking from the
immobile, kitschy van, a slew of Aisany, Indiany guys walked in.
I went home soon after and did not kiss him because, as a rule, I try not to on the first date. He texted me cute things right when I was thinking of him after this. On the second date, however, I jumped into bed with him. 😉 He had a tiger piece of art above his bed, and so I knew he was a good one (tigers=Christ). He also, however, had some Game of Thrones poster that was dubious, and a less than thrilling bed/sheet/comforter ensemble. But, to my surprise, he pulled out a box of sex-toy-related paraphernalia at one point. He told me he was like a tester or product reviewer or something and got it all for free. We played with some cards that told us to do things like put flavored lube somewhere on our bodies and have our partner find it. That was whatever, but the sex was like, amazing. Wait, hold on, that was another time.
The first time we did it was at my place, on my couch, and I remember
his penis, like, slipped in me perfectly, without either of us having to guide it
or touch it all, which is like, unheard of for me, or anyone I know, or have seen have sex. It was like some magnetic thing, and it was so, so, so good.
First of all, the man was hung and it was beautiful. Just like I like 'em: big, brown, and uncircumcised. And he knew how to use it. He also took
his time and ate the fuck out of my pussy, without my having to ask, and said
he liked doing it. Ugh, it was the best. Just the absolute pinnacle of sex and
connection and amazement. We also had like, palpably incredible chemistry: it was that whole,
breathing-each-others-breath, dancing-in-the-sheets, you-move-I-move, SEX sex thing. Still, to this day, Robi was the best I have ever had.
We had other weird things in common, too, like we were both insomniacs. We talked about how much it sucked to go without sleep and how hard it was to fall asleep and to stay that way. When he called me to “break up” with me a few weeks after we met, he cited “not being able to sleep after we had sex” as the reason. Also something about bad mental health? But, I was like, uhhhh, that’s weird, because most guys fall asleep after sex, and if you can’t sleep anyway, going sexless isn’t going to help anything. He also told me he felt guilty every time he had sex in general. He also said some shit about being addicted to porn. I was like ok, whatever, but I was actually devastated.
He was everything I wanted: I
love Asia and India, we could talk about books and disc golf and worshipping
the earth, and he was, ya know, dynamite in bed. Plus, there was just no one
like him at all: a beautiful, Korean-Indian Christ who could cook, competently
play pool, and had the humility born of being the unwanted child. He was
perfect, and he was leaving me for nothing. I knew something was up, though,
because he spoke at length about how hard it was for him to get girls and how
hard he had to try: looking up Youtube videos on tips about picking up chicks, he
had bought air fresheners and candles because he had “heard girls liked them”, and he went to
online dating events where the girls "never chose the minority men". But he was
letting me go and there was nothing I could do. So, I let him go, too, but I
never forgot him and I still haven’t.
Months later, on the evening of February 9th, I
rolled up to his house at like 11pm and called him and knocked on his door,
just trying to get some of that delicious, brown D. He did not answer or pick
up or anything, so I wrote him off as a lost cause and moved on. However, a few
days later, on Valentines Day, while I was literally hanging out high on
another guy’s bed, he called me. I was elated, but I was with my other
man-friend, so I didn’t pick up. He left a message, which I kept for all time,
saying I should come by and we could get bubble tea. After I left my friend,
which was pretty early (he had to be up at 4am), I called Robi and came over. I
was wearing another floral sundress, this time orange and white with no bra, with the
cowboy boots again. We hoped into bed and had the time of our lives. I remember
right before we did it, I did this thing where I was like cupping his face or
shaking his shoulders and saying jokingly that I was really excited because he
was a tasty treat. He had grown a bit of a gut in the time we weren’t together,
but this suited me fine because it made him more like me and it looked ok on
him anyway.
I think we hung out one more time after that, but by then I knew the drill, and so I made the most of it, because I knew it would likely be over soon. That’s when I bought the mead, and he cooked fish tacos, which I helped him with by cutting the fillets down the middle so as to more easily fit them into the tortillas; and then we both cleaned up the kitchen afterwards. I think this startled him a bit, because he was used to cooking for his roommate(s) and they probably aren't much for cleaning up. I remember saying then or later in response to his apparent surprise: "A woman is a whole different thing".
I remember we looked through his hot roommate’s room that night, and Robi was like, astounded to discover he was a quasi-nerd, with Star Wars stuff everywhere. Apparently the guy was banging hos off Tinder nightly and so it was astonishing to Robi that he was still a dork inside. Idk. We also played Monopoly that night, at Robi’s behest (I just wanted to fuck immediately). It was the original card version (yeah, apparently Monopoly was a card game back in the day) and he had to teach me how to play. It was funny because when I picked cards from the pile, I picked from within the deck at random, while he picked the top card every time. He gave me shit for my quixotic choice to choose at random, but my cards were bangin’ properties and he got the same pointless shit over and over (which was weird) and I eventually won, without having to charge much rent or do anything special at all besides my "card trick". That was fun, but the sex was incandescent. I remember he had this like spot-light thing in a corner of the bed and I wore lingerie and I laid in the light and it was all very picturesque, and, of course, breathtakingly pleasurable. We listened to my music when we had sex because his musical tastes were still being developed, and that night we listened to my Sex After Cigarettes station on Pandora. I remember this song "Chateau" by the Angus and Julia Stone couple that sang together played, and whenever I hear it now, I think of him and that night.
Now, I am extremely vocal in bed and his goofy, nice roommate was just on the other side of the wall and got a serious “show”? Idk if that’s the right word, but he heard me screaming my head off and Robi’s piece of shit bed creaking the fuck out of itself. I remember I told him I liked Tina Fey that night, after we'd finished and were lying in bed, and he showed me a video of her being interviewed by Conan, I think, and it was fantastic. She talked about how her daughter was playing with dolls who were like, bumping butts, and she was saying that the butt was the most romantic part of the body. Tina talked about how she took this into her writing practice and made Tracy Jordan say stuff like that on 30 Rock.
That night, Robi let slip that he wanted to be my partner. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I think I was talking about partners and he just sort of blurted it out, pretty much against his will, a very terrible-truth coming out type thing. I played it cool because I could tell he was surprised with himself, and didn’t mean to say it, and I responded mildly with something like “We can make that happen”. It reminded me of a time before, when we were making love (and it was actually like that with him), that he accidentally told me he loved me. It was one of the early days, and I liked it, but I could tell he didn’t mean to say it, so I just let it slide unreturned, and unremarked upon. When I left that night after our perfect, stay-in date, he gave me his UNC Tarheels jacket to wear and I went home.
And that was the last time I saw him when he wasn’t obligated to tell me to go away. A few days later, on 2/22/22 I asked him to be my exclusive boyfriend, mostly for the numerology, but a bit because I thought that’s what he wanted, too. He turned me down and told me off and said we shouldn’t even be friends. He cited our difference in religion as why he didn’t want to be with me, which is weird because I am not religious, nor is he. I am super spiritual and he is sort of agnostic with a side of atheism, but, like, who cares? Isn't the best sex of your life more important than what each of you privately thinks about spirit? It never came up and I didn’t like, proselytize or even really talk to him about God or spirit or anything.
It was weird, but by this time I knew
what was up, so I let him go again. I did some magic in and on his UNC coat
(nothing love-spell like, just sort of remember-me, I-hope-you-find-what-you’re-looking-for
type stuff) and gave him a few things when I returned it, including a thumb
drive with a letter I wrote him on it, imploring him to see reason and just be
with me. I showed up at his place a few times afterwards wanting to talk, to gauge how much truth there was in his rejection, and to see if he maybe wanted
to fuck. I could see it in his eyes and his body language that he wanted me, and that he was desperately saddened by our Romeo-Juliet dynamic, but his mouth told me to leave every time, so I did. What else could I do? It was especially devastating because one time,
I told him I had sex with the Sun (I actually did), and he told me his full name meant, like, Shinning Sun. I left him alone after the last time when he told me to
permanently stay away, but I think about him nearly every day and when I fantasize about getting turned out, it's usually him I think of.
This is the letter I wrote him:
My Dearest Robi,
You are the Sun and I am the Moon. We are complimentary opposites: a natural pair. A Magdalene and a Christ, a Yin and a Yang, a Chalice and a Blade.
We are essential, you and I, and the world needs us. We are made for a greater life. Have you ever met anyone else, at all, who also wants to change the world? Who even thinks they can?
Because I have changed the world, and so have you, in a million ways, over the course of all of history. I know you don’t believe in magic, but if you did, don’t you imagine someone like me, of noble birth, schooled in art and literature, beautiful and talented, could change the world with it? And don’t you imagine someone like you, of mixed birth, schooled in environmentalism and literature, beautiful and talented, could also? Why do you think they’re trying so hard to keep us apart? Because of what we could do, who we could be, if we were together.
You are the Sun and I am the Moon. Together, we are the light of this world. I know it sounds crazy, but we are. Technically everyone is. That is something we have to teach. All I’m offering you is the truth, so that you may spread the good news, as you were meant to.
You see, the world is in a state of flux. In my generation and before, were born these people called Indigo Children. They are light warriors tasked with taking the system down. I am one of them, and I am especially powerful because I was born in the year of the Dragon, because of who my family is, and because of another reason, which I may never tell you.
You are likely of the next generation, the Crystal Children, who have come to build a new world, to show people the way to the heavenly future, after I finish dealing with our hell of a past. You see, it was always the plan for Earth to ascend. It’s just happening now and we are a part of it, a BIG part of it.
I have been working for a decade and a half to “bring the system down” and it has made me the most powerful enemies you could ever imagine. And yet, I am still here. I still fight. And I will continue to fight to better this life. I wish you would do the same. I am living proof that they are not all-powerful. They may have found your deepest desires and fears and are using them to manipulate you, but they are not infallible, and one thing they cannot control is your deciding that you no longer are afraid. Join me, Robi, and fear not.
Now, you may ask, how am I fighting? What, exactly, am I doing? I’ll tell you. I am fighting with symbols, intention, and energy, or “magic”. These symbols manifest, manipulate, and move energy according to my intention. Magic basically consists of imagining (my magical) light doing different things, gathering intention in the form of stones, oils, plants and sundry symbols, and going places where bad magic is and fucking with it. I do it with love in my heart and disdain for the bad guys, and I invite and implore you to join me.
Basically, I fight the good fight and I want you with me. There is a way in which a man is like a tree and a woman is like the soil. You must grow in her, using her “nutrients” and water, and arranging yourself in and around her. Without her, there is no tree. Let me tell you, I am rich earth. I have grown men very tall. I once did a prosperity spell for a lover and he got a new job that paid him $25,000 more a year. But you, Robi, have no soil but your mother, and her pot is full. It’s one of the reasons you always hit trees in Disc Golf: you’re competing with your father for your mother, constantly “hitting his tree” in an attempt to "gain the goal" aka "grow in her soil". You need your own pot, with soil as rich as you deserve.
I may or may not be that soil for you, it’s up to you, but I can be. I can cherish you, support you, dream your dreams for you. I can build you a life, a legacy, and love beyond anything you have yet to experience. The thing is: I am going to do great things one day. I already have, in the shadow, where only the shadow knows. But one day, I will be in the light, where everyone knows who I am. And you can come with me, or say you knew me when. You saw me win at Monopoly without even trying, and without having to “collect rent”. You’ve seen a bit of my fashion, you’ve heard a bit of my life, you know a bit of my philosophy. Am I not extraordinary? And you really have no idea, the things I’ve done, the empires I’ve toppled, the causes I’ve supported who’ve won, and everything in between. The book I am writing is going to define a generation, I am going to inherit my mother’s fortune, and politics are my plaything. That is the energy that surrounds me.
Let’s talk about the energy surrounding you. Your home: 3590 Pine St. The numerology of that address is one of disruption of the community, a crisis of collective identity, and a coming down of white jackasses on three young, Asian men. You see, 3 is the number of the community and 5 is the number of chaos and crisis. 9 is an amplifying number, truly meaning finality, the pinnacle, or “orgasm”. 0 is a place holder, a buffer, a certain amount of space. So with the number 3590 we have a community that is in constant upheaval and generally separated and cut off from the rest, especially with regards to sex and orgasm, followed by space, as in this collective identity crisis is so instilled in this space that it is endemic and cannot be changed (by any other number coming up “behind” it because the 0 caps it off, pushing it out into its own space, forever). Basically, that place is a sexual pressure cooker of dysfunctional communal identity.
Now let’s talk about Pine St. The Pine tree is a symbol of many things: fertility, enlightenment, and eternal life, to name a few. It is used as Christmas trees and to build Shinto temples in Japan and burning its resin produces purity, releasing a person of GUILT. Interesting, then, that it is your street. But what really interests me is that your street is not continuous: it turns, and then turns again. It is essentially a “crooked” pine, with the chi being cut by those turns, and because of that, all these symbolic things (fertility, enlightenment, and eternal life) are worse than latent in your home: they are thwarted. All the sex and light and life inherent in the pine is lost. Now, I imagine in other neighborhoods it is not so, neighborhoods where the bad guys reign. Their pine streets are probably long and straight. Why? you should ask. Because everything is magic, including street names and the way they’re laid out. In short, the old, white men who decide things are fucking you over with the energy surrounding your home.
Have you ever wondered what those “parking lots” are on the right side of the road on the way into your neighborhood? Across the road from that Hispanic fertility center? I’ll tell you. They’re bad magic, of the kind that I am intimately familiar with: those “parking lots” are magic intended to keep in place the sex slave trade. How? you ask. I once went down there and poked around; what I found was a set of “abandoned” mail boxes (why would there be mailboxes down there?). Now, any type of box is considered a symbol for a vagina and an abandoned one is a symbol of a sex slave vagina. In the 5th slot was a very old container of honey.
We already established that 5 is the number of chaos and crisis and, as you can imagine, honey is a symbol of sweetness and sex. So you can see that this was bad magic to make the “chaotic” (5) vagina (aka sex slave vagina) sweet (desirable). I know, you may think, that’s all coincidence/bullshit. But really, who goes into an empty parking lot and puts a tub of honey in an abandoned mail box, a mail box that goes nowhere? Anyway, I feel like you can relate to this energy. Think about it: isn’t every woman you or your roommates bring over reminiscent of a prostitute? I can’t remember if I told you that this is the main focus of my magic: dispelling the magic that keeps in place the human trafficking system. Anyway, that is one reason ya’ll have so much trouble with women: the numerology of your home, the name and configuration of your street, and the “energy” (magic) surrounding it.
The reason I focus so much on the human trafficking magic is because sex is the most powerful force on the planet and what they do with it by operating the sex slave trade affects everyone in the world. It “ruins” sex for everyone, keeping everyone frustrated and unsatisfied and isolated so that we can’t see or resist or align with each other to do anything about it, or anything about anything. When people aren’t getting the right kind of sex, they’re vulnerable to psychic attack, from social media, the news, Hollywood, the church, politicians, anything, because they’re trying to fill that void and “society” (old white men) are more than willing to fill it for them, with the most unimaginable trash as a substitute for the loving, wholesome sex that is meant to fill a person. When men seek out sex slaves and find them, it fucks with the whole energy of sex on the entire planet, not to mention all the bad magic that makes this “system” possible. This could be why you have such a problem with porn: you’re caught up in this negative sexual displacement just like everyone else. Porn is your “sex slave”, and, like any John (men who visit prostitutes), you hate it and yourself for engaging with it even as you engage with it.
Part of the problem is that the sex slave/John energy filters up through the ground (they keep them underground) and essentially turns many people into symbolic sex slaves and symbolic Johns. And it’s all kept in place by magic: systemic, evil, unimaginable magic. And that shit is everywhere and in every age. This is what I fight: this massive, crushing, ubiquitous energy of bad sex. I write about it, talk about it, and do magic about it. It is, I believe, the most important thing to do. Without healthy sex, people are crushed into submission from a system that does not care about them, like Orwell’s 1984. Good sex is an act of protest and resistance and is life-affirming for every aspect of our existence.
This is why I am so ardently pursuing you. This is why I cannot leave you alone. Because our sex is holy: good for us and good for all people and even good for the earth herself. Because when a Christ and a Magdalene come together in holy union, plants grow better, the skies are more beautiful, and the world sings its greatest song. This is why I am content to have any relationship with you, because sex with you is, literally, the best. I want you, Robi, for more than just my own pleasure and yours; for God’s pleasure and the pleasure of the entire world.
Since the Earth is a symbol of the body, specifically the female body, you, too, fight my fight. The rape of the Earth is symbolically and literally an affront on women and their bodies and contributes to the bad magic that keeps the sex slave trade in place. WE FIGHT THE SAME FIGHT, you and I. We both fight for the Earth and women and sex. And not only do you fight my fight, your mother and my mother “come from the same place”, Chapel Hill. We both like literature, disc golf, pool, cooking, lingerie, and sex. You are exactly what I want and more. You text me the perfect amount and exactly when I want you to, you touch me just how I like, and we both have beautiful sex organs. 😉
You are the Sun, Robi, which I’ve literally had sex with, and I am the Moon. We were made for each other. Be with me, in any way you want, as you were meant to.
I understand if you can’t, though. It’s a lot to ask, to face your fears and say fuck you to a whole worldwide conglomerate that you don’t understand but that seems to know everything about you. I get it. The thing is: this is your destiny, this is the true task, and, really, there is nothing else to do. This is the only game in town. It is your karma, as a Christ, to step out of the system and join a Magdalene to change the world, together. Now, I am not the only Magdalene, just as you are not the only Christ. If you do not choose me, then at least choose a Magdalene. Look for red hair, the number 57 (the rose), and the colors blue and pink.
But honestly, it was a miracle the we found each other. It was the Autumnal Equinox, I had just meditated on opening my heart chakra for the first time, and I had just had voodoo removed from me allowing men to see me again. Your first words to me were that you liked my discs. Since air is the element of the mind, this is tantamount to saying that you like my thoughts. This is interesting because the first time you “broke up” with me you said it was because your mental health was so bad. I have the remedy for that. I have near complete control over my mind, and you will too, if you hang with me enough. It is the first thing I teach: how to control your thoughts.
I know you think being with me will ruin your life, but let me ask you: what life? What is so great about where you are now? A shitty job, Tinder, and frenemies? A family that didn’t want you, a home that is fucked energetically, and a mindset that fights you? Sleepless nights, masturbating to porn, cooking for men? I will love all that into the light, and more. Come over to the light, Robi. It is where you belong.
He never responded to this and I have not seen him in months. :(((((
11/12/22 or 11/16/22> KEVIN
Oh, Kevin. We met after I had spent the day doing Christmas
shopping in Buckhead, on a Saturday night, alone, mid November 2022. I was
fresh off my break-up with Robi, but Kevin was a Godsend to pick me back up and make me believe again. We met at Ru-San's, the best sushi in Atlanta for the price, across the street from
the art store I’d been going to for a decade and a half. I went in to get food and watch the UGA game,
sat alone, and upon being seated, immediately noticed him. He was about my age,
very thin and clearly a hippie, and reading/writing in a notebook. He had that
top-knot hair that Millennials had and some still have, jeans that were really
torn (as in, in the course of their being worn a ton, not, like, “fashionable” rips-
which I hate anyway), and he was eating and drinking alone. Like, kinda
drinking-to-get-drunk drinking. He also seemed chatty with his pretty, Asian
waitress, but he did keep looking at me. We kept catching each other's eye, actually. We were both alone, I was a woman his
age, and I was wearing my black and white striped, kooky, circus-person pants, so,
you know, he noticed me. When I was finishing my meal, I decided to talk to
him, because he obviously wasn’t going to approach me, and, you know, we were both losers/badasses alone on a Saturday night at the local sushi joint.
I ordered a drink and sashayed over to his table and just sort
of sat down across from him while asking if I could. He was like, well, you
already have, and I asked him about his notebook, saying I was a writer and I had noticed him writing. He told me he was a chef and he was writing a cookbook
with recipes using foraged plants on the Appalachian Trail, which he had hiked
during the pandemic. He was my age, a little older, and his notebook was full
of fun, graphic, doodles as well as notes on the flora in the east coast
mountains. He made it known that he came there often, which was why he was so chummy with the waitress. He was a bit drunk and so he told me his life story, in a fashion.
Both his parents were dead and I think he had three sisters. He was from
Athens, didn’t go to college, and his mom had killed herself on her 55th
birthday. He said it wasn’t a super surprise, she had been talking about it all
her life, or something. He said they all went to dinner, had a good time, and
later that night she did it. I can’t remember how, but I’m pretty sure I asked
him. He also told me that like he had started to, she had migraines and had traced this back to eating bacon or some shit.
Eventually, once he was drunk, I offered to give him a ride
home and he agreed. As we walked out he told me he had no furniture, not even a
bed, and that if I wanted to split, now was the time. I did not want to, nor did I. He introduced me to his transportation, a bike, by saying “dis da whip”.
I was charmed, and even more so, when he disassembled his bike, drunk, and with
his own tools, and put it in my car. On the drive to his place, he asked me to
stop at a gas station on Peachtree St. for cigarettes. I remember the song
“SuperFreak” by Nikki Minaj was playing on the radio and I was singing along to it and got a
little embarrassed to sing the line about how you can “go down and kiss it” in
front of him, but I soldiered through. Also, I must mention, Kevin’s front
teeth were tore up, like ratchet, crazy fucked up. It looked like he’d done meth at some point.
But, you know, can’t have it all. He still looked like Jesus with that thin,
high-cheekboned face and long brown hair, and he didn’t try to hide his nasty
teeth or seem self-conscious about them at all, which I thought was cool.
When we got to his place, which was in this trendy-hoodish area of Atlanta, he let me through the gate and we walked into his apartment while I noted the numerology of his place's number, which had some 3's and 0's. It wasn’t empty, like I’d expected, but it was super sparsely furnished, for sure. There was no bed, just a sleeping bag in the other room, no tv, and no real furniture, just two tall chairs and a tall table between them. On this table were small machine things he told me were his dead father's that some estate person had tried to sell all together in a box for like $50 when just one of them was worth like $300.
What I
remember most about Kevin is his music and the insane synchronicites, which
often coincided. Like, he knew about this total random band Big Wild I liked, and we found this out when they played off his phone over his speakers that
night. I was floored. He also knew, somehow, this tiny, local, mid-90’s
Atlanta band I’ve been obsessed with my entire life, Billy Pilgrim, which is the name of the main character in Vonnegut's seminal work, Slaughter House Five. Also, he KNEW Titus (Andromeda) from Unbreakable Kimmy Shmidt, one of my all-time favorite TV shows that is, actually, about me (we'll get into that later). It's a Tina Fey show about an indomitably upbeat girl who was held hostage by an insane preacher unground for 15 years. Her bestie is this black, gay, bald, thick, singing actor "man" named Titus. The actual actor is also named Titus and is, apparently, from Athens, Georgia. AND KEVIN KNEW THIS PERSON I ADORED. He said Titus had, like, been over to his house! He was friends with his sister in high school when they did drama together! ALSO, the
next and final time we met, he was wearing a Jump, Little Children shirt. Now,
this was just insane to me, and still is.
That band and I, while its not being super special to me, have
HISTORY. And it’s not normal history or anything you’d ever guess. You see,
once upon a time, I had a sick ass playlist on Youtube that got deleted one day.
Naturally, I was devastated. Like so, so sad; like, looking up how to recover your lost Youtube playlists on Google sad. Turns out, you really can’t do it. Once
it’s gone, it’s gone. So, eventually, I started trying to rebuild my playlist
and one day I remembered this song Mexico by some small, acousticy, emoish band
from the early 2000’s that wasn’t on my original playlist and that I couldn’t
remember who had done it. But, for some reason, I was like super, duper
interested in hearing it that day and putting it on my new playlist, but I had
no idea how to go about finding it. Like, none: it was called Mexico for
Christ’s sake; everyone and their mother plays a song called Mexico, including
James fucking Taylor. So I Universed that shit: I just called upon all my Gods and Goddesses and ancestors and guides and built as much energy as I could and plunked my finger down on the
keyboard, blind. I ended up hitting the letter J and omg, YEAH, it was by Jump
Little Children and I found it and listened to it and my life was changed
forever after.
And KEVIN WAS WEARING THIS BAND’S SHIRT. Like, of all the
shirts he could have worn, of all the bands with shirts, of all the days we
could have hung out, it all lined up and he wore a Jump Little Children shirt
on our first real date. So, yeah, synchronicity central up in here. Anyway, back
to that first night. We played each other music and talked and smoked ganja and ended
up listening to music from when we were teenagers via this Millennial Mix
playlist on Youtube. It was AMAZING, and so much fun, and I literally couldn’t
stop myself from dancing around his empty living room. And he wasn’t leering or
licentious at all so I felt comfy being as wild as I wanted to be, which is
pretty freakin' wild. Plus I was high, and in crazy pants, and I had nothing to
do the next day. So I danced my heart out: I danced with wild abandon, droppin' it like it was hot, to the
music of my coming-of-age years, before I even knew what sex was. And Kevin was
cool about it. At some point, he did start to "look on me with desire", and I
felt it, too, but I was on my period and said so, just to be a straight shooter.
At some point, we went to the corner store to get toilet paper because he had run out. I bought a bottle of water and was going to buy this dumb My Little Pony for one of my baby cousins for Christmas, but it was like $10 at this middle-of-the-city CVS on the corner of Boulevard. When I didn’t and was complaining about how much it cost on the way back to his place, he said he would have bought it for me if I’d asked. Which I thought was just so nice and touching and generous; and not something many people, let alone men, let alone a man I’d known for a few hours, would ever do.
Soon after, I wanted to
go home because I was tired and there was literally no place I could sleep at
his apartment. I don’t know why, but as we walked out I mentioned that everyone
liked to beat me up: my mom, my dad, my ex-girlfriend had all laid their hands
on me in violence at one time or another, and his response to this was just to
hug me. Just a simple, friendly, hug, nothing prurient or salacious or erotic, even.
No words at all, just a reflexive, physical gesture in response to my pain, to let me know he felt for
me. It felt so good and like home and that’s something I always liked about
Kevin: he felt like home. He was from my cohort and hometown and was even
familiar with Eastern religion and thought: he had drawn an Om symbol on his
bike’s wooden box thing he made. Ahhhh, Kevin. On my way home that night, I remembered a dream I had had years before, where I found my person and his name started with a K. For a while, I felt like it was him, but alas, it was not meant to be. :(((
The next time we hung out wasn’t great at first. I picked him
up and asked him to smoke me out before we went out and he refused, saying he
didn’t that have much in his stash. He also took a while to come out. We decided to
go to Six Feet Under, this multilevel, seafood place around the corner from him
in Grant Park, across from the old cemetery with, like, confederate soldiers’
graves and shit. Ah! That’s why its called that! Just realized... anyway… He was
pretty tight-lipped the first half hour and seemed pretty uncomfortable. He was
wearing a rust-red, lightly puffy jacket in the vein of Columbia or The North
Face and not khakis, but, you know, neutral colored, not-jean, pants. Chinos?
Idk. But he looked good. Kinda hipster, kinda preppy, kinda hippy, which I
liked. I don’t remember what I was wearing but I was a bit chilly I remember,
because we sat outside. I remember rotating tables of black-clad spies behind
us, who said nothing to one another, were all ugly (as bad-side spies are wont
to be), and tried so very hard to hear what we were talking about, which wasn’t
much, until he got a few drinks in him. Then he was pretty loquacious.
I had been seduced into ordering a drink by the “peach” in
its title, and hated it upon tasting it, realizing it was mostly whiskey and
no real peach. I gave it to Kevin, which he happily drank. I ordered these
delicious salmon BLT sliders with, I think, sweet potato fries, and I think he
had the fried calamari. It was pleasant and I enjoyed myself, but I don’t super
recall what we talked about. When we got home however, I do remember some of
what we spoke about. For one thing, my bottle of water I had left at his place last time was still there on the tall table, waiting for me, so I drank that bitch. I stayed a long time, as we had gone to lunch on a Sunday, and had time to spare/kill. I ended up eating some deviled eggs he had made. They were soooooo cute and
pretty and just so, so good. They were already in his refrigerator, lined up perfectly
on this long, white, rectangular plate and looking like a dish at a restaurant.
He had put a little grated parmesan on top and it was scattered across the
porcelain as well as the eggs. They were probably the best deviled eggs I’ve
ever had and so nicely presented. And he just had this on hand, like they
had always been there, waiting for me as well.
We got high (he had more than a little in his stash) and we talked
about many things: he told me he was once engaged to a girl he dated for like 7
years; he told me he had not too many friends but one best friend with whom he
had worked in a kitchen; he told me about the eat-or-be-eaten, hazing nature of
kitchen culture and described it as “not for the faint of heart”. We talked
about where saffron comes from and why it’s the most expensive spice in the
world: apparently it’s the stamen of some flower in India and has to be like
hand-harvested by people plucking it out, one stem at a time, and then it has to be dried in the sun for so many days on these mesh racks, attended to and rotated
daily, I think. We talked about the carbs in beer and he described some
chemical process about it to me, saying, at one point, that when some chemical
“shits” it produces some other chemical, I think the carbonation. He had a cat and liked to fuck around with golf clubs when he got drunk/high alone, trying to hit a ball up into this thing. He also told me he liked international talent competitions and showed me this song this girl sang that was like tribal and ancestral and really, heart-breakingly beautiful. He also told me about this British song Bells. I put both of them on my favorites playlist and sent the ancestral one to people.
Eventually, he wanted to go have a smoke and I accompanied him outside, commenting on how little he smoked. He took me up to the roof of his building, where there was a spectacular, entirely new (for me) view of Atlanta. Now, I notoriously appreciate skylines, and thought I had seen it all when it came to Atlanta, which I now see is dumb, because there are always new views of things, and I have even seen a few more since this time. But it was a new view! And I was there, looking at it! With a fabulous Christ-man who knew so, so much about food.
There was even this reference to the Magdalene with this neon sign saying Margret or something in the view. I can't really remember, but I know it was there. He smoked and I told him a few things, like how I was rereading this fabulous book Illusions, about a young messiah who meets an older, more reluctant messiah and they fly around together, teaching and learning from each other, and having adventures in 70's middle America. He didn't seem terribly interested so I asked him about his experience with literature, which he said was nominal, so I asked him about his experience with stories in general, and he said that was nominal, too. I asked him if he ever experienced new stories at all, and he said no. I privately lamented his limited worldview and we went back inside.
Kevin and I never hooked up, never even had much sexual tension, but one time I think I saw the outline of his junk through his pants and he looked super hung... I think this may have contributed to his casual, quiet, confidence despite his ratchet teeth and scruffy facial hair. Anyway, while we never touched, we could seriously mind-meld. I really appreciated his depth and breadth of knowledge about food, his passion for it, and his multifaceted experience in many different kitchens, at many different restaurants, in many different positions. His current profession was a machinist at a place that made medical stuff like screws for your back. He showed me a defective one he brought home that was .00003% off, but when that shit is going into your body, you need it to be perfect, apparently. We talked about how the medical industrial complex is fucked up because it cost his company like $80 to make that screw, they sold it for like $800, and the hospitals that used it in surgery charged like $8,000 for its use. He mentioned an idea of 3D printing these things, but apparently the material they use for them would make this cost-prohibitive.
His cook book sounded cool, too, and he described for me what it was like to
hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine during the pandemic. Apparently, you start early spring, and end late fall, and he said a record low of people hiked it that year. He talked
about the people he met, how he got food at random towns on the trail (where he heard all about this "pandemic" that wasn't affecting him at all), and how he became so accustomed to
sleeping outdoors, on the ground, that when he returned home, he never bought a
bed. He spoke about how his trek taught him to just need nothing and that he didn't feel that he needed health insurance because everywhere he went, it was a work out on his bike, and he ate very clean and well. He even talked about his apprehension about publishing his book, worried
people would strip the trail of the flora he cited to use in his recipes. He
was a very humane, good, solid guy and I miss him as I write this. I never saw
him again after we met up that second time. I texted him a few times after, including to say happy birthday (he and my
cousin Mason and my ex Moses all share one: January 17th), but he turned me down every
time I asked to hang out thereafter. Since he was lonely like me, and we had
had such a good time both times, there was no reason for this at all, but, you
know, that’s how it goes with me, so eventually I wrote him a long text telling
him goodbye and sent it. And that was the end of Kevin. I do think, if I ever open a restaurant, which is kinda likely and on the docket, I'll ask him to make the menu and be the head chef, along with another man, the next one, really:
Christmas-time 2022> JEREMY
Oh, Jeremy, sweet Jeremy. My little African Prince (literally). I actually dreamed about him before I met him. Jeremy was an actual African prince from Burkina Faso, a small country north of Ghana. Now, I know that that is a commonly use line for African men on white girls, but I actually believe this one. Not because of the stories he told me (which seemed legit) but because of the way he carried himself: like royalty. He wasn't tall, or imposing, but he was beautiful and so, so well sculpted, without having to work out at all. We met through a "friend" when we all hung out in Little Five Points one afternoon/evening. I actually thought he was gay when I first met him, because our mutual acquaintance was super, duper gay. We went to the shops, and walked around, and eventually got pizza. The first idea I got that he wasn't gay was when he asked me to order for him. Then he gave me some of his pizza. Then he fed me some of his pizza. He didn't speak great English, but he was keeping up and good-looking, so I offered to give him a ride because his place was directly on my way home. He accepted and I did.
I must say, when we were ensconced in my car, I could tell his breath smelled, or he smelled, or something smelled about him; so when he invited me in, I declined, but gave him my number. I remember after I dropped him off, I went out by myself in the little downtown area near my abode. I met some people, played some pool, hung out, but what I remember was he was texting me (rather forward things) all night. It was cute and welcome and I responded. A note about African men: they're not like African-American men. African men, when they're into you, they're INTO YOU and they let you know it. They don't fanny about with games the way American men do, they call you, text you, take you out, buy you gifts, open your car door; basically, their romantic/social skills are still in tact (take note American boys...). So his obvious interest was refreshing and balm to my wounds of Kevin and Robi. However, it did not work out. *sigh*
We went on one date before shit blew up, but it was pretty cute. I remember I was dressed to the nine's because he had good fashion and I thought he could handle it, but I texted him just in case to bring it. He tried, but when I got to his house (and eventually saw his closet) I realized he just wasn't as equipped as I was. For one thing, he worked as a line chef at a breakfast restaurant, so he made like $13 an hour or some shit. He didn't have a car and took the bus everywhere, which in Atlanta, is a whole thing. His house was ok, it was in Stone Mountain- right in downtown, but he shared it with a bunch of family, which was actually pretty cool.
His room was a travesty and I have realized that African people are just not up on aesthetics the way we Americans are. They just don't super care for interior design, art, or landscaping. Basically, he tried that day. He came out in like a blue polo and a cheap, white, pleather jacket that was trying to be cool, and it looked fine, but, you know, I have an eye for fashion and value and all that. Anyway, I took him to downtown Decatur and we went all around. I don't remember much except I took him to this Fresh 2 Order restaurant I used to go to with my old, gay, bipolar, elderly, Jewish man friend. Don't remember what we ordered, but I do remember talking a bit about our being "royalty". I remember being pleasantly surprised at how well we communicated, despite his limited vocabulary and my non-existent knowledge of his native language.
He, our friend, and I all made plans to hang out for Christmas, because we didn't have plans with our families. So, bullshit blocking by the cabal happened and I ended up spending Christmas alone. :((((( Our friend texted me Christmas Eve and was like "I need to be alone" and I was like ummmm, on Christmas??? Jeremy got all weird and "they" used his inability to fluently speak English as an effective barrier to our communicating properly about getting together as we'd planned. At this point, I began to seriously suspect that the bad guys were fucking with all these people, and I made a move I'd never made before: I addressed it. I told Jeremy, in a text, that "the people who were telling him to stay away from me were the bad guys, and I was a good guy". He responded by just saying sorry. And so I knew, at that point, that I was being targeted through the people I met. I decided to write both of them off and to just deal with the holidays by myself.
But January rolled around I did something. I had an interview near Jeremy's home on a day I knew he had off, so when I finished my interview (they didn't hire me because I was "too fashionable" [it was a shit thrift shop] and they didn't want to crush my spirit [they described it as "letting me fly free" or some shit]) I went by his place. His cousin let me in and and I went up to his room and pointed at him and was like Fuck You! And he super got guilty and sad and I was like I know, I know. We talked about it some, but I realized there was some Omerta thing going on and he couldn't exactly say what had happened. But he let me know. He told me he stopped using my Hulu account after he ditched me on xmas, he said he was sad the entire time at his family's xmas party, and when I sort of demanded repayment, he obliged, in a big, big way.
It was nuts, actually, because he and I hadn't even hooked up yet. I asked him to buy he and I tickets to see my favorite comic who was coming on the 12th. That was the 3rd. I had looked at tickets a few days earlier and they weren't bad. But when we looked them up then, for he and I to go it was like $340. But he'd ruined my Christmas! And I really, really wanted to go see Taylor Tomlinson! But I felt insane asking him, and he obviously lamented the loss of funds, but he did it. He sent me the money and I bought the tickets and we ended up going and it was fucking AMAZING. Like, so, so good. Love Taylor. Anyway, after that he was my buddy.
We hooked up a few times and did the deed some, but it was bad for me and I put a stop to that side of things pretty quickly. But he knew no one else in America (our mutual friend and he quit talking mostly) and I liked him as a person, and he was pleasant to look at and gave me these delicious cookies every time I saw him, so we kept hanging out. He was kind of child-like and we would literally play together. We just cruised around town and checked shit out. One reason I know the bad guys were fucking with him was because when we passed the Freemason temple I was like that's the bad guys, and he was like ohhhhh, and then we passed the Shriner temple I was like that's them, too, and he was like wow, they're everywhere. Which was basically a tacit admission that they existed and he knew they did and all of it.
But we had good times. Three main things I remember about him: he needed a car, so I had to explain the idea of "credit" to him, and "building credit". I told him he needed a credit card, so we worked on that, going to banks and seeing what was up. Turns out, he didn't have a real ID. So that was a thing. In order for him to get an ID, he would have to take a driver's test, especially if he wanted a car, but he couldn't read English. So I literally taught this man English, or at least the alphabet.
We would drill it in the car on the way to and from our adventures. I remember he would have a hard time remember hijk, which was funny to me because those are some gnarly runes. But I remember the day he got it all right for the first time, I freaked outttttt!!! I think I posted about it on my facebook, idk. But, yeah, I was so proud! I eventually bought him this kids book the Universe led me to in Goodwill called Home for a Bunny or something. I remember sitting around with him and reading it, but also doing stuff like saying "The flower in the lower right corner is white", and pointing to the white flower in the lower right corner of the illustration, so he could learn all that: right, flower, white. I also started to inch in a bit of visual analysis and symbolism knowledge because it's just so apparent and everywhere and he knew the foundation: that there are systems out there of which "we" know nothing. I must say, he was pretty quick on the uptake.
Another thing I liked about him: he was probably the most fashionable man I've ever been with. And that's in part because he let me dress him uppppp. He had a fantastic body, a beautiful face with these languid, liquid eyes and great bone structure, and he was black, so he could pull of some fancy, wild stuff that other guys just couldn't. I remember my favorite thing we got for him was this black and white, super striking, graphic, button up shirt with these way stylized flowers that looked like a 60's/70's print. He also got this fly-ass, souped up pulled over thing that would have been hippie-ish had it not been burgundy corduroy with way artful neck string things that were like wrapped in three different colors of thread.
It was on sale at my favorite store in the fancy mall in Atlanta: Scotch & Soda, which is this really nice, creative, funky brand out of Amsterdam. Originally like $300, he got it for like $100. Yeah, taught the boy about sales, too. We also go these lightly patterned in grey and light grey plaid chinos from like J. Crew or some shit on sale. He wore them together (with fly-ass shoes) to the comedy show. One time I dressed him up in regular, nice, American men's clothes, but we put this blue and yellow striped, long, African, vest thing over his button up, long-sleeve, collard shirt. It looked pretty cool. He was rockin' Africa and America. I took him dressed thusly to this designer store like, made for and run by, black men in Atlanta named Moda 404, which is one of our area codes. We looked at a $3,000 black jacket by Balmain that was some kind of silk-like canvas, with all these crystals and "pins" all over the shoulders that faded in a gradient as the coat went down. It was so fun and sick and I think it just gave him a scope for more.
I also remember that his bedroom had intentional and unintentional bad magic in it. The unintentional magic was just these bad-symbolism stickers on his headboard. (PS- his bed was crazy uncomfortable and his pillows were like, not even pillows idk) The intentional bad magic was something I've seen before. Since he never came (African boys don't jack off!), his TV had been "coded" to be his orgasm. Let me explain: one day I noticed this like tape shit all around the screen with one of those like Suggested Energy Use tags on it that said fucking 9 (the # of orgasm). First of all, how could that have legitimately gotten there? Second of all, wtf 9??? That's a crazy low number at all. It was like also janky af. Someone had clearly just taken packing tape and wrapped it around his screen and put this "official looking" tag on it that was actually bad magic and keeping his "sex" directed toward/in the tv. That's part of why bad magic is so annoying/insidious/easy to miss: they dress it up to look "official" or like it "belongs there". Ugh, fuckers.
I also remember one time the man cleaned my entire car, with his hands. Like didn't use a brush for the floors, or a vacuum, he used his hands and a rag to clean every inch of my car, including the black sap shit on the hood, which I, like, didn't know could even be cleaned. It was nuts: I remember sitting in my car and he was cleaning it, because he wanted to, and I texted everyone I knew being like: "There is a beautiful African prince giving my car a like $400 detail job right now!". It was nice. I also cleaned his room a ton, too.
One time we got high (it was his first time!) and I looked down this long like tunnel of brambles in his backyard and saw a cardinal at the end, framed perfectly. I also gave him a painting and some cologne that was like America something I found at a thrift shop and clothes I found at same, for his birthday on February 26th I think. This, really, was the beginning of the end. The fuckers got in the way and he just couldn't tell me where he was celebrating with his family for his birthday. It was lame and I had to leave his gift on his doorstep. After that, it just sort of petered out. The last thing I really remember about him was being on the patio under his work restaurant and both of us weren't talking much because there was nothing to say after he "ditched" me for his birthday. He just sat with his head in his heads and hung low, saying he didn't know what to do anymore. But I show up at his work every so often and slip him small gifts to let him know I still think about him and he gives me a sad, longing look and I take a biscuit for free, and leave. :|
After Jeremy there were some run-ins: there was the older Brazilian guy, Aziz, I took home (but didn't sleep with-we talked all night) from the veterans bar, the 57th Fighter. I had gone there after hearing there was a 70's night party and didn't realize it was for older people. I wore my crazy pants, a pink top, and big, flowery, hoop earrings. But undaunted, I approached the nicest looking guy I could and we hit it off and chatted and ate Waffle House and hung out all night. This was the first guy I preemptively told about my cabal-stalking situation. He, of course, didn't buy it and told me he'd text me the next day. I never heard from him again, even after I texted him. Saw him a few weeks ago at the same bar, he was wasted and couldn't remember me; but when I told him how he lost his virginity and his phone number and that he had two daughters, he believed me.
Then there was Joseph, an old flame of mine from middle and high school. We kayaked together and I was like, crazy in love with him at the time. I remember the Atlanta Journal Constitution interviewed me for some Jr. Olympic Kayaking thing we did and I talked about how there were a lot of hot people there, and I meant him. We reconnected via fb and spent like 5 hours on the phone that night.
He had just gotten out of a marriage-like relationship with kids, a house, the whole thing, and was living with his mom and looking for a place. I told him when he got one, I'd do the interior design and he was so grateful, he said, because he realized that at that point in his life, he would need a good looking home to attract another mate. I was all aboard. Plus, ya know, we had major history: we gossiped about all the people we knew and revealed some small scandals neither of us knew (he didn't know I went to homecoming with his best friend and I didn't knw he used to make out with my sister's best friend), we talked about going to jail (he had once been a dealer, too), and about magic.
He was legitimately interested and asked so many insightful, flattering questions. Really, no one else has been as interested in that side of my life before or since. We spoke about my spiritual war, as well, and the sex slaves, and my cabal-stalking problem. He mentioned something that night I consider all the time: he was like, you know, you've been fighting for like a decade, isn't it time to lay down your arms and let the next generation fight? Don't all warriors eventually retire and let the younger generation fight the next war? He really made me think. And then that was it. Five hours of furious catching up and semi-sexual tension and then nothing ever again. Not even the extension of professional interest in my free services as an interior designer. Just gone. (This is a photo he sent me of him that night. TBH, he was much hotter when I knew him...but weren't we all?)
The next guy was Carlos, the guy I fucked after getting out of the psych ward because a) I wanted some, b) I'd been stuck in a room with women for like 8 days and c) I wanted the sun to come out the next day so I could go to the Inman Park Festival and it was scheduled to rain. The sun did come out, and when I went to the festival, not only did I buy sick shit and experience sick synchronicities, I found $7 when I followed some squirrels AND when I came back to my car, someone had put flowers in my car door handle :) Felt pretty cool, as if someone "knew" I had brought about this nice day and was like, thanking me. Carlos was actual a twofer, we did it twice: I gave him a bible and we had a fire the second time. He kept annoying me, though, about doing it twice in row, which I really only ever wanted to do, and did, with Robi. He kept saying I couldn't hang or keep up or some shit. I remember I sent him an inflammatory "break up" text being like, you ain't shit and I'm the best. Get over yourself.
May 2023> RON
Ok, so to speak of Ron we need some back story. Obviously I went to the psych ward (on 4/20 actually- I was literally high when my cunt mother showed up and was like you're going to the psych ward!) and when I got out I reached out to an ex of mine who lived in the area to like save me from my mother's clutches, who was insisting I move back in with her at the time. So I call up Brent, my old Dungeon Master back when I played D&D, a chubby but cherubic black guy with a rapidfire mind who could make me laugh and always introduced me to new things. We had hooked up for years back in like 2017, but I ended it at some point and hadn't seen him in years, but I had to get away from my mother. So anyway, he picks me up and I spend the night with him (we didn't hook up). In doing so not only did I discover some pivotal new tv shows but I perused his son's art and decided I wanted to finally meet him and teach him technique. So a few weeks later, I go over to his place on like a Tuesday and meet Brent's kid, which we just never did all the time we dated.
So, right before I met him, Brent told me his kid had gotten into a pickle earlier that day for basically the first time. He had hit a kid. The kid had acted like he was going to spit on him or something and Carter had attacked him. Obviously, he got in trouble and Brent was like wtf. Anyway, when I met Carter he looked just like Brent but with crazy hair, he had just gotten out of the shower (he insisted on sharing his father's shower, not using his own), and he was wearing red and black pj's with pigs on them. This concerned me, because pigs are not great symbols on many levels, and red and black are satan's colors. But I gave the kid a chance and pulled out my activity: I was going to let him draw on these maps I had of Europe and, I think, Antarctica. Idk. It was supposed to be an exercise in the vein of the Situationist Movement, but it went terribly wrong.
He took his pens and started pretending there was some war going on in Europe. He put X's on a bunch of countries (like lots of Islamic ones :( ) and had this idea that Switzerland was expanding it's empire, which we all know would never happen because Switzerland is, like, the quintessential neutral territory, all ensconced up in the Alps. Anyway, I was like, uncomfortable, because the kid had taken my cute, magical idea, and turned it into a dark magic campaign to ruin Europe, which I wasn't cool with. I didn't super know what to do, but I just let him go on until he went to bed. (Dis is me n Brent. Weirdly, this is the only pic we took together, ever, and it was this night, when we parted ways forever...)
Later, me and Brent got into it because I was like your child is a demon and he was like whoa. But, really, it was a microcosm for what we'd been fighting about for years: I always knew he was demonic and had forgotten in the intervening years. Idk. Anyway, I walked out on him and never looked back (thank God), but I felt some kinda way, so I headed into the city to look for "social manna", or what I call a stranger's sympathetic ear in time of need. The weird thing was, I thought of calling Carols, who actually called me moments after I thought of him. We talked and I kinda told him what was going on, the kid doing dark magic on my maps, to which he responded "So when you gonna let me pound that ass?" It was then that I knew... Carlos had to go.
So I hung up and drove downtown. I had the idea to find someone at the hotel bar I like in Colony Square, so I drove into Ansley. I parked over by Hanover House, where I had lived in high school, and thought I'd just drop in and see what was going on there at like 11pm. Turns out, there was RON.
Ok, so this requires a bit more backstory right now. When I lived in Hanover House, I lived with my mom, sister, and my step-dad Ron. Ron and mom are a whole thing (law professor-student affair, he was married for like 25 years with 4 kids, he left his wife for my mom) but one defining characteristic of their union was that he was 14 years her senior. Now, when I met a man named Ron working the desk of the building where I used to live with my Ron, when I was looking for my social manna, I was like, ok, here it is. You see, Ron and I had a very good relationship, he liked my mind and spunk, probably more than he ever liked his own kids (my mom said so once). So this Ron was intriguing from the get go.
Turns out, the man was a super Christ. We connected mostly through our individual roles are servers, as in, we both lived to serve. During the day he worked at retirement homes, just helping all the old people (I worked teaching art to the elderly once, as well). He didn't know his biological, racial origins because his parents themselves were so mix raced. But he looked like Obama: he had the same kind of lanky, elegant grace, and that golden, sun-kissed Hawiian thing going on. Very interesting. He was also BISEXUAL, like me! We talked about fucking boys and girls and what we liked about each. He told me he liked to lick the pussy juice out of women's pubic hair, and he liked that when he fucked men he could see their dicks swing. :)
He was interested in the idea of money management and had read The Millionaire Next Door a million times. I don't think he was super monogamous, either. Idk. Kinda a loner. He had good friends, I know, though. He talked about meeting them out but then how having to come over to Hanover House at 11 was a drag and put a cap on every evening. He told me he liked to drink a lot and often just drank instead of sleeping. I actually think he was a bit intoxicated that night on his overnight security desk shift.
The thing I remember most, though, was the major, big, crazy synchronicity between us. There was a time when we were talking about how Atlanta is the best city in which to live (he'd lived everywhere, too) and I asked him what was one thing he thought Atlanta lacked? If he could change one thing, what would it be? I had in my mind what I thought, of course. And then... HE SAID WHAT I WAS THINKING! He literally said: "I wish there was more art". I was floored. When I told him that's what I wanted, too, he was similarly incredulous. It was fun. We talked about how in Chicago and New York there's art everywhere and everyone is into it. You can just go out and hop galleries and that's normal and expected and people do it all the time. Not so with Atlanta, in case you didn't know. It's getting better, but mostly Atlanta's art scene is confined to Miami Circle in Buckhead, and it's pretty tiny. I heard that in the 60's all the Atlanta artist were like "Y'all don't appreciate us" and dipped. Idk if this is true, but I do know Atlanta's art scene leaves a lot to be desired.
Anyway, I also remember him saying that one time he had paid for some old, white guy's meal at a bar/restaurant because the guy had forgotten his wallet. He said he had looked kinda hood in a hoodie, chain, and hat and this old, white man was flabbergasted when he offered to pay for him. I thought that was funny. I told him that I had once done similarly: I once paid for a black lady's groceries when she forgot her wallet. She was much less surprised, I think. I had been "talking" to her child about her unicorn earrings when she noticed her lack of pocketbook. We talked about how it felt good to be of service, especially as a surprise to the recipient, and how that feeling outweighed any sort of cost to us.
Eventually we got into religion and spirituality. He told me he wasn't into it, really. I let him know that I thought he was a Christ, and he was intrigued. I gave him the whole Mary Magdalene/Jesus Christ spiel and he liked it. I asked him if he ever relied on the divine to "pay" him for his "services", like I do. He said no, he had never even considered it. I told him he certainly could, that really, we all could, and should, and are meant to: fullest glory is our birthright, including financial glory. He liked it and said he'd look into it.
We talked about spiritual books I'd read and I told him about the Conversations with God books I adore and the Richard Bach books I love. At some point around 1:30 am I had a little adventure with a gay, high, interior designer who came through. He told me he liked my Seed of Life necklace and we got to talking. He told me he had designed a suite upstairs and would I like to see? Duh. We went and giggled our way through the place (I was also high, Brent had smoked me out) and he found out I had a degree in Interior Design and was writer, which was a skillset he had been looking for for a magazine article on interior design, but didn't know how to go about finding. We were both elated and he made sure I had his info twice. Turns out he was the founder and CEO of one of the biggest interior design firms in Atlanta. I was very happy. We made plans to meet up the next day and check out this lady's crazy bonsai garden. This never materialized, nor did our business connection happen. For no reason. At all. :(
Anyway, Ron and I super hit it off. I found him mildly physically attractive and super spiritually and mentally and personality-wise attractive. I found out he was 14 years my senior, though, and that kinda ended the romance for me. I didn't want to step into my mom's role at all. Plus, he wasn't crazy hot, more more just a lovely, kind, smart, human being. When I went back to see him again, he was way into me, though, telling me as he was sitting and talking to me that he had a boner. I was not interested, really, and made that known, just to be up front. He took it fine, and I think we actually had a conversation about how we both took rejection very well, simply seeing it as us not being someone's preference, not that we, ourselves, were defective or unattractive or whatever. During that second visit I gave him my copy of Illusions by Richard Back (same book I spoke to Kevin about) and he showed me how Neil Donald Walsh had read all the CWG books aloud on YouTube. I am so glad he did, because now that I can't access normal music platforms, I listen to those audiobooks. :)
But, alas, it was not meant to be. Even us as friends, I suppose, because after I came by that second time, during which he neither showed with body language nor spoke of verbally as a problem, later he told me he didn't want me coming by and making his place of work "a hang out". Idk. It was obvious cabal interference. I had made it known that this would happen and he denied anyone would ever tear us apart (as they all do), and yet, they did. I was like: friendsies? He just never answered. Idk. I did what I was becoming accustomed to by then: I wrote him a bittersweet farewell and asked him to send me back my book because I think it had been autographed by the author. He never did and I never heard from Ron again...
Then there was a platonic night spent with a black, ex-NFL player and preacher-type, where we talked about God till like 4 am at the local winery and its adjacent hotel; another crazy young Hispanic guy who nearly gave me herpes; and another big, black football player who was once a child model and actually from Saint Louis, who wouldn't go down on me but certainly let me to suck his dick :( I don't think any of these guys, including that fool Carlos, ever kissed me. It was weird. I guess when it's just fucking and you meet at a bar, you don't kiss? Idk. They were all basically trash. The next few guys I didn't hook up with and only talked to for a day/night, but all were certainly Christs and worth mentioning, for sure.
Early Summer 2023> BRAD (He's on the left)
Ok so I knew I was going to meet a Christ before I met Brad. Upon perusing Google Maps one day I had noticed this park tucked into Grayson I had never known of called Vines Park. I looked it up and checked out the pics and was crazy, super, insanely interested because it was clear "they" were doing magic in there. There was some miniature town installation with a train? There was a rose garden? There was a maze for children? Like, not your typical, regular Georgia park, right? So, I mean, I was there. When I walked in for the first time, I saw two Christ things: a cardinal and a lady walking towards me with a shirt that literally said JESUS JESUS JESUS. I was like, yesssss. So I walked around, checking out all the bad magic, and looking for Jesus amidst all this. I found him! Obviously.
He was sitting on a bench by the lake with a friend. He was young, light brown and slightly Asian, and wearing fucked up shoes. I heard them talking and decided to investigate. Eventually, I noticed they were talking about writing and so I approached them and jumped in. I told them I was a writer, too, and we began to talk shop. I learned his friend wrote copy and he mostly wrote songs. He was in a Christian band named Intension with some friends. They played at his church and bars in Athens. He was very young and Phillpino and, I discovered later, wearing a shirt with a tiger on the back (tigers=Christ). I don't super remember what all we talked about but I remember trying to stress to them to discover symbolism as it would, you know, flesh out their art.
His friend had a serious girlfriend but Brad was super single, I could tell and said so, because his shoes had that Freemason black and white checkered pattern. Not on the whole shoe, but enough to be a problem. I told him I could tell he didn't get laid and told him to change his shoes. I remember being interested in his tattoos. One was like a hand holding out a candle in its palm? Idk. I just remembering thinking these two young men were so very pleasant and affable and cute and that I would never see them again. I understood how it went by then. :(
We did end up exchanging phone numbers and Instagrams but, of course, we never connected at all. I texted him and dmed him and followed his band as well. He never got back to me and eventually the cabal just like, shut off my view of his Instagram. He's still a person to me on it, but I can't message him or see his profile? Idk. I assume it's "them", as he had no reason to "block" me at all.
Mid Summer 2023> VINCE & FRIEND
Both of these gentlemen were Christs. I also met them in Vines Park. I was walking around, picking up trash (as I am wont to do), and they were hiding out in White Garden, which is funny, because they are both so, so black. Not like, hood or with saggy pants, but like, dark, dark skin, which I really like, actually. I like that Nirobi black-as-night skin. So when I started picking up trash around their picnic tables we all just started talking. Vince was playing Pokemon Go. His friend was doing something else on his phone. I think it all started when Vince asked me if I would help him find some Pokemon as a joke. Idk. But what was really happening was his voice. Vince had the most unique voice ever. Just like really deep and round and full. Like, almost too much of a sound. Like, I could only listen to him for a while, which worked out, because he wasn't crazy chatty. I mentioned to the boys that they were Christs and they were pretty into that. They asked how I knew and I rolled out the Christ symbols and mentioned a tiger. Vince's friend proceeded to pull out a clearly-old tiger toy he said he'd had all his life. He didn't even know where he'd gotten it. He was homeless so the fact that he had this object was a pretty big deal in and of it itself. But yeah, the bros were Jesus templates.
I ended up telling them that the park was magic and asked if they wanted a guided tour of the spells and stuff. First off, Vincent's friend said he knew something was up with the park, that it didn't seem normal, or like other parks at all. Then they were like, uh, yeah! Lead the way! So we rolled out. I showed them how this statue of a mermaid and some young baby boy was sex slave shit, and how the adjacent rose gardens were uncared for, the statues and columns in there were whack, and laid out evilly. Then we went to the butterfly garden, where I revealed the decapitated head of a female statue under a bin behind this trellis in the back. They were like wow, ok, yeah, we see. Then we went on a crazy adventure. I lead them over to this enclosed area and analyzed all the shit in it. Then we all noticed this little path. We followed it. It ended up leading to the back of this high school and all this bad magic hidden back there. There was also this like, obstacle course back there for like, football players that said shit like "Love the pain" on signs attached to trees. It was weird. And that was pretty much it. I got their info and we talked some but it got dumb like all the others.
Lateish Summer 2023> GIO
I met Gio in the middle of the night, at the dead end down the end of my block. I was coming home from a friend's house and it was like 11pm. The Universe told me to turn left, and I did, even though I was tired and didn't feel like it. But I knew I had magic to do on the creepy church down that way (the place was chock full of sex slave shit) so I went. To everyone's surprise, there were three Hispanic dudes chilling in this like, nothing area when I rolled up. We were all shocked to see one another because this isn't even a cul-de-sac or a nice place to chill, it's just a street that ends. They were getting high and I just like circled them in my car and looked at them and they looked back at me and then I parked, got out, and spray-painted some runes on the ground across from the offending church. And then I approached one of them, or he came to me, or we were both drawn to one another, idk. But I ended up talking to one of the guys.
He was a young Colombian who had a degree in interior design from a school in Canada and was into POETRY. He had fun, artful, feminine tattoos and a languid air. His family had a car-repair business and he worked with them. He was wearing this shirt with three skateboarding skeletons on it. His license plate was one of the craziest I'd ever seen, and I told him so. That, combined with my rune-spraying, got us talking about metaphysical stuff, right there in the street, in the middle of the night. He was just getting interested in all of this in his own life. I was tired of standing at some point and wanted to go home. He wanted to keep hanging out after he dropped his friends off, so I gave him my address (I don't always have a phone). He came by like 40 min later and hung till like 5am. It was a beautiful thing. We talked about all the things, but what I really remember was us talking about how kids in his generation like, didn't even associate sex with love anymore. It was all entertainment for them now. We both lamented it.
He was 25, though, and only marginally attractive to me, so I didn't hit it, but I'm pretty sure he would have. I actually wanted to hook him up with my friend. I did tell him about my cabal problem and he scoffed, as they all do, and was like, nah, you're the coolest bitch ever, I'll see you soon. We exchanged Instagrams and he gave me some weird Illuminati music to get into and he split. Never saw him again. I had the idea that he could hang w me and my friend for her bday later that week, and he was super responsive all through planning that on Instagram, but she didn't want him to be there on her bday, and I told him that and he was fine with it. He and I made plans for the weekend and I remember like the last thing I said to him was: If I never see you again, you have my blog. By then I could like feel when the fuckers were planning on coming in and bombing my new relationship. Never really heard from him again.
When I got a new phone, I called him because I knew he'd pick up (not knowing my new number), which he did, and I was like Hey Gio! Is there any reason, besides the obvious one, that you just didn't show up or text the day we were supposed to meet up? And he, very friendly-like, we like no, none at all. Which, under normal circumstances, would have been a big fuck you, right? Yeah, there's NO REASON I didn't hang with you like I said I would. But we both knew, as they all do every time, that he would have if he could have. I texted him a blog post one random day months later and he got back to me for a sec but nothing ever after. :(( The crazy bit, though, is that I met like 5 Columbian people after that...
August 24th 2023> STEPHEN (I have so many pics of him because, well...you can prolly see why ;) but yeah, the man looks like a crazy jacked Nick Lachey)
Oh Stephen. So hot, so interesting, trying so hard to be vapid af. This is the most recent tragedy. It was the night before Trump was arrested in ATL, at like 1:30am. Two weeks before I had met a brilliant, hot, hung, Jamaican man with security clearance at a bar called Legends. He was so cute and smart and such a catch that his own father wouldn't bring him around his girlfriends, because they would fall in love with him. I told this guy about my situation and how we would likely be split, and he told me he sang karaoke there every Wednesday at 10, so I could always find him there, then.
So, having done some environmental magic I needed to seal with sex, and a bit in need of sexual healing, I went looking for the Jamaican security-clearance guy. He ran away from me when he saw me and literally left the bar, for absolutely no reason besides the bullshit, so I shrugged it off and went into the city. My car broke down in the gay district at 10th and Piedmont and so I went into Blake's, which is the gayest gay bar in Atlanta. I tried to find someone who would let me use their phone to call AAA. I was looking around at the energy and how they'd changed the patio since I'd been there last, when I was approached by a big, built, beautiful man who asked me what I was doing there (because I clearly wasn't a gay man). I told him my car had broken down and that I didn't know what to do.
We started talking and at some point he mentioned his ex girlfriend. Turns out he was head of security there and it was his night off; he had come to "his bar" to drink his day away undisturbed, because in addition to that job, he also did something else crazy: he's like one of the few specialists in the US for this cryogenic process that freezes cancer patients' hair follicles during chemo so that their hair didn't fall out. Basically an angel. He'd literally spent the day beside some 15 year old girl with a cancerous tumor in her pelvis area as she got chemo and this hair treatment thing, which is apparently crazy painful. Super angel, not only because of this, but because he rescued me. Took me home, gave me the best head I've ever had, and better than that: he kissed me. It was HEAVEN.
His place was cool with good art: he had this vintage-seeming reversed/upside down landscape piece over his tv he said he found. Over his bed was this 3D lion made out of geometric planes of metal. He also had this fun spray-paint-like piece of a black guy that looked like Tupac with a halo. His place was in a cool area of town, on Ponce de Leon Ave, this, like, super eclectic street where everyone in Atlanta goes if they're half-way cool. It's very race-neutral there, too. It's one of my favorite streets in the city and he was right in the middle. Also, he had a cat! Apparently some friend of his committed white collar crime and went to jail and asked him to watch his cat while he was locked up. Her name was Jellybean or Jillybean. She was cool but a little wary and kinda jealous.
At first we sat on his couch and pretended I wasn't there just to fuck: we talked. At one point he started telling me the stuff he was into, but prefaced it with "You won't care; this is just stuff I'm into". I knew, then, that I'd be into it. We were definitely and "inexplicably" into the same stuff: Samurai, elicit stuff like drug addictions and psych wards, and Vikings! He was really into this sort of apex-level, nonpareil stuff. We talked about the Samurai book The Five Rings and he told me how the dude never lost a fight, even when he fought the most badass other guy; a fight to which he showed up late, underdressed, and unshaven, just to prove how much he didn't care. He also told me about some baseball guy who literally changed the game he was so good. Something about raising something: the pitcher's mound or some plate...idk. Stephen gave me a Jimmy John's sandwich, too!
Stephen was so cool and quite a bit older and had the best body I've like ever seen (and I went to art school) let alone touched. He was a champion body builder, apparently, and one of his day jobs was training people. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he'd had a hard day. I asked the Universe what he needed and they said touch, so I super touched him all over, to both our pleasure. His skin had started to change a bit into looser old-people skin, but it wasn't a problem. He actually remarked how much he liked that I touched him and told me I was also very "comfortable" as well, probably because I have a lot of natural cushion. LOL.
He fingered me to great effect, but we didn't actually do it that night. He was too tired. We would kinda doze, then roll over and hook up again. He ended up giving me head and IT FUCKING BLEW MY MIND. I'd been hooking up with younger guys who wouldn't even kiss me, let alone lick my pussy, and who certainly wouldn't have been as experienced and skilled at eating me out. I WAS FUCKING ELATED, obviously, and I told him so. He was like, uh, that was fun for me, and I was in HEAVEN. He was also just really excited about my pussy, I think because a) it's nice and b) it was still wet (broads his age would have been drier). We ended up actually fucking the next morning and I told him to cum quickly became I was basically asleep. He was like: I've never heard that before. I also remember, despite being virtual strangers, we spooned a bunch and I like, laid my head on his chest and touched his face and the whole thing. The man also literally healed me: after we hooked up I never had back problems or arthritis again, which was partly my intention for getting laid that night. ALSO fucking Trump was arresting later that day. HAHAHAHA. The only problem was that I farted the whole night through... IDK why really, I just kept having to. :|
Stephen,
I am sorry I
showed up at your spot twice now, uninvited. The thing is: I thought you would
have invited me. As far as I know, I did nothing to displease you after
our first night together. You practically saved my life the first time we met,
you gave me the best head I’ve ever had, and, really, you healed me of some
perennial wounds I’d had for a while. So it was really good for me and I
thought it was good for you, too. We have much in common including a love for
Vikings, Samurai, and other crazy shit like psych ward stories, drug habits,
and being able to tolerate a lot of “gay”. I also feel like we connected pretty
well physically: you did call me “comfortable”, and when you dropped me off at
my car the next morning, you expressed a desire to speak to me again. Really,
you expressed exasperation that you wouldn’t be able to contact
me going forward. I told you as I gave you my Instagram I wanted nothing more
than to see you again, but that that would be entirely up to you. And so, when
you didn’t contact me again, even after I sent you links and messages about our
mutual interests as a friendly gesture, I thought you had gone the way they all
go: running scared because of my big, bad enemies “threatening” you. And I still
assume that’s what’s happened because of how you treated me a few nights ago.
Like I said,
I’m sorry I just showed up, looking for dick, but, like, do you know how
many men that would have pleased? How many men wish a girl would
do that? Men pay for that shit, and I know you’re hot and well formed
and a total catch, but, like, you could have sent me away if I was such an annoyance
to you. I’m sorry I WANT you, I’m sorry I like fucking you and
get super excited and into it; I’m sorry I like to clean and move when I sleep and want a little lotion on my back
after I rubbed your whole body down
with it. I’M SORRY! Jeeze. You DO NOT have to snap at me for asking
about your dreams. You DO NOT have to snap at me for asking about your ex-wife.
You do not have to snap at me for biting you a bit when I kissed you! You can
just tell me these things, with grace and understanding, like we all
deserve. I’m sorry you don’t like those
things, but I don’t always know what strangers like and don’t like! I’m SORRY!
Even though I may
have made some “mistakes”, the way you responded to them was out of line,
Stephen. I did not deserve to be treated that way, all for the “crime” of wanting
to sleep with you; to give you a nice, thoughtful, expensive gift, and to
assuage your crushing loneliness for a night. Because I know, like me, you’re
lonely. I see your posts about staying in with your cat and kissing her and
watching Viking documentaries. You’ve told me about how you spend all day
ministering to people, only to go home for a few hours to sleep alone,
and then do it all again the next day. I can even see it in your phone number
via numerology: there is no reason, none, that you should not have
contacted me again, that you should not have been excited when I came to
see you. And there is no reason, none, why you should have
treated me as you did.
I know you were
exhausted, I know I was uninvited, but it happened nearly the same surprise way
last time, too. And you were so cruel, so mad, so insensitive toward me
this time, that I can only assume you’ve been “compromised”, contacted by the
bad guys about me, warned off and away from me. I know this because it
happens every time I meet anyone. And while these people, like you, can’t break
the omerta or whatever, they let me know tangentially or accidentally or
subconsciously that it is so. But I hoped against hope that you might be
different. That you might be strong and have moral fiber and realize that I
am like you and that the very reason why these guys don’t want us to be
together is why we should: I AM ALSO A FIGHTER. I have fought them so long and
so hard so deeply that they have me entirely boxed in in this way: I cannot
have a relationship, I cannot get a job, I cannot do anything, really, that
normal people do in the “system” without friction, resistance, and most times,
failure. All that is left to me is flukes like when you and I met. And while it
is satisfying to circumvent them and use my powers for good and have an impact
on the world, I am left essentially powerless on this plane. I know this all
means nothing to you, believing in nothing as you do, but I think you must at
least believe something of what I’m saying, because you must have
been contacted in some way, as they all have, because I cannot believe
the man who made love to me that night is the same man who fucked me and yelled
at me and left me so unsatisfied a few nights ago.
I know you have a
thing for the absolute best, the nonpareil, the zenith of acumen, skill, and
prowess. And I appreciate that reach, that desire for greatness, that belief in
being all you can be and more, because I
share it, too. I also believe in being the most insanely good at stuff,
knocking the socks off the competition, and just wreaking havoc on past
projections of what something could be or where it might end up or any limit of anything at all. You are a badass, like me. When
you did that little speech about how not many people will just face off with
someone and say, you know, either you or me or both of us are going down in
this fight and we’re gonna find out who, I was ELATED, like really, really
excited and turned on and that’s why I kissed the words out of your mouth
because you’re just like me: a warrior.
Of course, we’re
very different in how and why we fight, but the principals are the same: do you
best preparing and practicing and pumping on your side and then duke it out. Go
hard. Fuck ‘em up or get fucked up; either way, you took a stance and did your
best and tried to make a difference. And I like that about you, quite a
lot. It’s rare to find the same come-at-me-bro, fuck-with-me attitude in
another human being, especially one as beautiful
as you. And you like Samauri! And you’re into Viking shit! And you live near me! And so, that’s why I showed up at your house
both times: I’m not afraid of the fight or the rejection or the fallout
at all, because at least I tried and I find you worthy of that
risk and I know I am also worthy. And even if you “don’t want me”, at
least I let you know I want you, that I find you
worthwhile, and that if you let me, I’ll fight for you as I wish you’d fight
for me.
Because the truth
is, whatever they’re threatening you with, if you were with me and
really met me and had my back and I had yours, we’d be unstoppable
and you wouldn’t even have to think about losing your balls (or whatever the
threat is), you’d laugh in their faces, because not only would I
be protecting you, (Viking and Japanese and all other) Gods and Goddesses and
angels and our ancestors would all be protecting you as well. Not to mention
the protective energy we would create
of ourselves out of our union.
Basically, they
ain’t shit compared to what we could be, and they know it.
That’s why they’re so hell bent on keeping us (and everyone) apart. If I could
wish for one thing, it would be that people know this: that they have
the power and that those who think they control us tremble in their
ivory towers, afraid of those they suppress with such great fear that they do
everything they can to keep them from banding together and realizing that not
only are there more of us, but that we are much more powerful. Plus,
our combined life force would generate great material profit and you wouldn’t
have to worry about money as much.
I know this all
means nothing to you really, and I fully expect you to ignore this missive, but
I will blame you for it. I will remember this when I am who I am going to be. I
will remember that you were not brave. I know you saw me act a fool in the
club, but I know you felt what I was doing affected everyone there. I am that
way everywhere I go: the pulse, the epicenter, the locus. I am
making things happen, all over the
world, whether you believe it or not. “I may just have one match, but I can
make an explosion.” And I’d like you to be by my side, if you can handle it.
Anyway, thank you
for what you have done for me thus far and I hope you’re not so cruel to the
next girl. I’ll see ya around, Stephen. If you wanna know more, I don’t try to
hide.
PS- I really think
you should listen to something else all night besides true crime; it’s bad for
your subconscious and probably contributes to the violence of your waking
hours. XOXOXO
So I think I know what's going on with all these guys actually: why they are literally scared of me. I watched Fight Club the other day and realized it's all Freemason shit; but there was one scene were they were super intimidating/straight up terrorizing a politician guy by acting as if they were going to cut off his balls. I realized this must be their tactic; I used to think they threatened these guys' money situations, but they seemed too fearful for that; as if their lives were in danger if they interacted with me.
I mentioned this ball-threatening-tactic to my lesbian cousin randomly one day and she was like, whoa... I was just watching this YouTube video where they were simulating cutting of dudes' balls. She was like, and I don't even know why I was watching it: it was terrible and I'm gay, so I had no interest in it. This instance confirmed to me that this was it: they bodily threaten these men. That's why they're willing to pass on sex, something every guy is into and will give up or put up with so much for. And we all know dudes will fuck a girl they don't even like or have chemistry with. And these guys liked me and we had great sex! Amazing, one-of-a-kind sex sometimes, like with Robi. It also explains why they don't even want to be friends: if their balls are on the line, I get it. I suppose I'd give up on me, too. :(((((
IN THE WINGS: AARON
Ok, so all may not be lost. Back in 2012 at my first job out of college, I met Aaron. I was engaged at the time, but he trained me on my first day, so we spent like 5 hours together on the mean, hot streets of St. Louis, beating down doors, trying to raise money for the Current River. I basically asked him all the questions that day and got his whole life story. He was 19? IDK. But we got into it all. What I really remember most from that day was that his mom spent the fuck out of his dad's money, to the point that they were like, having money problems in his family. I also remember the first door we knocked on, right before the cute girl in colorful, vintage shorts opened it, I was like "Oooo I'd fuck her", and then she gave us the perfect amount of money with no hassle and Aaron was like hmmm... Maybe this is a new tactic?? Other memories of Aaron: I remember he went around a whole day canvasing with an un-popped pimple on his fucking face because he thought it made him look more "sympathetic", which I thought was nuts... He also started carrying cash with him to work in case he didn't make quota that day, which I thought was genius... I also remember him looking at the scabbed-over cut on my arm with our friend Ariel, the first time I ever cut myself, and they both were like uhhhh....
Anywho, eventually we went into the bud business together once summer ended. Me n my fiancé would drive bud down to him where he was in college in Columbus, I think. He had a partner, this black lesbian girl (who is now a boy?) who he told me one time when they were tripping, he saw everyone as having these glowing balls over their heads and his partner's ball was too big and it was like knocking into everyone else's and they were all looking at her being like wtf... Aaron was also present for, like, the advent of my foray into witchcraft and some of the first spells and rituals I ever did were with him. I found out recently that this also impacted him permanently, putting him on a completely different life path, actually. He described these as "formative experiences" to me once. But yeah, apparently I got him into "woo" stuff, as he calls it lol. We stayed Facebook friends all that time and I found out years later, I had kept his business card in my Bible... It is now on my refrigerator door. All that time, I never thought of him romantically and still don't really, but at some point it crossed my mind... Especially since all my options seem to have dried the f up around here...
Aaron moved to Miami from St. Louis in August 2023 and stayed with me for one day (he showed up at like 6:45 am and slept till like 12 then left at like 9pm). It was kinda crazy because the evening before, the Satguru from my Satsungat was visiting from India, and I stayed extra late to help clean up the event and to kill time before Aaron arrived. In the course of this, I was gifted the Satguru's roses because apparently she receives them all the time, everywhere she goes, and I guess she just didn't want these ones. They were crazy beautiful, too: yellow and orange with pink-edged petals. I eventually went home and made them even more splendid by cutting them down, and peeling off unnecessary leaves and asymmetrical petals until they were just about as perfect as roses get. Now, this was all interesting because a) it was like two "Gods" visited me at the same time, and b) I had (perfect) roses, Mary Magdalene's flower, when Aaron, who is for sure a Christ, visited me. IDK it was just too perfect. :) :) :)
Anyway, Aaron brought two friends, one a "light" side of him and the other a "darker" side of him, and it was just about the best time I've ever had. A glorious, like, 8 hours, or whatever. We all sat around and read my books at one point, we read fortunes and dived inappropriately deep into our personal lives for how long we'd all not known each other, and we went on an adventure to the local taco joint where we found a painted pebble situation that, frankly, alarmed me; and where Aaron's "light" friend Chris (who felt like a projection of my fiancé, Alex), blurted out at one point that he loved me, which was entirely appropriate. :)))
It was in the first few minutes of his being there that Aaron commented on how he liked my hot air balloon art and I told him that when I was growing up, they used to take off from a field near my back yard. He then proceeded to tell me that that was funny, because hot air balloons landed in his backyard space when he was little... I was stunned and pleased and went to bed that morning thinking I'd found my person for sure... When we all woke up I made waffles that the boys all ate only jelly on, and I told them I had a ton of it and they said that they were just talking about how they seemed to have a lack of jelly...
At one point, standing in line for tacos, I noticed Aaron's necklace, a gold chain with a small, light-blue, ball charm. I asked him about it and he told me it was from his Lebanese grandfather, who had given similar but essentially differing ones, to each of his grandchildren, Aaron's cousins. I was interested, so I asked to look closer. He consented and so I got up in his business a bit and looked. Turns out, it was porcelain. Very pretty, very delicate, very feminine, as blue is the feminine color. That is something I do love about Aaron: he's got feminine energy to spare. He's not girly per se, but he's definitely into art, fashion, beauty, witchy stuff, jewelry, all that. He was wearing a hand made ring on his pinky finger when he visited, that he said an Islamic woman had made. He let me look at it and I put it on for a while and it really only fit my left ring finger, a very important finger indeed. But, I will say, after a while, it began to hurt me like no other ring that essentially fits ever had. So I took it off and gave it back to him.
As far as marriage goes for he and I, I don't know that either of us are into that. I certainly see no reason for government-mandated monogamy, and Aaron has terrible luck with that as well. I think he's been engaged twice, and once he asked me to paint his bride-to-be as a wedding gift. I started it but just hate hate hated doing it for some reason (I think it was the cat, I've never been fond of painting cats) and so I stopped and told him I had lost my gift, which I felt like at the time was true, but really, it was just not meant to be: they broke it off and never tied the knot. I still thank God I did not finish that shit, because the girl was soooo basic and he wanted her surrounded by green. UGH. Plus, what would we have done??? I wouldn't have wanted it and I would have wanted to be paid for my work, but he wouldn't have wanted it either and certainly wouldn't have wanted to pay for it...
I will say, though, that one time, at a stop light, I was thinking about who I would marry, and I looked up and had that feeling, like I was about to see a sign, and I looked up at a sign for Aaron's, the furniture/appliance store. So, IDK and, really, I don't care. He has sooooo many women, being a wealthy, well-appointed Christ in Miami, and I , of course, am surrounded by well-meaning, but ultimately uninhabitable Christ-consciousness lives. Cest la vie. A few annoying things about him thought are that the man is obsessed with drugs. Just this past Christmas his whole family tripped mushrooms at Dollywood... Also, he's 5 years younger than me, so he's still young, dumb, and full of cum... Also, he fucking works out and is healthy and fit and I doubt he's ever been with a woman my size... We also do NOT seem to have chemistry AT ALL. When I got in his face to look at his necklace, there was no spark, no sexual tension, nothing at all... In addition, there is a certain type of chest on a man that I just do not like, and I once saw a pic of him shirtless and he has it...
Also, he is part of the reason I'm even writing this long, sad chronicle because HE DOES NOT BELIEVE ME ABOUT THE CABAL BULLYING, and it makes me fucking crazy. He just makes excuses for why all these people just ghost me, each more outlandish than the last... And the last time I slept with Stephen, the hot body builder, and he was all cruel and dumb, I attempted to confide in Aaron and sought succor from him and he DID NOT DELIVER. Quite the opposite: the man started projecting and acting like I'd shown up at his doorstep demanding to be fucked, and the whole thing made me want to cry. He said I expected way too much (even though I just wanted a romp in the sheets), and that I was basically stalking Stephen. Frankly, it was devastating because it's hard to explain to Aaron why I showed up at Stephen's door because a worldwide cabal keeps us from talking electronically... So yeah, it's a fundamentally moot issue with us. Aaron like, got upset, when I said I was upset Stephen hadn't gone down on me (even though he'd said it was fun that first, unspoiled time), saying it was all my fault. He was like, you have to take responsibility for putting him in that position... I was like, what position, missionary??? Sorrrrr-yeeee. Jeeze. So yeah, sometimes, I'm like FUCK Aaron... But he's the only guy who hasn't ghosted me yet, I assume because we have such a firm foundation and a long history. He is basically my oldest friend at this point.
THE GIRLS
Ahhhh... Finally, the ladies...
ASHLEY
So this is an old pic of her, because I, myself, never got one. Mmmmm, where to begin? Ashely was my career specialist, aka job coach, because I'm "disabled" and apparently can't send out resumes alone... Anyway, she became much more than that to me after a while.
When I first saw her, on Zoom, my first thought was "Wow... She's pretty". I had had a much less attractive girl-job coach before her, but for some reason, they switched me to Ashley. I don't remember too much of our first interactions, except me telling her it would be impossible to get me a job, because I am stalked by a world-wide conspiracy; but I soon found out she was also new to the whole thing. What I really remember was our first time alone together, which also happened to be her first time solo on the job. Before that, my previous lady had joined us for meetings, but after a while, Ashley and I started meeting alone.
Our first solo meeting was when I was going to interview for a job teaching kids to read and I was actually very pumped, because I like, believe in that stuff and they were gonna pay me like $20 an hour and it was in my county! Jackpot, right?? Anyway, we met for a mock-interview at the local coffee house and it was actually very helpful and pretty dang cute. She liked to wear a lot of black and I eventually found out she was secretly witchy (!). But it was so secret, she didn't even know herself. I had to like, lead her to it.
I interviewed for the job and got it, thanks to her, but couldn't like, sign in to the portal to do the onboarding paperwork. Typical cabal stonewalling. I tried for weeks, emailing the HR lady about it every time, to which she responded that it was just the system updating? At some point, the woman suggested I call the portal people and see if that was the problem. I was loathe to do this and so Ashley suggested that she join me for the ordeal. I invited her over to my place and made it extra nice for her. I think I lit incense, which is actually standard visitor protocol for me, but I think I also cleaned my floor, which is not.
So she arrived right on time (love that) in a green sweater and black pants. She was a little cool because we were in my space and I think it was becoming obvious that I thought she was cute. She was trying to be "professional", but it didn't super end up that way, because when we called the portal fools, we were put on hold forever. So basically, we shot the shit for a while. I remember we ended up looking at one of my coffee table books, this Vanity Fair's Hollywood monstrosity I'd gotten from my mother that dated back to like 2000.
It actually ended up being a riot and we just gossiped about Hollywood and what we knew about each star and what we felt and thought about them. She was a few years younger than me, so we kinda grew up around then. There was one moment where she was saying this one photo had "shoddy" work, because someone had "inadvertently" left some woman's left elbow peeking out from behind some giant vat of water in the shot. I was like nah, that is not unintentional; this is a multi-billion dollar company/brand that definitely checked every photo they put in here a million times, there is no way that that wasn't mean to be there. She was like ok, then what does this "mean"? Why do this? Why leave this like this?
So I put my visual-analysis hat on and explained to her that the elbow has significance as the crux of our agency apparatus (aka ARM). Since it was the left elbow on the left side of this water tank, it was signaling something about women (left is female) being hidden behind all this trapped and "curated" emotion (the water in the tank). Only the most feminine effect/instrument (the left arm) was "visible", and only the most flexible, dynamic piece of that, as well (the elbow). It was just basic visual representation of female acting itself, wherein women are seen only for the feminine ability to bend while being "hidden" behind a vat of emotion, aka water. I'm not sure she "bought" it, because who would; (only the whole art world) but I think that moment made her see me in a new light.
We eventually got through on the phone call and it was all bullshit and she advised I just quit trying with the company because they weren't being "accommodating and helpful enough", which suited me fine, because I don't care about money and knew it was all a fool's errand anyway... I just wanted to be with her, and we started going out together into the local towns and spreading my resume. We rode in her car, a small, silver, egg-like something with very old Middle Earth stickers on the back, a terrible, terrible license plate, and visors that were broken. I loved it and came to think of these excursions as "dates".
We met every week and I got all dressed up and so did she (kinda- she wasn't like, into make up and definitely liked the more subdued colors and fashions, but she always wore eyeliner and mascara and a little lip gloss and looked very, very good naturally anyhow). We went everywhere "looking for a job" for me. We went to Sephora and perused the make up and giggled and decided I wouldn't really like working there. We went to bookstores and talked literature while "seeing if I'd like to work there" as well. We went to florists where she said she could try to convince her boss to spring for fake flowers for me to arrange, so we could show the flower lady I could do that. We went to Party City (where I've always wanted to work) and perused the crazy stuff there and at some point she reached out to touch some cane. I told her that canes were Freemason symbols generally, because they are phallic af.
Since we spent so much time together, I was able to sort of immerse her in my symbolic/magical world a bit. I would talk about how the street and neighborhood names and layouts reflected human trafficking principles, which led me to talk about how magic works in general and how it's used by everyone: corporations, the government, the church, secret societies. We ended up talking about human trafficking a lot, because that's what I care about and, really, that's what most of the bad magic out there is about.
This led to us talking about sex a lot, as we rode the streets of Lawrenceville and Snellville and Buford. Turns out, she was a freak. She loved sex. Like, loved it. Which I loved, because I also love sex, and I love it when other women love sex. I've always been partial to sluts lol; I mean, who isn't??? I hardly ascribe to the meaning of that word anyhow, everyone (normal- another word I don't buy into much) likes sex. So we talked about it. We talked about those magic times when someone does exactly what you want in bed, without your having to ask for it, and it's like dancing in heaven; we talked about how we were both likely molested by a family member but didn't remember; we even got around to admitting to one another that we didn't cum. Her story was different than mine, because she had had an orgasm before, while I have never. She told me she had stopped climaxing after some Haitian, VooDoo man in Little Five Points had performed some ceremony on her with her barest consent.
Apparently, he had like singled her out of her group of friends as she was walking along and was like YOU, come here. She went and he said he could do a thing to her that would make her better at reading Tarot cards, and she was like ok... So, she told me he took a stick of incense and waved is all up and down her body and she felt what she described as a "pleasurable squirm/twist" in her midsection as he did this. She said she didn't know if she was any better at reading Tarot cards afterwards, but she thought she could date her cessation of orgasms to this event.
I then informed her that Tarot cards are bad, just like they say, and that had she known the historical context of Little Five Points as the old site of slave-selling in Atlanta, as well as the phallic symbolism of the incense stick, she might have known that this man, whether he meant to or not, might have been karmically "evening" some ancient, pleasure-playing-field between his kind and hers, on that day, and in that place, that had left her bereft of the pleasure she had known previously. But really, I was thrilled to find someone else like me. When she told me, she followed it up with an "I'm not any different now, though, I'm still me" suffix and I assured her that I knew that and that it was ok.
We talked about other fucked up sex stuff, too, like how her mom had wanted her to be "sexy" and had made her wear fake nails; how she had self-objectified her whole life and had based her entire self-worth on whether people wanted her sexually; she told me she had seduced everyone she had ever met as far as circumstances would allow, including all her teachers, men and women. This last bit gave me some hope. ;)
She told me about a dream she always had where she was hanging out with her grandmother around some lake and everything was red, but it all felt good and safe. I relayed that this dream was akin to human trafficking symbolism and that it was likely telling her that the sex-slave mentality had been passed down to her from her grandmother and even generations of women before her. Because, as I came to realize and so did she, she had fallen prey to the sex-slave, prostitute-problem mindset all of us women do at some point.
She told me about how her ex was pestering her with pix of him while she was dating her boyfriend, and to "retaliate" she eventually sent him a nude of her. I'm not sure why she thought this would get him off her case, as it did not, and she couldn't explain it either, but later that night, her actual bf found the texts and the pic and went ballistic and she said that ever afterwards, he started treating her like a ho. He would just demand sex from her over and over and didn't seem to care that she wasn't as into it as she could have been. When she brought this to his attention, she said he cried and threw up because "he was such a good guy" and "hated that he'd done that to her". I didn't super know what to think about this, but it seems to me he would have known on some level that his sexual attitude toward her had changed after seeing her naked body sent to another man on her phone...
She told me about how she'd met her boyfriend on Tinder because their "bubbles" had singled each other out or something and apparently this was irregular and that was when I realized I'd been off Tinder for so long, it was entirely different now. She showed me a pic of them together once and I was shocked. Ashley was a nice girl with a college degree working a respectable, helpful, social-work-oriented job where she sat with blind people while they did their jobs and helped wackos like me find one. Her boyfriend was wearing some black, death-metal-band t-shirt and had a scar right down the middle of his forehead. He looked like a skinhead. He was ok-looking I guess, except the scar, with blonde, buzz-cut hair and eyes? IDK. I just thought they looked like a cool, respectable sister and a druggie, fucked up brother. IDK. Maybe I was biased because I wanted to eat her... ;)
She also told me about some curly-headed, albino fuck ex of hers that did something way whack, like take pictures of her while she was sleeping? IDK I can't rly remember. The guy in her family who had likely messed with her was her grandfather Ron, which was actually my stepfather's name. She told me he was very licentious around her when she was young but she didn't "get it" until later. She said he would instant message her on AIM and ask her what she was doing and when she said nothing, I'm bored, he would say shit like I've got something for you to do, and she would be like what is it? because she was like 7.
She told me about how her parents met when they worked at Taco Bell and she basically grew up alongside them. She told me about how they would always party or play cards with these people the Ragsdale's and drag her along and leave her there if she fell asleep, so that when she woke up she would not know where she was or what to do. She would try to like, hold on to her mom's arm all night so as not to fall asleep at the Ragsdale's and be left behind. She said the Ragsdale's daughter had made her do a blood oath with her once. She was also simpatico with my satanic bruises: she told me she also once woke up with a huge cigarette-burn-looking situation on her arm that had no physical origin she could recall, and that she couldn't remember being there when she went to sleep the night before. Oh yeah, btw, demons and dark forces can bruise/scratch/burn you...
I tried to convince her to get into witchcraft more and she resisted, saying she wanted to stay on the safe and narrow. I was like, ok: how's that working for ya? Because she eventually told me this job and her boyfriend, whom she lived with out of mutual necessity, were her first forays back into normal society. She had previously been a crazy-person-recluse for the past like 4 years, confined to her living quarters (IDK where or who paid for them) and convinced the plentiful cockroaches there had it out for her. She said she had delusionally thought that they were intentionally plaguing her, that they had meetings about it, and threw rallies to pep themselves up to torment her more. I let her know that cockroaches represent negative thoughts in general, so her delusions "made sense" and she was, in fact, not "crazy", but living symbolically, just without the knowledge of symbols.
Ashley oh, Ashley. It’s interesting, the other day I watched Freakonomics and they were talking about baby names and how your name affects
you destiny. They listed the top 5 baby names for like, classy white girls, and
then the top 5 names for, like, trashy white girls. IDK. Anyway, Ashley was
like number 5 on the classy white girl list and then number 1 on the trashy
white girl list. I guess it was like, transitioning? Anyway, I thought this was
interesting, and fitting, for my Ashley. She grew up white trash: a/c
breaking down all the time and family sleeping in the living room to keep cool,
mom and dad met on their jobs at Taco Bell, trailer parks, all that. But then,
she’d like, grown out of it? Into the classy, fun, cool Ashley I knew.
One time I sent her this Which Character Are You? personality test for D&D. It was like 144 questions of insanely intricate, life-lesson type stuff like: how attractive are you? with answers that were like: I’m the hottest person in my friend-group, I use my beauty to get what I want, I get by, and I’m an ugly fuck or whatever. It measured, as part of the results, how “good”, “evil”, or “neutral” you were. Not only did she do the damn thing (144 questions!) but she got like, perfectly neutral. I mention this, because she once told me about her one-time best friend, whose father had introduced her to the finer things in life and like, helped draw her up out of her like, tasteless-squalor life.
She told me she found out about
good music, traveling, good food, and just a life apart, and fundamentally
different from, her life in the trailer park with her Taco Bell-meeting parents, from this person, her friend's father. He had opened up her world and changed her life for the
better. And yet, he was a bastard in bed. Apparently, he had some Russian mail-order-bride that he didn’t love and cheated on? This caused her to drink a ton. I can’t exactly remember, but I
do remember her saying that she didn’t judge him for his philandering ways, or something. And when he
died a slow, painful death and cried out to God: why?! she was just like, yeah,
that’s who he was; it wasn’t ideal and I hated that my best friend’s mom was a
sad, drunk, Ruskie, but, you know, it happened and that’s the way it was and I
loved everyone involved. And she felt sorry for his pain and mourned his
passing.
So, yeah, Ashley kinda had this enlightened, neutral, sorta Taoist view of the world. But this best-friend’s-dad guy had turned her from being white trash Ashley into being more of a refined, worldly Ashley. I’m sure there was more to this transition, but that, I believe, and was more or less told, was sort of the crux of her evolution. Anywho, this Ashley, this born-in-a-barn Ashley, had grown into quite a stunning young lady, as far as I was concerned, and so lived up to both trash-Ashley and classy-Ashley from Freakonomics. She had put herself through college, weathered an abusive relationship with her grandpa, overcome her negative-cockroach-fantasy problem, gotten out of another abusive relationship with some albino guy who took her picture while she was sleeping (?!), and made her way to me.
And while she was with me, she was receptive to my worldview like no other had been before: she listened to me and tried to understand what I was saying and even began to internalized some of it. After I railed on the color green to her forever (it was her favorite color at the time) she one day said that she had started to like green less lately, and instead had begun to become more partial to purple, which I had lauded as the color of holy union to her, also forever. She also read my blog, which no one does btw. It was so cool to have someone take me seriously for once.
Ashley also had good fashion taste in general: kind of that European aesthetic with clean, sparse lines, interesting and unique proportions, and that semi-crafty/handmade feel. I liked it, and it went well with my insane, eclectic, over-the-top, art-school vibe. When we rocked around together, we looked like the bad bitches we were: her the clean, thin, sexy one and me the loud, colorful, opinionated broad. It was perfect.
I also introduced her to my favorite podcast, Let's Get Meta. It started with one episode, then another, then another, then we were both listening to and talking about it regularly. She told me she listened to it while she was cooking and cleaning and just doin' stuff. I love that, because cooking is basically sex. Also, one time she told me she got high and cleaned the fuck outta her apartment; she told me this because I was always talking about how I got high, and how she should clean her car as an exercise in aura cleansing. One time she DID clean her car, and she sent me pix of the like three or four bags of shit she'd pulled out of her car. She was the type of person who saved everything and never threw anything out, even if it had bad memories attached.
Eventually, I started calling Ashley my wife. Behind her back. Obviously. The reasons for this are many: the first one that comes to mind was we had some pretty insane shit in common; like I don’t even know how this came up, but she once told me about how this voice inside her head would tell her to “go home”, when she was at home. Now, when I heard this, I almost died from recognition and mind-blowingness, and just representation; because I had a voice in my head that also said “go home” and often when I was at home. And I’d never shared that with anyone before, because who cares, right? And who would want to know? And why would I ever tell anyone about the voices in my head and the weird, insane shit they say to me???
But this happened; she told me this, and it had also happened to me.
See why I say I almost died from recognition??
WE BOTH HAD VOICES IN OUR HEADS
THAT SAID THE SAME SHIT TO US,
IN THE SAME FREAKING CIRCUMSTANCE!
Like WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, right?!
YEAH... Ok, so, yeah… *calms
down*
Also, the bitch was a projection of my high school best
friend. When I say “projection” I’m referring to a specific, yet generally “available”,
experience of mine wherein someone from my past, “comes back” into my life
again, in another form, but with the same essence/feel and some of the same
characteristics as the before-person. I also think of them as, like,
personality/soul/spirit iterations or something. Anyway, it happens, and
this Ashley was a projection/iteration of my bestie in high school, Sam.
For one thing, they had similar body types, skin, and hair. And I say that, because all of these were unique to them. As for their bodies: they each had sort of flat butts with skinny, pipe-cleaner-like legs and not a lot of curve to their waists/midsections. They also had this sort of flaxen, waxy, dirty-blonde hair that I’ve never exactly seen on anyone else. They also shared the same skin: a semi-pockmarked visage that vacillated between being oily and dry. Ashley told me that when she was younger, the kids called her Plastic, because her skin was so shiny. Anyway, these two seminal people in my life shared a great many things. They were both witchy (Ashley denied this part of herself, for the most part, while Sam had been a full-on pagan in high school), self-possessed and yet sex-slavey and obsessed with men; smart, subtly charming, and just generally bad bitches.
The weird thing was, Sam came from
like, the highest distinguishment possible: her father was a four-star general
in the army and had commanded the ground forces in Iraq after 9/11. Ashley’s
father had managed a Taco Bell and married one of his employees (I think). But,
you know, some difference, really. What is Iraq if not a giant Taco Bell? And
Sam’s father had married his German secretary, her mom, who was
technically his employee. Whatever, the point is, this bitch was my wife.
We went on “dates” every week, we were both artsy, witchy, crazy people, and we
had all this stuff in common. Also, she couldn’t be “touched” by the bad guys
ruining my life because she technically worked for the
government…
I had started calling Ashley my wife (behind her back) because I was texting her one time in my friend John’s car and he inquired about this and I told him I was texting a lady-love and he was like oh, a booty call, huh? And I was like, nah bro, dis more like wife-material here. And so it began: Ashley was my wife. I remember I called her that to my sister and she picked up on it and started calling her that, too. Lol. I also remember, I told my cousin’s wife about her, though I don’t recall if I mentioned her as my “wife”. But it was a big deal to tell this person, because a) she’s crazy conservative and would not approve of my “lesbian lifestyle” and b) I just don’t tell her that kind of stuff about my life. But, for some reason, I did tell her. And I kinda went into details, telling her about this ritual I had had Ashley do; which was even more insane, because, technically, this was witchcraft, which Brooke (my cousin’s wife) knew I did, we didn’t like, talk about it, because she definitely didn't approve.
So, one time, on one of my bad-magic-hunting adventures, I found a lonely, semi-tattered, basically abused, fake flower alongside a shitty stream in Chandler Park, Atlanta. I rescued this flower and eventually gave it to Ms. Ashley. She raised the concern that it was all fucked up and asked if I had found it outside and I was like oh, yeah… Then we began to talk about abusive sex lives and how she kinda self-objectified and how it might be nice to like, ritually wash this flower as a means of “washing her own flower”. Or something.
Anyway, we landed on this eventually and this she did. Ashley washed
the flower and saged it, and when she was done she asked me what else she should
do. I mentioned that she could consecrate its new life with oil, whereupon she
asked me what kind to use, and listed all the oils she had on hand. I said to
use coconut oil and this she did. When she was done, she sent me a picture of
the flower and was like “A clean, oily flower” or something, mentioning that it
had been a “powerful” experience or something, and thanked me, or something,
and I was satisfied. So, so, deeply satisfied; because it felt like a "sex slave" I knew had "cleansed herself" of that life and its abuses and its dirt and trash and I
had been a part of it/made it happen. And this I told Brooke, my cousin’s wife,
and mother to my “children”.
Ashley also just had a big heart, even for animals, which I hardly care about. She loved my cat that day she came over and told me about the lizards that lived on her back porch. When I told her lizards are a symbol of negativity, she was still unwilling to even shoo them away. When I captured a particularly evil lizard once, even though I couldn't kill it outright, I decided to just let it die in its cage (a water bottle). However, to Ashley this was unacceptable, and she insisted I feed it and give it water. She even checked in to make sure I was. *sigh*
Also, one time, she noticed a piece of tree art on the wall at our coffee shop and mentioned that it was the same one she had, like, in her place. I thought that was nuts. Also, she told me she always, always lived near railroad tracks, which are a a sure-fire sign of human trafficking, as trains are how they transport the girls/kids/people.
I would also give Ashley things. This is one of the great
pleasures in my life: giving gifts. And I lavished Ashley as much as a broke
bitch with no job like me could. Which is actually kind of a lot. First of all, for
a while, every time we hung out I brought her something sweet to eat. Actually,
I brought us something sweet to eat. The most memorable of these sweet treats
came from a place here in downtown Lawrenceville called Special Kneads. The
slightly pc-lacking name notwithstanding, this place was great. It was run by
people with special needs, or whatever. So basically (forgive me) retards
making cakes and pies and cupcakes and the like. And for some reason (there was
none), this place was cheap af, even though the quality was like, above and
beyond baked goods made by "regular" people. Anyway, I bought Ashley and I petit fours from here once, which are basically God’s gift to women, as they are just
little, delectable, mini-cakes. I got a yellow, lemon one and a pink strawberry one. She took the strawberry one, as I knew she would. 😉 I got the lemon. And one time, she brought me a sweet treat, too, thought it was just a rice
crispy, but on the foil wrapper it said some shit about love, because it was
close to valentine’s day. So, you know, I kept it (the wrapper, not the rice
crispy, which I downed with indecent haste) for a long time after. She also gave me her business card once, which I still have (it's on my altar :).
I also gave her clothes. Of course, they were giant on her,
but she liked to sleep in big t-shirts, so it all worked out. And some of the
shirts I gave her were like, monumental memorabilia from my past, illicit life; such as the black and green Dr. Grassman’s Grow Shop t-shirt my ex and I had
made and printed in circus character font when we owned and operated a hydroponics shop. I also gave her these red Soffee
shorts that I was desperately sad wouldn’t fit me, but she said fit her just
fine. 😐 When I gave her these and she thought they
wouldn’t fit at first, I mentioned she could give them to a friend, to which
she replied she didn’t have any. We bonded on this point at well: we were both
all alone in this world (for a time and to some degree). She had basically left
her trashy parents and past behind and cut ties with them all, even to the
point that rednecks triggered her “now” and she had had to steel herself to
even come into downtown Lawrenceville, which isn’t exactly full of
rednecks, but we try. She told me that in elementary school, though, girls had
flocked to her and asked to be her friend all the time. Or rather, some bitch
had told her they were friends now. IDK. But yeah, we both lacked in the social
department.
Ok, so Ashley and I never really touched. I don't think we even hugged at all. This extended to other weird places, like one time we were listening to my music and I told her that Pandora station was the one I listened to during sex and she was like ewwwww!! Don't tell me that!! I don't wanna know that!! Exactly like an embarrassed little 6th grader with a crush... But one time, we DID touch, when she got scared of a bee. We were in her car doing our best to pretend to look for a job for me, and a bee flew in the window. This upset her, big time. Apparently, she was deathly afraid of bees. IDK why. Who cares, though, because she like jumped across the cockpit (or whatever) and basically into my lap. I was thrilled, obs, but she was scared and upset, so I tried to shoo the bee away while secretly hoping it would, like, fly up her skirt and she'd just get naked right then and there. But yeah, that was the closest we ever got to being intimate? :|
As for food, we did that a bit. Beyond my bringing her sweets, we once like, ate two meals together. The first one she paid for with her government money from her job. We got tacos- very fitting, I know. So lesbionic. <3 Anyway, she got two; one I suggested and one she chose. She ended up not liking her choice, but really digging mine... Yessss... Score... Second time we ate together, she also paid. She had gotten herself a sandwich at our regular coffee shop and said she wasn't going to eat it all and gave me half. Yessss... Score.... Sandwiches are vaginal PS... It was a good sandwich and an even better time... Ahh...
Also, she was a Tarot person. Now, I read Tarot for 13 years until I realized I was in an abusive relationship with my deck. But we could talk divination at the very least and we did a reading once, together, with my I Ching cards. It was interesting, but I really only remember getting card 57 for the solution. 57 is the number of the rose and therefore Mary Magdalene. It was pretty exciting...
Today I realized that Ashley looks a bit like Audrey Hepburn in addition to my high school bestie. Very classy and well put together and everyone's attracted to her. Samsies.
So one time, we talked about losing our virginities. I don't remember too much about her experience except she was wearing a pink and white flower dress, that she still has, which is all too appropriate as those are the direct colors of the Divine Prostitute. <3 She then went on to explain this like, opened something up in her and she became super easily turned on and really into sex or something. IDK I just remember her saying she like, had to get it or she couldn't think straight or finish her homework? IDK, but the bitch was into it...
I remember one time Ashely was impressed with my memory and perspicacity. I mentioned that I knew she liked plants after she had told me she and her baby cousin liked to pick wild onions, she got all excited over a fun bundle of burning herbs in a shop one time, and I noticed her water bottle had vines on it. When I enumerated these to her after she was like how do you know I like plants? she was like wow, I can't believe you even noticed or picked up on that stuff, let alone remembered it all... I said something anodyne, but inside I was like, yeah, I mean, I'm a miracle, babe. Also, one time I bought her a plant magazine, and by bought I mean charged it. She also gave me two magazines once and told me about how she liked magazines.
At some point, I began buying Ashley stuff. It couldn't be helped. Gifts are my love language and I LOVED her. Everywhere I went, I saw stuff I knew she'd like and sometimes I bought it. It ended up being dumb, because in the end, I took much of it back and gave her in one lump sum all the stuff I couldn't really return... But yeah, little blue earrings, flower string lights, a pink and silver woven bowl... All that shit... :(
Oh... the end. The end of all things. So, at Easter 2023, I blew my fam up because I realized my uncle is a dark wizard while he simultaneously grabbed my ass, so, you know, it went down. Witchy letter, psych ward, family pariah... You know how it goes... But my 8 day stint in the psych ward, coupled with my refusing to return to my summer job at the Haitian Church Summer Camp, led her government annex whatever to conclude that I wasn't serious about my search for a job. Consequently, she "dumped" me, both personally and professionally.
I remember walking with her in some grass after I sent the letter and her being like, what if they send you to the mental hospital? And I was like, I'll go. That's a bit the last memory I have of her because I never saw her again after all that. I thought it'd die down after a while and we could see each other socially, and I was even happy with the whole thing if that was the case, but, alas, it was not so. I never even spoke to her again. When I got her "professional" break up text, I was incensed and didn't respond. I then got her formal resignation email and didn't respond to that either. Once I was ready to talk, I guess she'd checked out. She's never responded since.
I got all dressed up and decided to give her the stuff I'd bought for her I couldn't return, at least. I knew where she lived because she'd given me the two magazines which had her address on them. We had discussed the numerology of this once I saw it, so she knew I knew where she lived, technically. But when I showed up, after-hours, at her home, her boyfriend answered the door and acted way surprised to learn that I was who I am. After that, I had a dream she was in a house full of clothes and was worried I would stalk her. So I didn't. :| When her birthday came around in December, I left her a pink bag with Bad Bitch gum (she had to have mint gum always), some eye shadow, and some "most wanted" lip gloss. I hope she liked it, but I fear I will never know...
KENZIE
Oh, Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie. This one still hurts. I met Kenzie at the library at an author speaking event for writers. She read her in-workshop-produced piece aloud and I was intrigued. For one thing, she wrote about how some old man had sexually harassed her a bit in the fruit section of the grocery store (we had been asked to write about a time when we were scared [as I fear nothing, I wrote nothing ;)]). I noted the appropriate symbolism and the fact that she was wearing red and black and moved on. I had my eye on the gay guy sitting next to me. After the subpar author finished pretending to be good at writing, I made my approach: I told the little gay kid I liked his ring. We struck up a convo and chatted in our seats, in the room where it all went down.
After a while, the red-and-black-clad, sexually harassed girl came over and introduced herself, saying she was new in town from Texas and could she join us? We were like yasss, obs, and we all started talking shop and Atlanta and stuffff. The gay kid left and broke my heart months later by telling me he just didn't want to be friends, but the lady stayed. We eventually moved our situation out to the library proper and spoke for like 3 hours of crazy shit. And when I say "spoke", I use it loosely, and really I mean I talked AT her for most of the time. I mean, I have a lot of opinions, and she clearly needed to hear them, being all black-and-red and sexually harassed in the fruit aisle... I did learn, however, that she was originally an opera singer, had moved here on a whim with her friend and her friend's boyfriend, and she was writing a book about a Jewish man turned Christian preacher. Needless to say, I was enthralled. Plus, Kenzie listened to me and didn't like, recoil in disgust at my... "originality".
At some point, she had to go, and I remember I went home and cried because my sister was crying because she had just gotten Lasik surgery and was losing it as she never has before... I don't know how many times I've seen my sister cry, let alone just lose her shit, but she diddddddd... and this caused me to cry because...my sister was crying!!! She was so scared and in pain and said the whole thing had triggered her fear of eyes and alien abduction and doctors and all the worst things... Anyway, I mention this because as I sat in bed with her after she had fallen asleep (which took WAY TOO LONG), I texted this new friend about the conspiracy we had "discussed" hours before. We met up a few times after this, but then she disappeared, alas...
At one point, I thought I'd hook her up with my semi-friend John. Then I realized he was an archetypal "John" in addition to being a regular John and did not fit well with her "sex slave" energy that I was trying to pull her out of... I think the first time I saw her after the library meet-cute was at Scott's Antique Market. I told her about it because it's one of Atlanta's premier attractions if you know, and I thought she should experience it. She brought her crew and I brought John and we all met up. It was good to see her again and she was wearing a pale pink sweatshirt with a pink rose in her hair (fake). I remember we looked for a long time at fancy, old, international coins that were showcased at this one stall. I also remember being pleased at how John and Kenzie seemed to enjoy talking about writing and literature as they walked behind me and talked softly. I bought some badass vintage, black, hexagonal, and fake diamond, Japanese earrings I bargained for with the guy for like $6.
Her friends got really into the vintage post cards and bought several. Afterwards we all went to Eats, one of my all-time favorite restaurants in Atlanta I've been going to since I was like 7. I wanted the pasta, but was bummed to find that they had shut the pasta section of the place down since Covid, with no plans to being it back. :((( But! All was not lost! On their menu that day was a pasta! And I got it! Hooray America!! Anyway, it was all very pleasant and pleasing and pleasurable. We all hung out a few times after at this coffee shop music venue on a few Saturday nights. The music was very good, the vibe was cool, and the treats were terrific! I remember one time, I gave the band a tip and they, like, made a big deal out of it in the middle of their show... I feel like people clapped... IDK.
I hung out with Kensie and her roommate, another Opera singer, just us gals only once. We met at a park beside the Chattahoochee river betwixt us (she lived a ways away). None of us had ever been there and I'd found it on a map. When we got there, it was a long drive to a pretty underwhelming scene, but on this long drive into the park, some guy's car was broken down. Once we passed this and made our way to the pavilion, the girls felt weird about the dude. Like, they thought he was going to harm them? Like, he was going to leave his car, walk down to us, and fuck with us, for no reason, without knowing us or having any reason to do so? IDK, it was nuts to me, but I understood their feminine fear, so I informed them they were rolling with the baddest bitch around and I would certainly protect them, if not lay my life down for theirs, and anyway, I had a knife (I always do). So it was settled, and so did we. I had brought dumb gas station shit like banana cream cookies and cheap ass pink wine. But, it turned out to be not-so-stupid because Kenzie looooved the wine. As in, it was apparently her favorite wine!!! Which made me slightly wonder about her taste as I had picked it up for like $7 at the gas station, but WHATEVER, she liked it and I had brought it, fulfilling a synchronicity for us all!!
We talked and talked in this empty pavilion about how they thought with my vivacious charm and charisma, that I should act, whereupon I informed them that I detested pretending in all its forms and would never do so! They laughed, and we spoke of opera. I don't remember too much more, but I remember thinking it was all just so divine... For one thing, my baby cousin/daughter is named Kensie, so it felt so right... We talked about the book she was writing, and the interviews she was doing with the Jewish preacher, and how it was hard to turn basic anecdotes into fully visual, sensory, well-perceived story. I remember her saying his life was nuts, like he grew up in Israel and fell through a glass ceiling once??? IDK...
The last time I saw this lovely individual was at a coffee shop/motorcycle store? Lol, her new boyfriend had picked the place and apparently he rode. It was a bit incongruous because later in the day I was going to hear a Buddhist monk speak at a friend's house and I had dressed for that, not motorcycle coffee shops... Which, of course, meant I had worn my lemon-yellow, vintage 70's, maxi dress made of that old-timey polyester material with a cut-out near the throat for like that, vintage, cream-colored, 70's lace? IDK, I looked nuts in there with all the hipster bikers (?), and it wasn't helped because I also decided to wear my purple flower crown with this get-up. Oh dear...but whatever. We met up and talked and her silly bf was there. He was a red-head (Freemason) and our first meeting was fraught with a weird moment wherein our respective archetypes recoiled inside us, while our outside visages tried to introduce ourselves politely. As Magdalene's and Freemason's are wont to do, you know...
I remember basically ignoring this person, and not just because he was a Freemason projection who was clearly into the sex-slave energy my friend had. I also just had shit to saaaaaaaay to this bitch and couldn't be bothered to pretend to care he was there. This was right in the middle of all this angsty, abandonment bullshit I'm writing about here, and I needed to VENTttttt. So, in a word, I scared the new addition with my face, dress, insanity, words, and worldview, I feel certain. Perhaps that is the reason why this was our last encounter; but I feel, rather, that she fell, as many do, under the wicked spell of my bastard enemies... *sigh* (again). I tried to hang out with her on my birthday for Christ's sake; we'd made plans and I checked with her the night before to make sure it was all a go. She said yes; it was all good. I feel like I also checked in with her that morning and it was all gravy, then, too. But by the evening, she told me she had started "throwing up" and "couldn't make it". IDK if this was lies or a throw-up-curse, but it was one of them, because we did not hang out, I spent my birthday evening alone last year, and really, we never talked again. :(((
I will say this about Ms. Kenzie, though: she introduced me to one of my all-time favorite new movies: EUROVISION: FIRE SAGA, as well as a book that helped me get through all this cabal bullying: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. While Ms. LaRue and I did not share exactly the same curse, reading about her ordeal wherein no one remembered her during her unnaturally-long life due to a satanic curse, helped me feel represented, seen, and better because I had someone whose extraordinary pain I could identify with... so THANK YOU KENZIE, your book kept me sane and Eurovision has provided me a wonderful modern Grail Drama.
NAOMI
So, I believe I met Naomi on May 13th 2023. I had gone to some festival in Rockdale county and I rolled up with magic. First of all, the place was next to the equestrian center, and horses are a symbol of human trafficking magic (horses ~ whores); second, the name Rockdale implies a sort of calcified-vagina-space as rocks are hard and dales are low-lying, vagina-like parts of the earth. So, of course, as soon as I pulled up (I got in for FREE btw, because the fair was basically ending when I got there), I lit some incense and put it in a tree. I feel like I did other stuff, too, but that's what I remember most. Next, I walked past the vendors and was like immediately attracted to this one selling jewelry. It was a youngish girl (my age) selling her hand-made jewelry: very small scale, mostly clayish type pieces. Simple, elegant, and witchy. So, obviously I had to talk crazy with her.
I started by just sliding in the idea that her pieces were sort of spiritual, then I implied that they were magical, then I went full blown witch when she said she liked my shirt, which was an Easy Bake Coven shirt I'd gotten at Spencer's years before. I ended up verbal diarrheaing all over her about magic, symbolism, and all the things; explaining why I was even there and the bad-magic-nature of the space and county. She told me about her bad ex bf and how she had also lived that west-coast life for a while. It was great fun and I feel a bit like I helped her when I drew some runes on her tent poles to help her with sales, socializing, and strength (she had been very sick for a while before that).
I bought some pink, clay, rose earrings from her for $13, which seemed appropriate (13 being the number of the prostitute). I gave her my blog, which I believe she read a bit of, and we texted for a while after that. I remember I would text her random pictures of me wearing her earrings and tell her how impressed I was with their minuscule scale. She told me it was very gratifying to make them and they made her happy. We did not meet up for a long time after because every time we made plans, she got sick. But one glorious day, she texted me and said she would be in MY hood and we should meet up, which we diiiiiid.
Naomi and I met up at a bubble tea shop I'd never been to, but had seen and wanted to try out. She is half Japanese, I believe, and so she was into it. I rolled up broke (what's new) but with a skin-care item, as I get them for free every month in this guilt-ridden subscription box of make-up shit my mom still sends me every month cuz she a cunt. ANYWAY, Naomi offered to buy my bubble tea in exchange for this face stuff and I was happy.
We talked at length, but mostly I verbal diarrheaed on her again, because this was ALSO in the middle of this shadowstate bullying bullshit I'm writing about right now. So, I was pretty upset about it all as I think this was close to when Robi denied my request for relationship, IDK. She was pretty cool about it and commiserated and told me her father was into conspiracy theories as well, so she believed me. That part was validating, but once we went our separate ways, it was game over.
I guess they got to her, because when I asked what she was up to afterwards she hurriedly told me she was busy all winter (how? There were no festivals...). There was also after a tense moment when I asked the name of her new nephew (I'm a bit baby-obsessed as I'll never have my own [by choice]) and then when she was kinda weird about telling me, I told her I just wanted to analyze his name for the runes involved. She told me his name but told me not to tell her about the "meaning" of the name, because she "didn't want to put anything on a new soul like that", which I told her was fine. I pulled a little switcheroo on her when I got my new number just to see what would happen if I called her. She was pretty miffed and eventually told me she had only picked up my call because she thought I was her doctor. There was no other reason for her consternation at my call other than the fuckers fucking fucking w her. Anyway, what seemed a promising relationship fizzled out into nothing again...
KRISLYNN
I believe Krislynn came next in this round-robin of sadness. :( So, one of my favorite bands is Son Volt, who came to Atlanta at the end of the summer in 2023. I went alone to the concert, as I am wont to do, but I dressed to impress: red, sleeveless, shift dress and max make-up and jewelry. I had a blast because it just so happened the concert was geared toward the one album of theirs I was really into, Trace, because it was the 10 year anniversary of that album.
So basically, they played the whole album to my entire delight and I reveled in the whole thing all night. On the dance floor a pretty young girl told me she liked my dress and we started talking before the show started. Turns out she was an English professor at the state university and we had a lot in common! I'm not including her here because it didn't go much beyond those few minutes talking, but she was a bad bitch with good fashion and a long, well-read list of literature under her belt. Plus her insta handle is pretty cool, something about lily having two queens?
But Krislynn was a different story. I had noticed her earlier in the show because...she's noticeable. She's an edgy-beautiful, older, punk-rock chick who was also rocking red. I was immediately attracted her to and when I found myself standing next to her in the back hallway, we struck up a conversation. I'm sure it was me who spoke first, probably about her tattoos, because I for sure remember talking to her about her Hebrew tattoo and how it didn't mean what she thought it did when she got it. She wasn't there specifically for Son Volt but just because she knew the people who ran/owned the venue and was just hanging out for free. She had a long-term boyfriend and a daughter.
What I really remember talking to her about was medication and I don't know why. I remember her saying she was trying to titrate down her antidepressants or something, which I was all for, having been off my own meds for about a year at that point and loving it. We talked about how crazy it was that at the advent of psychotropic meds they were telling people not to take them too long, and now they were, like, prescribing that shit to people for life. It was a healthy-minded conversation that lead to many other areas of interest for us and eventually, she realized I was what's up. At some point I think she was like, who are you? And I was like, die antwoord. Anywho, we exchanged info. Her lame (and much less attractive) boyfriend came to get her eventually and whisked her away from me.
I hit her up pretty quickly afterwards and we made plans "to take over the world" that Monday, which she had off. She told me she worked at this fancy, green, local grocery store in Candler Park I had always seen but never visited. Sunday night I checked in and was like U READY??!! She was like YASSS!!! Then the day came and she surreptitiously sent me a text a few hours before we were scheduled to hang and was like, on second thought, I got shit to do so nah. I must admit, I was pretty bummed. I was actually into her, like, sexually, even though she was all booed up or whatever. And, of course, she was just a cool person. I didn't think they could get to her, but, rly, I never do. *sigh*
I tried to stop by her work one day, but the people there said she didn't work there?Weird... Makes me wonder if she lied, or her coworkers aren't too observant, or I got the wrong place? Maybe she's really, really quiet? But when you work in a small cafe, you'd still notice everyone you work with... Plus, Krislynn isn't like, easy to miss... Also, makes me wonder if "they" are like planting people everywhere I go now? Anyway, I think I made half-hearted attempts to see her again after she blew me off that time, but once I asked her if she was going to gay pride and she said "yes" and that's it, I stopped trying and never saw/spoke to her again... :(((
LEIGH-ANN
Oh, Leigh-Ann. This one also still smarts. Mostly because we had SO MUCH IN COMMON. We met at an Atmosphere concert at the Masquerade. First of all, no one knows who Atmosphere is, and the people that do are fucking bad ass bitches. Leigh-Ann no only knew who they were, but she bought a ticket to their show, went to their mid-week concert, and then talked to me. The show itself was nuts. First of all, the new Masquerade is divided into heaven and hell. I, thank God, was in Heaven. Second of all, Atmosphere is a white, Canadian hip-hop artist who's main reign was in the early 2000's. So, while I wasn't expecting all black people, I was shocked to find that most of the people there were white. Also, we were all old people, I was dismayed to find...lol. Atmosphere himself said so from the stage. He was old, too, though. ;)
I was alone, per usual, and wearing my rainbow unicorn tank top my rich friend gave me. I was hungry and early, when I first arrived, because I misunderstood that the doors opened at 8 but the show didn't start till 9. I ended up getting a way-overpriced hamburger at some comedy club in the area. While I was waiting for them to make it, I cleaned up the club, like a psycho. They were like um... as all people are when I start cleaning their workplace unsolicited and uninvited. Anyway, I got my golden burger and ate it outside. I ended up chatting with some biker-types I shared a table with, then went back in and chatted up some semi-dark, nerdyish-seeming guys sitting next to me. They were nice and cool and saved my seat when I needed it, which I did, because there were only like two benches along opposite walls and I DO NOT STAND WELL. I'm a sitter, not a stander, so that ass print was MINE. Anyway, the swarthy gentlemen saved my seat and were cool when I talked to them.
On one excursion I went outside because one of the opening acts sounded like satan, and I ended up talking to this cute blonde who offered me cocaine and a free haircut. I declined both. Her fugly bf walked up and busted up my scene like, while she was telling me what a cheating bastard he was. She wanted to buy my art after seeing a few pics on my phone but when I hit her up about it later, she "ghosted" me. *sigh*
Ok, so Leigh-Ann. I noticed her mostly because of her shoes: red, corduroy, ked-lookin' things. I commented on them to her and she told me their story, which I have since forgotten. She ended up hanging with me most of the show because we were both brunette, 30-something, white girls who liked Atmosphere and red shoes. Turns out she was pretty dancy and I always am, so we danced near enough to each other for people to think we were friends who went there together. ;)
It was especially fun because the hottest guy at the show was right behind me and I was wearing my holographic hair bow; so he got a face full of my swangin' ass and pretty hair ornament. Turns out he WAS watching me because we spoke later and he commented on how I had waved at like three people in the crowd (for some reason everyone I had already spoken to at the show came by when I was dancing in front of him). He acted like I was Queen of the Show, which I was, because when I wasn't tearing it up on the floor, I was dancing up on the bench above the crowd and Atmosphere himself was watching me. In addition, while Atmosphere was doing some infinity hand-gesture ritual over us, he ended up pointing his finger up and saying something about a unicorn horn while looking right at me. Remember: I was wearing my unicorn shirt and making myself salient by dancing on one of two of the only pieces of furniture there.
Anyway, after the show ended Leigh-Ann disappeared and I was angling to fuck the hot guy behind me, so as we all walked out, I told him I would sure like him and his friends to walk me to my car, since it was parked so far away, and it was such a bad neighborhood, and I was just a lonely, lowly, white girl. HA. He agreed but then Leigh-Ann walked up and I was like PSYCH! Never mind! He was hot and well dressed and dancy but, you know, his name was Michael and he wasn't a woman, so... Anyway, Leigh-Ann gave me a ride to my car, which was a WHOLE THING because I'd basically forgotten where it was parked...
While we perused the mean streets of downtown Atlanta for my vehicle, we talked. Turns out she was a self-taught artist with a young son who made money and lived her life funded solely by her art career. It was pretty incredible. Her baby daddy had been her partner for like 8 years then one day, after she had carried his baby and given birth to him, this guy just decided to leave. Like, without warning; just told her he was through and went. So basically, she was a super hero.
Taught herself art, taught herself how to make it as an artist, took care of a kid, kept house and paid bills and still made it to cool venues for fun shows. Like, what a BAD BITCH. So when we exchanged Instagrams and I messaged her later I told her "I could hardly respect her more", which I feel like anyone would respond to, right?? That's a huge, mondo, gigantic compliment. And it was true and freely given. But, alas, no response. Ugh. Heart BROKEN.
Leigh-Ann was probably very straight, but we would have killed it as friends, too. We liked the same niche music, we were both cute, brunette, white girls, and we were both good artists. And let it be known, she was GOOD. And not just like style and skill and craft, but concept, too. The girl has things to say and a stylish way to say them. I am still sad we didn't take over the Atlanta art scene; she's got that same edgy, figurative, black and white with pop of color/rainbow-thing going on that I do. Anyway, here's some of her very good art: :(((((
