birthdays birthdays

April and June are our birthday steroid months. I think theres 5 or 6 in April and the same for June.

Cool Story … lol,

Which brings Me to this weekend; where there will be, what was going to be, a small gathering of friends and fams.

Last count 25 and rising … eek.

All good … I’m breathing … I have my toolkit … eek.

Seriously though … this will be the first time in about 4 years that I’ve been in the same vicinity with all of the fams – both sides.

Eek and double eek.

Oh and I have drugs if I need them 😉

Wish Me luck … if I can pull this shit off without offending anyone to badly or having a giant ass meltdown … the possibilities could be endless 😉

Oh, and my father is apparently flying into the country on Saturday … again … maybe.


open letter: dear kiddy fucker, heres part three ~ from, Me

I should

feel sorry for you

but nahhhh

I should

feel sorry for your

pathetic frame,

Your lack of skill

and knowledge
which you try to make up for

by dominating

the vulnerable

what a wretched creature

you are


the professionals,

have given you a

super scary persona

to embody

little do they know,

what i know

that you are less than pathetic


you don’t hold

monster status

grooming a small child

isn’t a skill

not one you could put

on a CV anyways

and to try to bend them

to your will;

parents have been doing that shit for years

but for very,

very different reasons

yours are selfish and


But now the cats out of the bag

Now we know

You couldn’t really engage in any meaningful relationship
with someone of your own size

…pardon the penis pun…

but as a matter of enquiry…

did you get rejected

from the army perhaps

the police force?

were you wanked on as a small child

humiliated maybe?

that you feel the need to dominate something so much smaller



than you feel

you know corpses are easier ay?

Not such a flash name for

those fuckers though.

But because you do not have the balls

….lol pardon the pun again…

for real intimacy

You will eventually die alone


but thats about it


you may have your kiddy porn

to place under your

dead head

and some fucked up memories

to ponder on

but you will be alone


knowing somewhere in your


that all your unfortunate victims

will be living full





ragingly successful


specially after they figure out

how to

exorcise the demons

you inflicted on them.

For now,



And  take your time


ponder on these


of wisdom…

Remember how you felt when you when raped up the ass
By the bigger person, back in the day
Remember what it felt like to be little and afraid
And as you cleaned up the blood and semen from your asshole

Remember you were alone then and your alone now
because you chose, to inflict pain on others
Instead of healing yourself
You are a damned wretched

With a teeny tiny pecker
That you couldn’t get up


go on.

say something.

tell me how I should do it.

what I should feel.

tell me

I’m wrong.

tell me

I need to get a life.

go on.

raise your voice.

your tone.

puff your shoulders up.

stretch out the back bone.

lift that chin.

tell me, tell me

I’m fucked.

I’m a mongrel.

I’m lazy.

I’m useless.

go on, mother fucker.

tell me again.

tell me, what you think.

tell me what I should really be thinking.

go on, correct my feelings.

I fucking dare you.

tell it like it is.

tell me, fuck yah.

go on, just like you used to do.


when I was weaker,


in need,


wanting a hand,

a shoulder,

was whiny,



isn’t that how you put it.

mongrel bitch,

go on, try it again motherfucker.

please, please.

I am in need of a dam good fucking argument.

you used to like it like that,

but now,

not so much, ay.

because my voice

my arm

my anger

my fierce

my being

my woman

my heart

my soul

and my fucking steel


don’t play that shit no more.

so, I tell you.

I dare you.

try it, go on, try it.

and see what happens.

backdrop and current dilemma, of sorts

In a previous post I touched on having to go and get my drivers licence renewed and the ‘art’ of trying desperately to ‘look’ normal.

So heres the back story.

I haven’t driven, properly, or long distance, for years. This is my choice; as in, I haven’t had my licence revoked or anything. But I figured, possible panic attack and driving don’t really go well together …  so better safe than sorry, at least until I can get a handle on everything. And thats not going into the Vertigo scenario and being able to handle movement etc.

So at the end of last year, I was flicking through my extremely empty wallet, hoping to find a lazy $20 I may have tucked away and forgotten about; when I happenstanced upon my drivers licence. Looking longingly at the 30 something year old on the front of it, wondering if she had imagined ‘this’ in her future, I thereby-ist noticed the expiry date … Shit Fuck! June 2017, it read in glaringly obvious torment.

  1. I’ll have to go in to the licensing place.
  2. I’ll have to talk to them.
  3. I’ll have to make eye contact.
  4. I’ll have to fill in forms.
  5. I’ll have to go during the day time.
  6. I’ll have to leave my house.

Now by the end of last year, I was way better than I had been the year before. I had made a few trips into town; I could walk to the local shop by myself and down to the beach by myself. I could even talk on the phone for 10-15 minutes! Yip-fucking-py! Sure, I still needed, and still need, my ‘tool kit’, but I was, and am, slowly gangstah-rizing my process.

So I put my licence back in my wallet and made a note of it on the whiteboard – so I wouldn’t forget and so I wouldn’t dwell on it and freak out even more.

June 2017 rolls round and holy fuck, I’m not ready … but I am … but I’m so not!

Bring on the Thursday just gone; 1 day before my licence is due to expire. I get myself ready and drop and quarter calmer sedative, and we head off. But I have this roaring gnawing sensation in the pit of my gut.

“How the fuck do I do normal?”

Not that I had ever really been ‘practiced’ in the art of ‘normality’ or steadily practiced ‘active normality’ LOL. But i think, without even realising it, we’re all ‘socialised’ into being, or at least acting, normal. And that normality, as despised by those of us who … well … aren’t … really is an awkward farce. And those of us on the fringes, spend a shittonne of time establishing something outside of that norm, to call our own, and the spend the rest of that time screaming at the normal mofos, to notice us and let us be all at the same time.

Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a world where normal was gay and heterosexual was abnormal; where the only access ways were wheelchair ramps and there was only one ‘abled-bodied’ toilet in a restaurant; where atheism was normal and christianity was abnormal; where female was the dominant gender … and normal … and male, was abnormal … and subservient; where my mochachinno was only served to me by white middle aged men in suits 😉 Yah get my drift … And whilst we all struggle in our own sections of ‘abnormality’ to find normality of our own … we can acknowledge somewhere, somehow, that the ‘normal’ we all long for – is Not.

This is a straight able-bodied white mid-aged, upper middle class dude world. Anything outside that … isn’t normal. Soz peeps, that actually puts a lot of you into the ‘abnormal’ section by default 😉

So knowing that most of Us are not normal, We still strive to fit. Because there is a ‘look’ that we are after … and that is one of “Yeah, I know what the fuck I’m doing”.

So when all that appeasing and pleasing is stripped away, and You really are left with your A for Authentic self and whoever that may be … could You, would You, go back to faking it? Even for a moment?

Well, it turns out – I can’t without getting sick!

I made it to the counter to get my licence renewed … I managed to fake a smile or two and do ‘banter’ on the bad photos that end up on the front of all licences. And all the while my head was spinning; my gutt was gnawing and I desperately wanted to throw up; my legs wanted to get the fuck out of there! But I stayed – because I Needed what they were providing.

Now some would say that this is the price we have to pay to get what we want. That Complicity is what we have to employ to get things done.

But I’ve never been complicit. I have had complicity forced upon Me and complied because it was the choice between breathing – Or not.

But for these everyday things, I really do wonder, how we got to the point where complicity was the normal. Who made the rules up that we all follow? Who decided what looks and acts normal? Who decided what was abnormal?

Anywho … that gnawing in my gutt went on for over 3 days. No, I didn’t have a panic attack (not a biggie anyway). No, I didn’t freak completely. And that in ‘the big picture’ of things, is what the psychologists would call “Progress”. And don’t get Me wrong; I high fived myself!

But aren’t I just re-learning how to be ‘normal’? How to work the system so I can get what I want?

That leaves a bad after taste in my gutt.


the spectrum(s)












social étiquette.












medicating into silence.


fuck that.