“Don’t date a mystic, if you want the life you have. If you are comfortable and cozy, stay away. Whatever you have built around yourself to create comfort: it cannot stand in the blazing fire of a mystical woman. She is no trophy. She is no bodily pleasure-maker. She is the seer of souls. She is the womb that births the divine into the flesh and bone of matter. She doesn’t mean to burn your village to the ground, but she has seen what you are meant to become. You are not a peasant sheering sheep, as you have thought. You are a king dressed in rags who has amnesia.”
~ Alison Nappi
Love that almost as much as Lessons on Loving a Prophet.
No actual post today. Save these words.
I have failed to find an adultier adult and thereby must become one.
I leave for NOLA in less than 2 days. Gone for 3.
I need to recharge. Absorb some magic from elsewhere to bring back home.
Promised the Giant I would procure a voodoo doll and name after him, and so I shall.
Before I leave I must do things like get an oil change and climb Laundry Mountain, and work I gotta work work work work work.
I was out with a dear friend the other day. Talking over twin stone bowls at the Owl of Minerva, a Korean restaurant with a name that pleases me to no end. The food is amazing, as was the company.
We were talking about the last straws in abusive relationships. She said if you can leave in less than 7 attempts you are doing well. First two took me over 20, this last one…just once.
I was beaten so badly once that when I got to work the other strippers in my change room believed I had been in a car wreck, save one who asked when they started making cars with fists.
Led to some other stripper war stories. She asked if I had published any…not the ones I was telling…no. Too graphic, Angel Heart versus 9 1/2 Weeks.
Hmmm, I felt an idea tickling the back of my brain.
I’m working on an erotica novella, very genre specific and although loosely based in real life, it is fictitious. Not the kind of thing I post here. But…
The one who inspired my aforementioned Opus also used to play a game with me called ‘fact or fiction’. He would ask about my past or get me to make something up and I’d send whichever he chose. The real life ones have no place in the novella…but…
I have archives of lovers past. Starting around age 17, and never ending if I can help it.
More idea tickles, I’m giggling now.
So, starting soon, there will be a new page to this website. Pay-per-view so to speak. I give you, my darling readers, a one paragraph teaser and if you want more you have to subscribe or pay a nominal fee.
I promise to be worth it.
Full disclosure stories about my lovers and strip club shenanigans.
Way less metaphors, way more sex and all absolute truth.
Thinking it should be called “The xxx Files” or “Adventures on Whore Island” yep, there it is.
All me, All nude, All the time.
See if I can hire Cheech Marin to stand outside and be my barker “PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY”. There may or may not be vampires and snakes inside, mariachi band…check. We did have a live tiger on the pool table every Friday for a while. Her name was Tasha, I think.
See you on the other side.
