Ashes to Ashes

This is one of the most beautiful poems I've ever heard. And so true of our times.

Homosexuality, Bisexuality, Transgendered, Heterosexuality, these are WORDS. They do not define us. They separate only if you build your walls with them. If you say them like a curse, they may burn, but they don't have the staying power to set the world on fire.

If you let others define you, with their words and their hates, you never learn of the beauty that can be found in the ashes. Don't let the smoldering bones of those who have fought, clawed, raged and died be for nothing.

You are beautiful, even though you come from ashes. Your name isn't a forbidden word. Say it loud. Speak, scream, shout, be HEARD. Don't let them silence you. Don't let them steal your voice. Don't let the words destroy you.

Let the words slip over you, like water off of a duck's feathers. Use only beautiful words to build. And build bridges instead of walls.

The Cut

Recently I was linked to an article, posted on the website "Barrel of Oranges," about Rape. The title intrigued me, as I'm sure it would just about anyone (good on you, Barrel of Oranges!), because of the simplicity of it.

"Teaching my 2 year old how not to rape" is what it said. I was intrigued because of the idea behind it. The idea that we have to teach our children not to harm others. The idea that if we don't teach them not to harm, someone else will to teach them how to harm. The idea kind of blindsided me and I realized I had to read the article.

If you are interested in reading it for yourself here is the link:
http://barreloforanges.com/2013/03/24/teaching-my-2-year-old-how-not-to-rape/

Surprisingly, however, it wasn't her views on rape that astounded me. It was what I read about circumcision. She doesn't hide her opinion on the matter. Its right there in the first paragraph. It jolted me a bit, because I've never really thought about circumcision. At least, not as in depth as I did after reading a couple of her other posts on the topic.

I grew up in church. The majority of the people that know me (or have read a few of my rants) know this. I was taught that circumcision (of male genitalia) is required by God. I don't know why, actually. I never really understood why it mattered whether or not the foreskin was cut off of a man's junk. In fact, for the longest time I had NO idea what a foreskin even was. I had never seen an uncircumcised penis, actually. Not that I had seen very many penises at that time anyway.

But the Bible is FULL of verses on Circumcision and how men are to be circumcised. Even Abraham got circumcised at the ripe old age of ninety-nine (Genesis 17:24). What I do know is that God believed it was a valid part of a covenant between himself and Abraham (its been a while since I picked up my Bible). He even says so in Genesis. If you want specifics, chapter 17:10-11.

I've also always believed that circumcision was healthier for a man than remaining uncircumcised. Something that I discovered, upon researching, isn't entirely true. I thought that a man received more sexual pleasure if he was circumcised versus uncircumcised. However, circumcision comes down to aesthetics more than health and sexual pleasure. And, often times, it can be botched.

Now, if you had asked me about female circumcision I would've told you that it was genital mutilation. There is no aesthetic or enhanced sexual pleasure to female circumcision. It is purely to mutilate to the point that a woman no longer feels enjoyment or pleasure from sex, keeping her faithful to her husband. It is also so that a man remains "undisturbed" by the natural shape of a female sex, or her being "over-sexed." I remember being horrified as a kid reading an article on the topic by Waris Dirie, a Somalian actress and model, who had been "circumcised" at the tender age of five.

But the post by Barrel of Oranges made me think. It made me consider a few things.

Recently my god-daughter, who is 3, got a hold of a pair of scissors and cut off a decent portion of her hair (think Sinead O'Connor). Obviously, her mom was freaking out. This beautiful child, however, was not upset and told her mother that it was "perfect." I didn't "fight" with her mother, but I did tell her that if the child wants to cut off all her hair that is her right. It is HER body, not her mother's. She should be able to express herself however she wants. If she thinks she is beautiful, I want her to believe that. I want her to grow up believing that no matter what she is beautiful because she LOVES how she looks and fuck anyone who doesn't think so.

The belief that it is her body and that her mother shouldn't interfere is something I had never considered when it comes to circumcision.

The absence of a "no," doesn't automatically mean "yes."

Why would I cut off healthy, living, tissue from my son's penis just because I think circumcised is more attractive? He has no way of agreeing to this and I am doing irreparable damage to his body. Circumcision is permanent. I can't go back later and let him undo it. There is NO going back from that. And I would want my child to decide what they want. Not what I want.

My husband is circumcised. And yes, I prefer the look compared to uncircumcised. After reading up on it, doing some research and thinking very carefully about body rights, I have decided that if I ever had a son, I would never circumcise him. I would let him decide when he was old enough to understand what he was doing.

I had the audacity to ask an adult male (that I had a crush on) if he was "cut" or "uncut." I remember his being appalled at the idea of being "uncut." As if that was a disgusting thing. Why is a piece of flesh disgusting?

We can argue aesthetics all day long. I don't find penises particularly attractive to begin with, so it would be easy for me to say I prefer my husband's. It would be easy to say that the only other penis I have ever found attractive was Yul Brynner's and he was uncircumcised. Either can be beautiful. Either can be perfect. It is a matter of opinion.

What isn't up for debate, at least where I am concerned, is the ethics of it. Is it ethical to remove healthy tissue from a healthy penis without the consent of the patient? No matter how young? Is it ethical to alter someone else's body without their permission, just because they won't "remember" or because we find it more "aesthetically pleasing?" I don't think it is.

Let my child remain uncut. Let them decide when they are old enough to understand it. Let them decide what to do with their body. They only receive one in this lifetime and who am I to tell them what to do with it?

My question for my male friends/readers is this:
* What are your thoughts?
* Are you circumcised? Uncircumcised?
* If you are circumcised, do you wish you hadn't been? Are you comfortable as you are?
* If you are uncircumcised, do you wish you had been? Do you prefer being "uncut?"

Bone

He brushes calloused fingers over her ribs, a quiet, and strange, arousal quickening within him. He is imagining peeling away layer after layer of muscle and fat, skin and tendons. He pushes aside the offal, finding his prize, ivory buried in warm, crimson, silk. He imagines cracking her sternum and gently pulling apart her ribs so that they flex open like a hinged box. That is his prize, her ribs fluttering open like a butterfly's wings in the sun.

Her screams, as he pulls her apart, will be as beautiful as any symphonic glory dreamed by Mozart or Beethoven. He feels his arousal reaching a peak, feels it building beneath the wicked desires. He slows to a teasing thrust reveling in her moans as he denies her again and again. Soon he will make her slick with blood, prying apart the flesh and pushing into the cavity he will open.

Her hazel eyes remain closed, savoring the heft and feel of him sliding in and out of her. She arches her back, thrusting her chest up to meet his fingers as they brush little circles around her breasts. She does not feel him changing. She does not see the shift from lover to murderer. Nor does she see him take up a wicked little blade. She is lost in the moment, her hips thrusting up to meet his, taking him as far within herself as she can.

She gasps, her eyes fluttering open as she feels the knife find purchase. A rigid jolt of agony shocks her system as it tears through her outer layer. She looks up at him, his black eyes glittering like stars in the evening light. His eyes widen, like a shark's, at the smell of blood. It takes a moment for her to find her voice, a scream ripping out of her as he causes another tear in her fabric.

He revels in the music he makes. An orchestra conductor, he instructs his flutes and violins. He encourages the high notes to crashing crescendos, building them higher and higher. And, deep underneath all the soprano notes, builds his own bass. It takes a moment to realize he is screaming with her. Though his screams reverberate with joy and pleasure.

Again he slows, drawing out the sweetness of the moment. He gazes, lovingly, at what he is creating. Like a curious, and none-too-gentle, child he begins to explore his masterpiece. He pushes her apart as he continues to slide in and out of her, blood pooling just beneath her buttocks. The blood serves to lubricate each stroke as he draws closer orgasm. He invades her, looking for what he wants, not caring if she is still screaming.

He separates her breasts, causing rifts and valleys to grow ever wider between the two. He kisses her bloody sternum, shining brightly in the light of a naked bulb. He kisses her bloody bones as he bursts into her, shaking with the intensity of his little death.

Spent, he pulls away, pearlescent beads of crimson staining his lips. He looks deep into her eyes, now glazed and dull. She is still breathing, he can see her lungs moving. He smiles and kisses her mouth, staining her paling skin. She does not respond, a bubble of gleaming spittle beginning at the corner of her reddened lips.

Now begins his vivisection, the dissection of his new favorite doll, though no plaything lasts forever. He doesn't bother to tie her down, she couldn't escape now, even if he let her go. With legs still shaking, he retrieves his bolt cutters, eager to begin.

He snips a ligament, a tether line for rib to sternum, a muffled scream gurgling up from her exposed viscera. He smiles and turns her head so that the vomit leaks out, he doesn't want her to die yet. Though she will die before he is finished.

Another ligament is cut, another pitiful scream. Another and another, until he has only one left. With a jubilant cry, he frees the sternum and removes it. He lays it aside and begins the task of removing her organs.

Lovingly, he cradles each one before placing it in a sealed container. Later he will throw them against his canvases so that they splatter. He will name each piece after its respective organ, sign his name in blood and call it 'avant garde.' He will place these works of 'art' behind glass so that the smell of rot and decay is hidden.

Once all the organs have been removed he begins detaching the ribs from the backbone. As each one is removed, he places it in a bowl of cool water to remove the marrow. Later he will lightly cook the marrow until it is succulently tender and pair it with a delicate rose wine. With the marrow removed he drills randomly placed holes and fills the bone with a thick red paint. It oozes, like blood, and he hangs it above a blank canvas to drip.

Finally he begins the task of removing her other bones. He removes the marrow from each before he cleans them. He washes each one in a bleach solution until they glimmer. Smiling, he holds each one up to the light, examining and polishing.

He recreates her skeleton, after the bones are cleaned and drained, but as he sees it. He positions her arms to that her head is cradled in front of her pelvis. He paints her ribs in neon colors fanning them out as a crown for her skull. Using one femur for her backbone, he drapes her vertebrae across her hips.

Taking out his Polaroid camera he photographs his malleable work of art. He christens himself the Picasso of the macabre. He will re-paint the bones, readjust the scene to suit each new muse. He will fall in love with her over and over again, just as he destroys her every time.

Her skeletal remains are a jumble of puzzle pieces waiting to be placed. He will re-create her as he sees her in his fevered imagination. God and Eve playing in the Garden of desire and reincarnation until the end of time. No serpent, no devil, no temptation of evil as he recreates, her piece by piece, in the form of whatever Goddess he chooses. He is the creator, an artist of infinite imagination.

He will cherish her, that is, until the next muse demands his love, demands his worship. Then she will be old bones, forgotten in the abyss of memory.

The Harlot's Blush

It is impossible to say how long they had been insane. The madness was a black pool in which they had, long, been drowning. It was toxic, yet it seemed to give them an almost ethereal loveliness. A tainted beauty enveloped their house and clung to them like so many flecks of ivory colored mud.

He had been a soldier. The blood stains of war could be seen beneath the slowly cracking facade. He lost himself somewhere in the torn jungles of a foreign land and between the legs of a beautiful, young, girl with soulless eyes. His infidelities, to both his wife and himself, often stirred the fires of madness to the point of a break. He would fling himself into a scalding tub of water and scream at God for just a moment of peace. When it had passed he would remind himself that God had died, with him, in those war torn jungles long ago.

She had been a victim of incestuous desires, forced to run from her home to escape an older brother. She had run as far as her twenty dollars and sixty-two cents could take her before she began hocking the only thing left to her. She married the first man that asked and lied, saying she was eighteen. She was his wife, a leash on the madness, already creeping in, until the war. Everything changed after that. While he was gone, she took a lover and began to drink. The scars building on her arms and torso were just to bleed, not to kill. There was no one there to care.

After another fifth of whatever alcohol she can find, she stumbles into his arms. He is shaking and whispering. He looks afraid, as if he were a wounded rabbit being hunted by something more sinister than a fox.

"God is dead. He died between that girl's legs in those forsaken jungles. What a waste. What a tragedy." He whispers into her tousled amber hair as he plants a small kiss on her pale earlobe. He is speaking nonsense, he always does after the nightmares begin. And they always begin this time of year.

~~~

The couple next door have finished moving in and are having a celebratory dinner. They invite their neighbors, though they feel uneasy around them. They can sense the wrongness beneath the calm, everyone can. At first the young wife pleads with her husband not to invite them. There is something there that makes her frightened. Proper etiquette and good manners win in the end.

The evening begins, quietly, with a few casual drinks and pleasantly neutral banter. It grows into a robust game of chess, unwitting pawns in the world of questions. It fades into a hulking paranoia, and resentment, as the guests are politely introduced to the door. Good nights and good byes are given and received as they part for the night.

~~~

The paranoia sits on his chest as he tosses and turns. He must have the beautiful young woman next door. She is perfect, so wonderfully fresh and new. He must have her. His wife doesn't matter, she doesn't even compare. The young woman next door is all that matters.

He watches her, day after day. He follows her as she walks home from the store. He memorizes her curves as he stalks her. He is waiting for the moment to take her, the moment where she will be his alone. He waits, patiently, for a year, writhing in the heat of his lust and the agony of his madness.

He takes her. Takes her just as he did a young girl in a foreign country years ago. He strings her up and rakes his hot hands over her body. He says he will take his time, enjoy her, but impatience is a cruel master. It drives the knife into her writhing body over and over. It is impotence and rage, tempered with insanity, that drives the knife. He can no longer satisfy his wife or himself. Not since that girl in the jungles where God died. He can no longer be a man.

~~~

She finds him in the shed in the fenced-in backyard. He is wallowing in blood and praying to his crucified Madonna. He is crying and has cut himself. She finds his severed manhood lying beside the young neighbor's wilting corpse. Gently, she lifts it from the dirt floor and places it in an empty firefly jar.

She goes to him then. She kneels beside him and takes his head into her lap, caressing his tangled hair. She pries the knife from his hand and twines her fingers with his. She bends over him to kiss his cheek, all the while murmuring words of comfort. She imagines a crown of thorns on his beautiful head as she slits his throat.

She ties him up beside the neighbor woman and begins to devolve into her own wickedness. Her eyes glitter with hatred and insanity, the madness a poisonous balm to her breaking heart. She hums an off-key melody as she lines up jars. They are mostly empty, but in her mind they are holding the parts of every man that harmed her.

She croons, softly, to his body as it, too, begins to wilt. She glances into his tear-bright eyes, still wide in shock at his sudden demise. She sings to him, as if he were a sleepy child. Brushing a stray wisp of hair from his face, she pats his cheek.

"A beautiful forest, a sea of green, nestled at the foot of the mountain. God stands within, laughing at the rotting demons strung amongst the autumn leaves. Their eyes cry out and ghosts weep, quietly. No mortal loves his life in that forest.

"You look so peaceful," she whispers, caressing his cooling face. His eyes seem to be screaming at her. "so calm and beautiful. You didn't have to take her when I would have given myself up to your knife. Was my blood not perfect for this exorcism? Was my heart not beating for you as the blade graced your throat?

"What a waste. What a tragedy. What a beautiful blush the harlot has upon her snow cheek. She fell in love with you, even as you wielded your blade against her. She parted softly with your name, a hallowed prayer, upon her bloody lips. She was a rose and you stole her petals, a goddess in flesh and you freed her from imprisonment.

"What now, my husband? What now, my love?"

She sees him stir at these last words. A strangled scream escapes her mouth as he sways toward her. His hands, once secured, now reach out to choke her, to deny her breath. She claws and gnashes her teeth, sinking into his cold flesh and tearing it. She hears him howling, like a werewolf, his screams beating against the drum of her skull. All her struggle is in vain.

~~~

They found her with her own hands wrapped around her throat. Red teeth marks and torn flesh lay in abundance. The two bodies, hung from the rafters, seemed to be in a lover's pose. A bloody heart was drawn on the wall behind them.

When she was revived all that could be discerned from her garbled speech was "heaven." They led her away from the scene in a white coat, given to her by the nice man also in white.

What they could not understand she knew all too well.

She had tasted heaven in her final scene.

The Moment

I don't know why I'm writing this. I just kind of feel compelled to. It's something that needs to be shared, I guess. You know, working on that memoir still, may as well write down the memories that I have been having bubble up recently.

When I was young there was a lot of stress in my life (there is still a lot of stress in my life). Back then I didn't know how to deal with it (who am I kidding? I still don't know how to deal with it!). I was self-destructive because it was a way to express the turmoil inside me. I was cruel to my body because I perceived it as my enemy. I still perceive it as my enemy, sometimes. Depends on my mood of course.


My step-father's mother used to cook all the time. I don't know if she still does because I am not in contact with her really. She used to fill my plate to the brim any time I was there and I would be told to eat every bite because "there are children starving in Africa." God, I must've heard that SO many times. This, and my growing dissatisfaction with my appearance, ushered me into what I call the "bulimia stage."

I could never finish a whole plate. Ever. I would try, valiantly. But I just couldn't do it. At first I smuggled food in my napkin and excused myself to the bathroom, where I would dump it in the toilet and flush. This quickly got old. I could only carry so much in my napkin, after all.

That's where the moment happened. That moment when I realized that my aching stomach could be purged and then I'd eat more and purge later. I could eat everything, clean my plate and be free of guilt for those poor starving African children or Chinese children or whatever starving children. It wasn't truly a waste, because I did eat it. I just threw it up later.

I did this off and on for a few years. I didn't become what one would call a "full-fledged" bulimic because you can tell when I've been throwing up. The pressure is too much for my poor blood vessels and they burst when I throw up. In my face. So it looks like someone splattered my face with blood or that I suddenly have bloody freckles. This can also happen in my eyes (which I discovered when I was in high school. Rather unfortunate experience since I looked like a freakin' demon for a week or two).

Sometimes, though, when I became ridiculously stressed I would throw up to feel better. It was like purging out all the stress building up inside of me. I didn't do it often, but I always felt better. Even now I will sometimes force the point if I feel sick to my stomach. It's not hard.

The difference between now and then is that I don't need to throw up to feel better about my stress. I may still need to if I'm sick (which is the only time I'll push the proverbial envelope), but not to deal with the stress.

I tried to commit suicide at seven. Don't ask me why, because I can't remember. I just know that I was too afraid to continue living and I was so tired of everything. I overdosed on my inhaler. That wasn't the first time.

For that particular incident, I was punished. The head pastor at the church we went to told my step-father that I was in rebellion and needed discipline. I received a "spanking." For the record, I don't disagree with spankings. I am for a good spanking (both for discipline and sexual pleasure) in certain cases. I believe you should never spank a child in anger and that you should never use anything besides your hand. You feel the sting, if you use your hand. You can gauge how much pain you are delivering and I feel like this makes the difference between abuse and discipline. Personally speaking, of course. I was "spanked" with a switch by a man who enjoyed wielding it a little too much.

I became very good at lying about my overdoses. They were "accidents." Even the one time I emptied an entire inhaler, with my step-father in the room. I did this by sitting close to the speakers of our radio/tape player/record player while he was listening to a tape and waiting until it grew loud enough to cover the sound of the inhaler. I explained them all away. And they never did me any good anyway.

As I got older I realized that killing myself by inhaler was a bad idea. All it did was make me shaky. So I decided to cut my wrists.

We lived in a house by this time. A beautiful house, really. My room was the master bedroom upstairs (as my step-father changed the basement into another level of the house), complete with my own bathroom. Perfect for a teenage girl! One day, I locked myself in the bathroom, sat in front of the door and tried to drag a knife across my wrist (which I now know wouldn't actually work). I didn't even get so far as cutting, because the phone rang at that moment. Heaven only knows why I had it with me.

It was my best friend, Jo. At the time, I took that as a sign from God, because she said she didn't know why she was calling. She just suddenly had a bad feeling and called to see if something was wrong. I cried when I told her what I was trying to do. She talked me out of it and that was the end of that.

I am actually surprised that I didn't start cutting sooner than I did because of all the pent up anger (at myself, at my mother [I'm not mad at you anymore, Mom], at my father, at my step-father, at God, etc.), stress and previous suicide attempts. It just makes sense that I would cut. In the scheme of things, anyway.

The first time I cut myself on purpose, I was at church. My boyfriend (My Edward Cullens, if you will) had just broken up with me. This was a boyfriend I was keeping secret from my friends at school because he was eight years older than me and he was a convicted child molester. Actually, I was doing a poor job of keeping him a secret. I had mentioned him to a couple friends and they freaked out (rightly so, I might add). They told me it was a terrible idea and questioned my sanity (once again, rightly so. Also, you know who you are).

I lied and said I had made it up. He was a hypothetical boyfriend. Well, I guess I'm admitting that he wasn't a hypothetical. He was real. And yes, you were right. It was an awful idea. I'm sorry that I lied about lying, but panic set in and I hate conflict.

It wasn't so much that he broke up with me as it is that we decided to break up until I turned eighteen. Oh yeah, I was sixteen (a week from seventeen) when we met. Seventeen when we started dating. I, foolishly, believed I loved him. He was the only guy who seemed actually interested in being with ME not my BODY. He liked me for me, or so I thought. And things went way further with him than they should've.

I was devastated when we broke up. I hid myself in the Sabbath School room (because I was a Seventh Day Adventist at the time) and took out a little pocket knife a guy friend had given me for protection. I was wearing a skirt that day, with shorts underneath. I pulled up the skirt a little and sliced at my inner thigh until I saw blood. My ex came in right after I had put the knife back in my pocket.

He asked if I was okay. I lied and said I was fine, though I had been crying. He said we were still going to be friends. A week later we were going out again.

Dating him was self-destructive on three fronts:
1. I started cutting because of it.
2. I pushed myself, sexually, even when I knew I wasn't ready for it (and I knew he was a bad idea).
3. I was only dating him to get my step-father's attention.

We dated for another two weeks before I found out he was cheating on me (had been the whole time, by the way) and I broke up with him. Again. He came over to my house and tried to seduce me back to him. He played a stupid ICP (Insane Clown Posse) song while we were in his car. We made out a little bit, but I didn't say I'd go back out with him. Despite my "love" for him, I couldn't take him back after the cheating. Also, that ICP song was INCREDIBLY stupid and un-romantic. Bad choice in seduction music, dude.

He's in prison somewhere. I think.

I cut for a time after that. I cut until I was nineteen, if memory serves. Secretly, of course. And I attempted to convince everyone that they were cat scratches. That didn't work, by the way. Everyone tried to stop me, to their credit. I finally quit because I knew I couldn't keep doing that to myself. I also knew that my ass would get kicked if I continued. Plus, right around the time I finally stopped I "ran away" from home to deal with my issues. Which also didn't work.

A few major reasons for my various amounts of self-destruction:
1. My emerging sexuality. I'm bisexual. Anyone who has read this blog knows that. Anyone who knows me personally should know that. But I was very closeted at the time because of my step-father, because of my God, because of my church friends, etc. My desire to be with a woman sexually was reprehensible according to my beliefs. Another portion of this was my realization that I was not "vanilla," not just bisexually. This also seemed to clash with who I "was."

2. I was surrounded by death. A lot of my family, friends and people I knew were dying all around me. It was terrifying. And disheartening. It is rough when you have been to more funerals than you ever been to weddings or baby showers.

3. My step-father was abusive. Still is, but not to me and his ways have become more subtle. We carried on an emotionally incestuous relationship for most of my formative years. He was also physically and emotionally abusive to me and my brother. My own inability to protect my brother from him played a big role in it too.

4. I was being sexually abused. By several different people and for far longer than I should've been. Sexual abuse is usually perpetuated by someone you trust and know. My ex-boyfriend was only one perpetrator of this.

5. My step-father was emotionally distant from me. Looking back I realize that I just wanted to feel like he loved me. I know, now, that he probably never did. Which stings. I was trying so hard to get his attention. I was trying to get any kind of attention from him. Anything would've been better than nothing.

6. My mother was sick (I don't blame you anymore, Mom). A lot. My mom has a lot of health issues and sometimes she wasn't there when I really needed her. It wasn't her fault, but it pissed me off as well as depressed me. I have always had a close relationship with my mom, her being unavailable when I felt like I needed her was disheartening. Plus, her almost bleeding to death on our bathroom floor from a horrific miscarriage didn't help matters. Every time she got sick I was afraid she was going to die and I'd be alone with my brother, sister and step-father. This was combined with my desire that she die so that she wouldn't be in pain anymore, which lead to a tremendous amount of guilt. Why would I wish my mother dead when I loved her so much?

7. I was desperately lonely. I had friends, but they weren't around all the time. And I felt like I only had the one really close friend, Jo. I was also desperate for any sort of validation. Which is another reason why my step-father being so emotionally distant was destructive for me. I craved validation that I was pretty, smart, etc. That lack of validation has embedded in my brain that I'm useless and stupid so that, no matter what anyone says, I can't believe it.

8. Abandonment issues. My father and I stopped talking when I was thirteen. I sent him a letter telling him I never wanted to talk to him again, that I hated him and it was his fault my Memere was dead (she had died three years prior). His acquiescing to my demands has always felt like abandonment. Part of me wanted him to verbally slap me and continue writing me. I didn't actually hate him. I just missed my grandmother. And I was angry at her for dying, for missing so much of what was to come. I was angry that I didn't get to go to her funeral. I felt like she had abandoned me. My dad had abandoned me. My step-father was emotionally distant and my mother was physically unavailable. I just felt abandoned on all fronts.

So, what was the point of all this you may be asking? I don't know. Maybe it's going to help me realize that I don't have to be self-destructive to deal with my stress? Maybe it's a way of working out externally what has been going on inside me for years internally? Why post it?

Because it is part of what will eventually be written in the book of my life, when I am old and gray. Because it is who I was. I don't need pity, I don't need the attention. Not anymore. I just need to get it out of me, like I have always needed to get it out of me. This is a lot better than a knife, or throwing up dinner. Plus, maybe there are people out there who will read it and be able to diagnose what is going on in their lives too. Help them to see that you can come away from all that crap mostly intact.

Do I have scars? Yes. I have lots of them. I do not cover them up and I am not ashamed of them. They are what has made me ME. I would not be Sarai if not for the scars that have built Sarai.

Anyway, all for now. I should've gone to bed an hour ago because I have to get up early for work in the morning. Maybe I'll write more about my childhood and stuff like that later.

Popping the Cherry

I don't understand popular culture's views on virginity. Particularly the ones revolving around losing said virginity. Books, Movies, TV shows, etc... They make it seem like the most amazing experience. Worth all kinds of trouble and perfect every time it happens. No one ever admits that losing their virginity sucked hard core. No one ever wants to read about that. If they are reading about it, they want it to be beautiful so they can pretend that was their experience too.

Truth of the matter is this:

Losing your virginity (if you are a woman) is not really pleasant. It varies from woman to woman, but even if it doesn't hurt (the actual penetration that is) it is still super uncomfortable because your hips aren't used to it. There may be a little blood or a lot, depending, again, on who you are.

And sometimes we lose our virginity to someone who doesn't deserve it and that thing we've always been told is precious is gone. It makes the whole situation miserable to even think about. But when a book or a movie portrays losing your v-card as beautiful and romantic and pain/blood free, they are lying to you.

Yes, it may be romantic. I'll give you that. Mine wasn't super romantic (mostly by my choice, really). Yes it may be relatively pain/blood free. But it is still super awkward, uncomfortable and if you are unlucky with a partner, traumatizing.

Losing your virginity (if you are a man) is not like having sex later on, when you've learned to control yourself. You are probably not going to last more than a few minutes. Some men last longer, but, once again, it entirely relies on the individual. You are not going to be the best in stamina and sex and the world on your first try. Not how that works.

Also you aren't going to be "good" at sex the first time you do it. No one is. The books/movies/tv lie to you when they make it appear that you are the perfect lover right from the get go. Truly not the way it works. Like many other things, it takes practice to be a good lover/partner. Whilst you may be better than average, you aren't going to be the best right off the bat. It takes a couple tries to be really good at something.

I don't understand why we portray it in a better light, really. Are we afraid that young people are going to be scared off from sex forever and then we'll slowly die out? Because desire will win out in the end. It always does.

Also, I don't fully understand why women portray the loss of virginity as beautiful, pain free, etc... while men (who've never actually experienced it like we do) portray it exactly as it is. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't the men be trying to make it seem better? I mean, because they are the "takers" in this situation. They are the ones removing said virginity, so wouldn't you think they'd want to make it seem like they are all wonderful and gentle lovers who make everything perfect every time? Nope. They are the ones being, brutally (sometimes), honest and women are the ones covering it up in flowery phrases and metaphors.

I suppose, on a cognitive level, I understand this. Especially if the particular virginity losing episode was traumatic/painful/bloody/weird/uncomfortable for the particular female writer. I can see that. Trying to make it better than it is. But shouldn't you also be realistic? I mean, because you are influencing the young women around you.

They are all going to be disappointed with their first time, because it will never be as wonderful as the books/movies/tv shows make it out to be. They are all going to be saddened by the experience because it wasn't what they had been lead to believe it would be.

I suppose I am also very much guilty of making it flowery in my own story... However, that was between two women and that makes things a little different. There is no actual hymen breaking, unless you go for a dildo. Which my characters didn't. Physically, Jahan leaves that relationship intact. Emotionally, sexually, mentally, she isn't so intact. But that is a different story all together.

Ladies, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You have discovered something wonderful.

Gentleman, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You aren't like a whole bunch of other guys.

The Right to Freedom

Right now there are men fighting over who should have to provide birth control, over birth control being taken away, over sex being diminished to simple procreation. Men are fighting over whether women should be able to have an abortion or use birth control. MEN. Not WOMEN.

Woman was created from Man's rib, says the Bible. This is to mean that woman is to be at man's side, not in front or behind him. Equal with him. Man may have been created first, but what is Man without Woman?

Is it a man who suffers through Menstruation? Is it a man who suffers through pregnancy and child-birth? Is it a man who can suffer from cysts on the ovaries, the cervix or the uterus? Or endometriosis? Is it a man who is being denied the ability to decide?

No. It is women. It is women who need birth control to help with the horrific, searing, pain of cysts on various internal organs. It is women who need birth control to help control cramping and blood loss. It is women who need birth control to prevent pregnancy. And it is women who should decide.

This is what the women before us fought for. The freedom to decide. To vote, to choose. To be equal citizens.

And we still aren't EQUAL. We still make less money than a man in the same position. We still have to beg and plead and fight to have our medicines provided by insurance and companies that don't want to give it. We are STILL fighting what should've ended a long time ago.

Walk the Plank with Eyes wide open.

200: My middle name is: Elizabeth
199: I was born in: Palo Alto California
198: I am really: Tired
197: My cellphone company is: AT&T (unfortunately)
196: My eye color is: Brown/Black, depending on mood.
195: My shoe size is: 11
194: My ring size is: 10
193: My height is: 5'1"
192: I am allergic to: Corn, Rice, Shellfish (most recently discovered), bee stings and numerous antibiotics...
191: My 1st car was: 1985 Fleetwood Brougham Cadillac
190: My 1st job was: Cleaning houses
189: Last book you read: "Before I go to Sleep"
188: My bed is: on my right.
187: My pet: is currently non-existent
186: My best friend: my husband
185: My favorite shampoo is: Anything by Suave
184: AIM name: Is non-existent, because I don't have AIM
183: Piggy banks are: AWESOME! Especially if it is a Vampire Pig Piggy Bank, like mine :D
182: In my pockets: is lint.
181: On my calendar: I have nothing circled
180: Marriage is: wonderful, if it is to the right person.
179: Spongebob can: be my best friend!! I love that yellow sponge!
178: My mom: is one of my best friends and I cherish her.
177: The last three cd's I bought were? Lungs by Florence and the Machine, Josh Groban by Josh Groban and Awake by Josh Groban (those last two were purchased almost four years ago... I don't buy cds often...)
176: Last YouTube video watched: Happy Wheels Let's Play... Unfortunately. Thanks to my wonderful husband...
175: How many cousins do you have? If we count just first cousins, I have 6. If we get into all my other cousins I quickly lose count...
174: Do you have any siblings? I have 11. 4 adopted older siblings, my brother, my half-sister and 5 half-siblings that who died before seeing the sun.
173: Are your parents divorced? Yes.
172: Are you taller than your mom? Not anymore.
171: Do you play an instrument? I used to play the recorder. I now am able to pick out small pieces of random songs on the piano.
170: What did you do yesterday? Bought some Christmas presents.

[ I Believe In ]
169: Love at first sight: No. I believe in LUST at first sight. But not love.
168: Luck: Yes. And I have horrific luck.
167: Fate: Yes.
166: Yourself: Not really.
165: Aliens: No.
164: Heaven: Not as much as I used to.
163: Hell: Yes. Earth is hell.
162: God: I believe in A god, not necessarily any specific god, however.
161: Horoscopes: Not really, though they are fun to read.
160: Soul mates: Yes.
159: Ghosts: Yes.
158: Gay Marriage: Yes. Everyone has the right to be married. No matter if they are gay or straight.
157: War: No.
156: Orbs: I'm not sure what those are...
155: Magic: I wish I did.

[ This or That ]
154: Was there supposed to be a question here?
153: Drunk or High: Drunk.
152: Phone or Online: Phone.
151: Red heads or Black haired: Red heads! Though, I do like both.
150: Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes.
149: Hot or cold: Hot. I can always take off clothes. I can only put so many on however...
148: Summer or winter: Summer.
147: Autumn or Spring: Autumn.
146: Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla.
145: Night or Day: Night. Easier to see the moon.
144: Oranges or Apples: Oranges. They don't hurt my teeth.
143: Curly or Straight hair: Curly. I wonder why that could be? lol.
142: McDonald's or Burger King: McDonald's. Though I should say neither...
141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: White Chocolate.
140: Mac or PC: PC.
139: Flip flops or high heals: Flip flops all the way!!
138: Ugly and rich OR Sexy and poor: Sexy and Poor. Just like my hubby. :P
137: Coke or Pepsi: Coke!
136: Hillary or Obama: Obama.
135: Buried or cremated: Neither.
134: Singing or Dancing:
133: Coach or Chanel:
132: Katherine McPhee or Taylor Hicks: Katherine McPhee
131: Small town or Big city: Small town
130: Wal-Mart or Target: Wal-Mart
129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Neither.
128: Manicure or Pedicure: Neither.
127: East Coast or West Coast: West Coast
126: Your Birthday or Christmas: My Birthday
125: Chocolate or Flowers: Flowers
124: Disney or Six Flags: Six Flags
123: Yankees or Red Sox: Neither. I don't give two shits about baseball.

[ Here's What I Think About ]
122: War: It is horrific and often completely pointless. I thank all those who fight for my so called "freedoms", however you should be at home fighting against corrupt politicians rather than dying thousands of miles away.
121: George Bush: is an idiot who fucked up our economy.
120: Gay Marriage: should be legalized, because it is MARRIAGE. If two people love each other they should have the right to be married. And this whole debate about it is fucking ridiculous and unconstitutional. Everyone has the right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. If your happiness is being Gay, than you should have the right to pursue it!
119: The presidential election: is coming soon and I don't know who I'm voting for.
118: Abortion: is okay in certain situations. However, I generally am pro-life.
117: MySpace: is obsolete.
116: Reality TV: is stupid.
115: Parents: are there to take care of us, though sometimes they fail. Miserably.
114: Back stabbers: are the worst.
113: Ebay: is something I'm not into.
112: Was there supposed to be something here?
111: Work: is necessary, but not always fun.
110: My Neighbors: are annoying when they've been drinking.
109: Gas Prices: are too high.
108: Designer Clothes: aren't worth the designer prices.
107: College: is where I'd like to be next year.
106: Sports: are okay, but I don't have time to be interested right now.
105: My family: is dysfunctional, crazy, fun, spastic and wonderful.
104: The future: is dim.

[ Last time I ]
103: Hugged someone: was fifteen minutes ago.
102: Last time you ate: was fifteen minutes ago.
101: Saw someone I haven't seen in awhile: Yesterday!
100: Cried in front of someone: Last night.
99: Went to a movie theater: July
98: Took a vacation: September
97: Swam in a pool: Last year?
96: Changed a diaper: May
95: Got my nails done: Never.
94: Went to a wedding: September. (Attending my own counts, right?)
93: Broke a bone: Two years ago.
92: Got a piercing: Actually, I've never had a piercing, though my husband is paying for me to get my ears done as my Christmas present.
91: Broke the law: Earlier today... I didn't put on my seat belt.
90: Texted: 7:32PM

[ MISC ]
89: Who makes you laugh the most: Donnie.
88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My bed!
87: The last movie I saw: was some Bleach movie that I only watched to please my brother.
86: The thing that I'm looking forward to the most: is the beginning of a new year.
85: The thing I'm not looking forward to: is moving. Again.
84: People call me: Crazy.
83: The most difficult thing to do is: to admit you're wrong.
82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: Never.
81: My zodiac sign is: Libra.
80: The first person I talked to today was: my hubby.
79: First time you had a crush: I was two and I told my mother that I was going to marry Elvis Presley when I grew up. Unfortunately I was born in '88 and Elvis was long gone by then.
78: The one person who I can't hide things from: my friend, Sarah Jo.
77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: Last night.
76: Right now I am talking to: No one.
75: What are you going to do when you grow up: be a linguistic literature translator?
74: I have/will get a job: at Sam's club doing demos.
73: Tomorrow: I have to work.
72: Today: I worked.
71: Next Summer: I want to be thinner and preparing for school.
70: Next Weekend: I work.
69: I have these pets: non-existent.
68: The worst sound in the world: is nails on a chalkboard.
67: The person that makes me cry the most is: myself.
66: People that make you happy: Donnie, Sarah Jo, my brother, my mom, my friends!!
65: Last time I cried: Last night. Unfortunately.
64: My friends are: wonderful.
63: My computer is: annoying sometimes.
62: My School: is going to be IU
61: My Car: is a 1988 Chevy Astro Van.
60: I lose all respect for people who: have double standards.
59: The movie I cried at was: A lot of them?
58: Your hair color is: black/brown, aka: my natural hair color currently...
57: TV shows you watch: none right now.
56: Favorite web site: Facebook
55: Your dream vacation: Ireland in the fall.
54: The worst pain I was ever in was: right after my car accident. A shatter pelvis, shattered leg and miscellaneous injuries. Not to even mention the emotional trauma/pain of losing my car.
53: How do you like your steak cooked: Well.
52: My room is: quickly filling up with presents.
51: My favorite celebrity is: currently Lee Jun-ki
50: Where would you like to be: In bed with my husband, sleeping.
49: Do you want children: Not anymore. It doesn't matter. After the wreck I was told not to have children.
48: Ever been in love: Yes.
47: Who is your best friend: Didn't I answer this already?
46: More guy friends or girl friends: Currently? Girl friends... and it is fucking WEIRD! I've always had more guy friends.
45: One thing that makes you feel great is: when Donnie kisses me.
44: One person that you wish you could see right now: My Memere. I want to tell her all the things I didn't get to before she died.
43: Do you have a 5 year plan: Sure?
42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Yeppers.
41: Have you pre-named your children: I did have all their names picked out. Now I guess I'll use them in stories instead.
40: Last person I got mad at: This bitch at Wal-Mart who got super shitty with me for no reason.
39: I would like to move to: Sweden!! :D
38: I wish I was a professional: writer.

[ My Favorites ]
37: Candy: Banana Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
36: Vehicle: Cadillac and a Dodge Charger...
35: President: John Quincy Adams
34: State visited: Wisconsin
33: Cellphone provider: I don't have a favorite. They all suck.
32: Athlete: Michael Jordan
31: Actor: Cary Grant and Wentworth Miller
30: Actress: Keira Knightley
29: Singer: Gackt.
28: Band: The Beatles
27: Clothing store: Maurice's
26: Grocery store: Wal-Mart
25: TV show: Remington Steele and Case Closed
24: Movie: Inception
23: Website: StumbleUpon
22: Animal: Horse, Lion
21: Theme park: Holiday World
20: Holiday: Labor Day
19: Sport to watch: Football
18: Sport to play: Soccer
17: Magazine: TV Guide
16: Book: Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop
15: Day of the week: Saturday
14: Beach: A tiny one I visited while I was in Florida.
13: Concert attended: Don Francisco... That's really the only one...
12: Thing to cook: Homemade Pancakes
11: Food: Waffles
10: Restaurant: O'Charley's
9: Radio station: B97
8: Yankee candle scent: Almond Cookie and Fresh Cut Roses
7: Perfume: Crush: Blue
6: Flower: White Rose
5: Color: Blood Red.
4: Talk show host: Regis Philbin.
3: Comedian: Eddie Izzard
2: Dog breed: Doberman Pincer
1: Are you ready for this survey to be over? Yes?

La Amistad

Joseph Cinqué



Joseph Cinqué was the leader of a slave revolt aboard the ship "La Amistad". He was later defended by our 6th president, John Quincy Adams.



Some Interesting Facts
* Joseph Cinqué was from what is now Sierra Leone, Africa. Not much is known about his early life or his life after the famous case United States v. Libellants and Claimants of the Schooner Amistad.

* Cinqué and his fellow slaves were tried for mutiny aboard the ship "La Amistad" on which they were being illegally transported for slavery. They were defended by the former 6th president of the United States, John Quincy Adams.

* Cinqué and his fellows won the case and were allowed to return to Africa.

* A statue of Cinqué was erected in New Haven, Conneticut.

* There have been suggestions that, after his return to Africa, Cinqué participated in the slave trade, though this has not been proven.

* Lewis Tappan, an abolitionist, helped fund the slaves and Cinqué's return to Africa.

Some Quotes from Joseph Cinqué (This was the only quote I could find that has been directly attributed to Joseph Cinqué)
- "Brothers, we have done that which we purposed, our hands are now clean for we have Striven to regain the precious heritage we received from our fathers. . . . I am resolved it is better to die than to be a white man's slave . . ."

The Movie Trailer for "Amistad"

In Honor of Love

Because it is Valentine's Day and I may or may not have ruined it for some of the people out there with my previous post (who ever expects the Valentine's Day Massacre?) I am going to post a song about Love.

Yes, Love. Because in the end we are a culture and a world in love with the idea of love. Always chasing it and never quite getting it. We search for it in the perfect bodies and sex and fame, but in the end it isn't what we expected because it isn't truly what you get.

Love by John Lennon, performed by Gackt (if you don't want to hear Gackt just talking in Japanese [there are no subs on that part] then let the video load and go to 1:37)

In Honor of St. Valentine's Day

For those with significant others this is a major holiday. Completely massive, filled with love and hearts, flowers and chocolates, sex and romance. Or a huge fight because your significant other completely spaced it was Valentine's Day and got you absolutely nothing.

If you are completely unattached this is generally the suckiest day of your year. Why? Because it only seems to amplify the fact that you are completely alone, unattractive, unloved. Unless you enjoy being single and are totally okay with being alone on the most "romantic" holiday of the year.

But how did this holiday start up? Did it always have cute chubby babies with wings flying around and shooting people with heart shaped arrows? Did it always have a shit-ton of cards and chocolate being sold for ridiculous prices that we pay to satisfy loved ones? I think not.

There are many legends surrounding St. Valentine and who he might have been. In Catholic tradition there are three St. Valentines, all of whom were martyred during the early AD. The most popular reason for St. Valentine's death is that he helped young couples marry during a time when marriage had essentially been outlawed by the emperor.

The real reason for St. Valentine's Day though, probably stems from Lupercalia, a Roman holiday of both fertility and matchmaking. During Lupercalia (which started on the 15th of February) young women would put their names into an urn and bachelors would pick out a name. Whomever they picked they were paired with during the festival. Sometimes this lead to being paired for a year, sometimes it lead to marriage.

However, as was the case for most holidays during that time, Lupercalia was deemed Pagan by the church and Christians were forbidden from participating. The "Roman Lottery" was banned during the Medieval period as being un-Christian. In hopes of finding a holiday fit for Christians to celebrate, the church did what I call "Sprucing up the Bum".

The church takes the essence of a pagan holiday (for example "love") and adds some Christian figures here and there and next thing you know it has been turned into a Christian Holiday. Essentially taking a dirty bum off the street and putting a big red bow on his head and declaring him a Christian.

All of that still does not explain why we send cards and candy to one another during this day. Or why a chubby baby is associated with it.

It is believed that the first Valentine was sent by Charles, Duke of Orleans to his wife. It is the oldest known Valentine, a poem written in 1415, sent while he was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

St. Valentine's Day was quite popular during the Middle Ages, the era of Courtly Love and Medieval Romance. And during that time little tokens or "Valentines" were sent. Sometimes they were little cards or small rings or other small items. This tradition continued to the 18th century when the first printed cards were made. I'm assuming candy just came in where the small rings and other such items left off.

The chubby baby that we see floating around during this time is supposed to be Cupid, the son of Venus (goddess of Love) and Mars (god of War) (at least in Roman Mythology), the god of Desire, Erotic Love (hence sometimes being called Eros) and Affection. He is almost always portrayed as either a nude young man or a nude baby, though there are portrayals of him as a handsome man in his twenties. He was known to shoot golden arrows to inspire romantic love and be quite mischievous.

The most common myth about Cupid is that he was ordered by Venus to cause a young woman, named Psyche, to fall in love with something/someone vile. While trying to do this Cupid was scratched by his own golden arrow and fell deeply in love with Psyche. After that he visited her every night, but forbade her to look at his face. One night she could resist the temptation no longer and gazed upon his face, angering the god so that he left. Psyche, in love with him, searched everywhere for him so that Jupiter (also known as Zeus) gave her immortality so that she and Cupid could be together forever.

Ever since then Cupid has been associated with this holiday as a bringer of love and desire. Piercing many hearts with his golden arrows.

But you want to know my favorite part of this holiday?

The St. Valentine's Day Massacre!

In 1929 on February 14th, 7 men were gunned down in a garage, all but one were killed instantly and the only man still living died three hours later, saying absolutely nothing useful. It is believed that this crime was perpetuated by Al Capone, although he had a fairly solid alibi for the time. Why Al Capone you may ask? Because the men that were gunned down were members (or past time members) of Bugs Moran's gang, a rival to Al Capone.

But the truth of the matter is, no one actually knows who killed these guys or why. There are a lot of assumptions and ideas, but nothing concrete. Everyone who was thought to be involved either died or was cleared by Chicago police. Who doesn't love a good mystery and bloody massacre on their romantic holiday?

Illuminati (Illuminated)

Harlequin dances about the floor, surrendering to Demons
and Angels, silhouettes and innocent shadows. She stands,
mythical and poetic, spinning her dreams out like darkened
spider webs. Caught by her own vanishing nightmares.

Violent and gentle, she spins and twirls, the ribbons flying
up and fluttering to the floor. Above her the sky seems to
burn, the horizon is downcast and she is tied to this hideous
form. Circled by Hell's vicious dogs.

Silky are the voices that call her inside, bluer than the moon
outside the painted glass. They tease her, push and pull her
down. Violet sunlight floods the circle that divides Heaven from
her Hell, tied to the knives spinning round.

Lacy snow falls in the midst of summer's tears. Pink and Ivory
against the erratic world flowing into her. She studies the
imperfections of a rose, standing before the Court of the moon
and her lovers. Dulcimers play at the edge of her sanity.

Fiery kiss upon her cursed lips, a virescent larkspur to
resurrect her. Now fanged, she lets the blood flow, the
honeyed lies and sweet brokenness take control. Her womb
is bleeding, rape the soul. Shatter the glass, make it whole.

Adorned in bloody rubies, glittering in the darkness of the sun.
She stands, new born. Two has become one, Harlequin no
more. Let the walls that have imprisoned her vanish as she
rises to shine. Illuminated by her own silver tongue.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Flower

Humanity is a cannibalistic flower. We bloom, ever growing in this canopy of sky and sunshine. We devour ourselves, the bones of those before us, our brothers and sisters, our neighbors and friends. We are beautiful, colorful and chaotic. We are roses and dandelions, dancing and spinning through time and space.

Ever-changing and always the same. We are complex and simple in our complexities. We are a virgin and a whore, constantly moving from one body to the next in our hunger. This hunger is overwhelming, devouring us. In its wake we are transfixed by the greed and the need. We are sexuality and ritual, cannibals and whores. Flightless birds on a collision course.

We are a field of red. Red roses, red poppies, red paint dripping everywhere. Wars divide us, unite us. We stand alone, but stand together. We pick the flowers we like best and cut down the others, proclaiming them weeds. It is the same in every generation. We have our prejudices, our vices. We are purity and love, beauty and lust.

We are simplistic in our complex nature. Chaos mating simplicity and complexity in a ritualistic, cannibalistic and sexual frenzy. We try to escape, but there is no escaping the self. We find ourselves within the bodies of others, raping and killing, trying to find the truth in blood. In the end we are hacked down by the flowers behind us. Each of us weeping that it was not our time.

Word of the Day (April 22 - May 4)

Sorry that I am so far behind guys!!! Here are the words of the day from where I left off to now! ^^

April 22nd: Empyrean
April 23rd: Ambisinister
April 24th: Oneiric
April 25th: Egregious
April 26th: Gelid
April 27th: Aubade
April 28th: Eschew
April 29th: Coquetry
April 30th: Billet-Doux
May 1st: Quixotic
May 2nd: Arcanum
May 3rd: Islet
May 4th: Trepidatious

Empyrean
The sky was a cloudless empyrean, dusted with silver stars. An ivory moon combed out her black hair, her children dancing. It was a perfect night. He smiled at her, a million diamonds reflected in the mirror of her eyes. He knelt before her, the small box tenderly held out. "Will you marry me?"

Ambisinister
It was difficult being ambisinister. Always so clumsy, always dropping stuff. Of course, it might be less difficult if you actually had hands to be ambisinister with. No, that just doesn't make sense! Having hands might make me less clumsy? I might drop less items that way?

Oneiric
The sands of time drip slowly through the hourglass for those whose outlook is oneiric. Often contemplative, they watch the sand sift down and psycho-analyze each grain. Dreamy, they see rainbows where there are blood streaked skies. They see stars through the smog, when the stars have all faded into non-existence. They do not see reality in black and white, but in shades of violet and cream. Maybe that is why they seem so much happier; existing in a dream world.

Egregious
"You're such an egregious liar, Persephone! As if anybody really believes Hades kidnapped you. And not only that, you ate something so you can't come back?! If you didn't want to do the play with us you could've at least said so! Now, because of this stunt, we have to find a replacement last minute! Zeus' genitalia, this is ridiculous!"

Gelid
That winter was particularly gelid; the roads coated in generous amounts of snow. Brian and Chelsea were sledding down the hill, racing. It was kind of a date, though neither had admitted their crush. Soon they were at the bottom, sprawled out and entangled. They didn't mean to kiss, it just happened. Snowflakes on eyelashes framing green eyes were not meant to be resisted.

Aubade
The muse awoke from her rose petal slumber, an aubade on her lips. The sun's birth approached, the sky opening itself to his fiery entrance. She picked up her lyre and found her way to the balcony of heaven. She sat on the ledge, draping her blue skirts about her. Today's song would be a lullaby, a lure for the dawn. As her fingers danced, the newborn ascended his thorn, bloody embers glowing softly.

Eschew
"To eschew sexuality, and its gifts, would be the worst kind of sin." The cult leader had been talking in this vein for days. "We must cast our virginity upon the altar of lust and love, giving it up as incense to the God of Heaven. We must lift up our rumpled clothes and rejoice in the good gift of sex." Women began stripping off their shirts and bras, men began to tug at their pants. A God induced sexual frenzy was in full swing before you could say "My penis' name is Boris".

Coquetry
The art of coquetry had not been entirely lost on her. It was just so subtle, too subtle for her tastes. She preferred boldly asserting herself to the subtle dalliance of coquetry. Her mother, however, wanted her to be quiet and meek. She was neither quiet nor meek, nor was she gentle and mild-mannered. She was wild and she intended to stay that way.

Billet-Doux
He had been up the entire night perfecting his billet-doux. His sweetheart deserved perfection in every way, especially in love letters. A sweet note to a sweet girl, he thought. Love was such a funny colored thing! One moment it flared red with passion, the next it was white with purity. This letter would never be finished, as love goes on forever.

Quixotic
It was a quixotic dance to them, rushing in, bullets flying. A damsel in distress was unnecessary for them. The sound of bullets ringing against concrete spurred fire through their blood. It was reckless and romantic, a modern fairy tale. They would go down swinging, rebels without a cause. Fighting only windmills on paper horses, they ride into destiny.

Arcanum
The professor was talking on and on about arcanum and long dead alchemists. Cindy was falling asleep. She began to dream as she drifted, the professor's words a lazy drone. She was lost in a cave, the walls rising high and glittering. She could feel secrets as old as time itself pressing down on her. This is what the professor meant by arcanum.

Islet
On a summer lit islet a girl watches as violets are gathered. She is a sacrifice to the heart of the small island. They fill the sea chest with the tiny flowers until it overflows with purple and green. They lead her to the box and force her down. Her eyes glimmer with fear as they prepare the knife. When the moon rises it rises over a murdered mermaid and bloody violets.

Trepidatious
Trepidatious, she crawled out of the vault. Everything was so big! There was a blinding light coming out of the sky, at least she thought it was a sky. The first thing she came in contact with was a small building with a woman named Silver living in it. All fear gone, she spoke with Silver for a time and headed for a place called Megaton. The search for her father had now begun in earnest.

My Name is NOT Susan

Whitney Houston song for the DAY



This is your news, read and arm yourselves with knowledge

Nujood Ali. She is 10 years old. And she is Divorced.
http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2010-03-15/divorced-at-age-10/

More Howard Stern Controversy. What? You thought he was dead or something? Unfortunately no. He has a few harsh words for Gabourey Sidibe, the star of "Precious".
http://www.bvnewswire.com/2010/03/15/gabourey-sidibe-mom-howard-stern/

The shortest man in the world died at the age of 21.
http://www.aolnews.com/2010/03/15/worlds-shortest-man-dies/19400471/

A wild wolverine, the only known wild one, was found dead in Michigan.
http://www.wtol.com/global/story.asp?s=12143672

And for some reason a bunch of Thai people are going to protest by spilling blood. Their own.
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/03/16/2846703.htm?section=world

There is a Vampire in Florida. He wants to be president.
http://www.wtsp.com/news/mostpop/story.aspx?storyid=127365&provider=top

In a "homicidal mood"? Threaten a parent with bone-cutting scissors
http://www.wtsp.com/news/watercooler/story.aspx?storyid=127324&catid=58

A Dog swallows a Diamond.
http://www.nydailynews.com/lifestyle/pets/2010/03/13/2010-03-13_golden_retriever_swallows_20000_diamond.html


A RECIPE FOR YOU ALL TO TRY!

Whole Wheat Blueberry Muffins

2 cups of whole wheat flour
1 cup of all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
10 Tbsp unsalted butter (1 1/4 stick), softened
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/2 cup plain yogurt
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
1 1/2 cups blueberries
1 Tbsp flour (if using defrosted frozen berries)
1/4 cup of brown sugar


Adjust the oven rack to the middle-lower part of the oven. Preheat oven to 375°F.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, cream butter and one cup white sugar together, beating until fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating until incorporated after each one. Beat in the grated lemon peel.


Beat in one half of the dry ingredients until just incorporated. Beat in one third of the yogurt. Beat in half of the remaining dry ingredients. Beat in a second third of the yogurt. Beat in the remaining dry ingredients and then the remaining yogurt. Again be careful to beat until just incorporated. Do not over beat. Fold in the berries. If you are using frozen berries, defrost them first, drain the excess liquid, and then coat them in a light dusting of flour.


Use standard 12-muffin muffin tins. Coat each muffin cup lightly with olive oil or grapeseed oil using a pastry brush, or with a little butter. Or use one of those convenient vegetable oil sprays. Distribute the muffin dough equally among the cups. Bake until muffins are golden brown, about 25 to 30 minutes. Sprinkle tops with brown sugar. Set on wire rack to cool for 5 minutes. Remove muffins from the tin and serve slightly warm.

Weird Dreams!

A dream
*fades in eerie voice, for dramatic effect*
I am standing in front of this big, magnificent building with marble pillars and grand steps. It is storming all around me and the clouds are black and crimson. When ever one of the black clouds and one of the red clouds meets, in front of the white moon, they cast terrible shadows on the ground, making it look like demons are coming after me. Lightning is striking all around me. I look up and there are two statues, standing at the top of the building. One is a man (nude), he looks like Michaelangelo's David. The other is a woman (also nude), she looks like Venus de Milo, except she has both arms.
Suddenly *pauses for the effect* a bolt of white lightning strikes the David statue's leg, right above the knee. But it is more like a cut, so he starts bleeding profusely from the wound. He starts to fall, because he was standing and the Venus statue tries to grab him, but he still falls. He falls into a fountain in front of the house. I look up at the moon and see it slowly filling up with blood. Then it begins to rain, you guessed it, blood. The Venus statue is still standing on top of the roof, but she is so upset (I think she loved the David statue) that she throws herself off the building. When she hits the ground she breaks into 3 pieces. And each piece (every inch) weeps rain water. Then I woke up.
*fades out dramatically because I'm melodramatic.*