Laughing at it all...

Laughing like a jollied lunatic, I think upon my past and relish the flavor of it all.  The darkness of the blanket which covered wounds eventually scabbed into metal.  Ill of thought and motion set a pace for a fast life partially of destruction and partially of construction.  For sure one can only build on new ground upon the breaking of the old.  Focus with blood gleaming toward goals.  Let the hurdles fall where they may and I shall be on track.  I do so love being me. ~ Maggie ~ April 27, 2010 @ 10:14 p.m. EST

The Final Judgment - The Solution

Let them believe what they will - that you are incapable - that you are a fool - that you don’t know                     
They will get caught up in the own beliefs and thus become unsuspecting as they are secure in their evaluation
All at once, the trap of knowledge is sprung and they cannot move
It is as though their legs take root to the ground they are immobile...in terror
Let the blade of the guillotine fall
Off with their heads
The basket lies before them, but do their eyes see their final descent?
Let their blood flow down the steps to my feet so that I may walk through it and lead a path through the end of their life
Let their blood be spilled until the rivers overflow and become thick brown and putrid
Take their lifeless bodies and bury them apart from their source of reason
Open their craniums and tear off all remaining flesh as I t shall be given unto the dogs...to be devoured
Fill it ever so slowly with the sweetness of mother’s milk
Then drink to their folly ~ Maggie

The Dude~

Okay, so it is going on two years now and I can say that I still love “the dude” like I did from the beginning.  Actually, I love him more now.  Without trying, he makes my socks curl.  Get your mind out of the gutter as I am talking nice here.  Curling my socks means lighting my fires.  However, if you have gutter mind, my socks curl there as well.  Are you happy now?  Anyway...

It was love at first sight and I frightened myself to the point of faint.  Can you imagine a magnetic pull that great?  Imagine his being zapping me where I live and knocking me off my clock having just learned his name.  Romantic huh?  What can I say.  That is what happens when I get ignited.  Hell, I am still ignited although I don’t pass out anymore.

Love can feel like comfortable shoes, however, it is cool when the shoes pinch at times.  You know...that sweet reminder to let you know that they are in fact on your feet.  Pinch me baby, but not on the underside of my arm: I bruise easy.  I know when I love someone as I want to choke them at times and will tell them so to their face.  He has been told and therefore he is truly loved. Love is a cool clean and beautiful edge with glistening sharpness.  What I speak of is the spark and that spark is the stuff that makes for a lasting relationship on my end anyway.  I know as I felt this edge only one time before this, but that man endangered my life and I did not trust him as far as I could throw him (I actually threw him down a flight of stairs.).  One of the greatest things I love about “the dude” is that he is honest and I trust him wholeheartedly with my life.  However, he has many other qualities that no one can come close to shaking a stick at.    

From my perspective, the only way I would say goodbye to “the dude” I love is if he endangered my life in some form, but he is not like that.  As for a reason he would say goodbye to me, I am not in his head, therefore, I cannot say.

As much as I fight WITH my mother and daughter, I would fight FOR them IF they were in the right OR IF they were outnumbered and in the wrong.  The same holds true with him.  If anyone, and I do mean anyone, were to try to harm him, I would do battle with them using whatever means I have at my disposal.  Hey, that is just the way I am.   

Whatever I am, he is my better half and we are kids in the game of life.  As old as we are, we look like two kids roughhousing and tossing each other about (sometimes to the point of blood), but we are laughing all the way.  You wanna know something?  We have never had a real verbal or physical fight since we have known each other.  I feel good about that! I love “the dude.” ~ Maggie ~ April 21, 2010 @ 8:52 p.m. EST

Okay, so what is written above is not of a romantic nature, but what is below IS of a romantic nature.  This piece was written about him and to him not too long after we met.  He so inspired/inspires me: STAY AWHILE~ 8/8/2008

Memory~

I cannot keep it from my dreams nor keep it from stealing suddenly into my mind when control is relaxed.  Stealing like some vicious foot padded animal from a dark alley where it hides to strike a savage wound again and again.  Opening the old scar tissue with another dreadful gash.  Injuries to the body are fatal or they heal.  Not so these scars on the soul.  They too can be fatal, but they do not kill.  They too can heal, but the scar tissue is weak and can be opened at the slightest touch (of memory).  Opened as painfully each time...these gory wounds which do not bleed, these violent blows which do not bring unconsciousness, these lethal strokes which send a poisoned spear deep into the heart and fester without death... (Penned in the 80's)

A memory struck me the other night and I relayed this to my mother after she choose to bash me with all she had for everything I had ever done in my life.  She said living with me was like living in a “house of horrors.”  Hum.  Oh sure I pled guilty and I did plea for her to move on to the next subject at hand.  Hey, when pleading guilty, what more could be shot at you?  NOTHING!  Anyway, I say to her to bust her nut: Ma, do you remember when I took that Winchester bullet and lit it to my head in your presence so that I could blow my brains out in front of you?  AND why do you think I would want to do that? Duh?  She stated that she did not remember the event, but if she thought about it, it may come back to her.  Oh brother!  Gag me with a spoon will ya?  I know that if my daughter were to have done that in front of me, I would have remembered her doing so.  Selective memory?  Perhaps.  Anyway, it does seem odd that she cannot plea guilty to her own failures at being a mother.  I admit I don’t know how to be a mother and I most likely never will.  To this, I am not afraid to state the truth.  What is a mother anyway?

Q: What would cause a 13 year-old to want to do that in front of her mother?  I asked mother to look at the past and check out how I became what I was (in evil state) and what I am (not far from evil state (Might I mention that evil is subjective.)).  She only sees all my wrongs which I give full admission to.  I AM guilty, but life goes on.  I know what I have done, however, what caused me to do what I had done?  I know the answer as should she.  However, she is not ready nor will she ever be ready to see how she played a part in my making of self.  Frankly, it does hurt to revisit my childhood, but there is a greater part of me that is ever grateful for having had it just the way it was.  Alas, I will never be Cleopatra: Queen of Denial! ~ Maggie ~ April 20, 2010 @ 5:44 p.m. EST

Sharing Mind~

Did you ever just wish your mind could escape the encapsulation of the skull to reveal all the wonders that have filled it within the course of your life?  It sure would make for an interesting table piece.  You know...push a button to see through the eyes of the one who saw and feel what they felt at the moment of seeing/feeling.  Imagine using their senses to gain their experience.  Okay, so I have thought about this before in the form of mind transfer or a forum of minds where sharing could occur or the selling of a memory.  How interesting is that?  However, as memory serves me, I so would love to document it all just for the fuck of it.  I find that my life was and is colorful.  Again, this is only my perspective.  What is really messed up is that I can go back from whence I came, but I cannot take anyone with me in the same form that I go.  All I can do is tell of it and, for sure, some of it is unbelievable.  Let me use two recent unbelievable accounts: my vehicle was parked and hit by the Amish who would have done a hit and run had I not told them stay as I was calling the cops and THEY WOULD PAY for the damages.  Me thinks they paid up because I said that I wouldn’t leave their premises unless they paid up.  Those good ol’ churchmen (who requested that I bring a man along) looked rather miffed when I stated that they would have to deal with my music and my sexuality while being on their lawn as I was going to stay until they paid up.  Sure nuf did I get my money from those folks.  Now, can you image getting rear-ended by a guy whose custom license plate says "Megalodon," meanwhile he is a little piss ant with a baby seat in his SUV.  He sported a cream color suit, cream color turtle neck, and the rosary hung around his neck, but he spoke so gangsta that he was laughable.  Anyway, he too was not allowed to leave before I let him go.  I did inspect the car bumper with my handy dandy flashlight, but found no damage.  What I did find was a screw.  I then went to the front of his vehicle and found that he had a rack on the front and it was probably his screw.  Screw him as I sent his screw flying down the street.  What a wanker.  This happened near Times Square and not one cop stopped.  Oh well.  See what I am saying?  This is nothing compared to the crazy situations that I have been in.  Man, I so would love to share it all from the beginning.  That would be a hoot. ~ Maggie ~ April 2010 @ 8:21 p.m. EST