Remember about a thousand years ago on my previous blog? Ok, fine, it was last year. And it was last year's blog too. Well, I never really did finish them, did I?
I am trying to re-connect with groups I love, but let go by the wayside. My journalwriting yahoo group is one with whom I am seeking to reconnect.
Someone there is posting their responses to various sections--and it made me think--hey--I haven't done that. Among other things. So--I am not struggling to catch up--I am just working to be included. :-) Before I turn to other things to keep myself occupied.
Plus, if I do this--I don't have to fold laundry. :-)
Just google '5000 question survey' and you should get there--I tried to find a direct link, but kept getting routed through various blogs and communities instead of right to the questions list.
Part Three
201. Put these creatures in order from what you would least like to be reincarnated as (1), to what you would most like to be reincarnated as (10) assuming reincarnation ended up existing AND you were given a choice.
caterpillar, house dog, wild dog, vulture, male human, female human, oak tree, rock, manta ray, dolphin
caterpillar, human male, human female, vulture, dolphin, house dog, wild dog, manta ray, rock, oak tree
202. What do you feel unworthy of?
I have no clue--I might have been able to answer this last year--but right now--I am not unworthy of anything--I am worthy of everything. Amazing how long I toiled over this one, looking to be unworthy of something, before it dawned on me. I've worked way too long in this lifetime to acknowledge the fact that I am worthy.
Guess what--I am worthy. In my own right. :-)
203. Would you rather be remembered for having done something for humanity or being a really nice person?
a really nice person actually
204. Which do you value more: science or intuition?
hmmm--I value both--I like a good balance of both--but I will take intuition over science in a heartbeat any day
205. Your best friend and your significant other are in the hospital at the same time with the same ailment. Who do you visit first?
My significant other--but wouldn't it be easier if they had the same thing to put them close together, so I can wave to my friend as I go to my SO so at least my best friend knows I am coming
206. Does the universe revolve around human beings?
only in some human beings minds
207. If you are no longer a virgin, do you wish you still were?
I have never regretted it--regretted the way it happened--regretted waiting so long--but never regretted getting it out of the way--no
208. Who is your favorite poet of those who are alive right now?
does it count if I say myself? or is that a cop-out?
today I found Lea Kelley and I vote Lea as my favourite poet today
209. What is your favorite song from the 90's?
do we go with 'baby got back' or 'barbie girl'?
whatever Duran Duran and Madonna put out is my fave there
210. If you were in alphabet soup what letter would you be?
Q
211. Do you believe in fairies, ghosts, aliens, angels, dwarves, elves, etc.?
implicitly
212. What makes you want to be someone’s friend?
depends on the person and what sort of friend......
213. Do you troll around the Internet harassing people anonymously for fun?
never--I have better things to do with my time
like IM my best friend while filling out this survey :-)
214. Have you ever seen the movie A Man Who Fell to Earth?
yes, more than once
215. What is your favorite line from a movie?
'lady, god's a kid with an ant farm'
216. What's your favorite video game?
commander? I think--I haven't had a fave video game since atari was cool
217. Have you ever taken something that wasn't yours?
yes, but not for many many years
218. What is one phrase people say that irritates you?
people irritate me--I don't care what they say--they irritate me--isn't that enough?
219. You allow strangers to read your diary, but would you let your parents read it?
yes--they can read my blogs--if that hasn't killed them my journal surely won't either
220. Hot steamy bubble bath or quick in and out shower?
depends on my mood--although if I had no kids it would be the bubble bath 9 times out of 10
221. Are you allergic to anything?
bees, honey, tree pollen, stupid people
222. What is your favorite Terminator movie?
the very first one
223. What is your favorite fast food?
taco bell
224. What would someone have to do to get you to never speak to him or her again?
all they have to do is ask :-)
225. Would (or have) you ever whip someone or be whipped by someone in bed?
yes and yes--and yes and yes
226. Have you ever said 'I hate everyone' and really meant it literally?
yes, all too frequently in the past few years
227. Why do some people want to get more money than they could ever spend?
greed
why do knitters buy more yarn than they can ever possibly use?
because we're squirrels lining our nests--and by gods and little fishes we may need that yarn some day!
228. Have you ever won a carnival fish?
yes
229. Did it live more than a week?
yes darn it, more than one of them did
230. What's the best sounding accent a person can have?
give me a Northman or an Australian please
231. What's the most boring thing you've ever read?
the encyclopedias
232. Do you prefer buttons or touch screens?
buttons
233. Do you think there is a lot of similarity between the Harry Potter books and the Lord of the Rings series?
maybe in a vague sort of way, but overall--no--not really
234. Would you consider yourself to be naive?
often and frequently--which is difficult in someone so jaded :-) but I do manage it way too often
235. Which of your friends is most likely to go to jail?
D
236. What is the smallest amount of money that could be in a public toilet that would make you reach in and grab it?
what else is in the toilet--and if I flush will the money still be there?
237. Would you ever wear real fur?
yes, please
238. Arachnophobia or Eight Legged Freaks?
eight legged freaks
239. What are your feelings about police officers?
which ones?
240. what is your favorite line from a song?
absolutely no regrets
241. Is fifty dollars a lot of money?
what do you need it for? are you buying a new washing machine or going to the dollar store?
if you want a washer--no, $50 is not much at all--going to the dollar store--$50 is a HUGE amount of money
242. Do you like the band Front 242 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Front_242)?
yes--I forgot they existed-but yes
243. Would you rather have fame, money, or self-satisfaction?
self-satisfaction
244. What's your middle name?
Jeane
245. What is the absolute limit, the craziest thing you would do for a million dollars?
my limits--nothing w children, animals, corpses, feces, nothing that leaves permanent marks
246. Are you good, evil or neutral?
neutral
247. Should ebonics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ebonics) be considered a language?
no
248. What color is your bedroom?
off-white right now--but i am going to paint a deep shade of red with rose overtones
What color would you like it to be?
indigo
249. When are you planning to move to a new home?
we'll see after I get married
250. If you added up the cost of everything in the room with you, approximately what would it come out to be?
several thousands of dollars
251. Do you blow your nose in public?
yes, if necessary
252. Do you want to follow in your parent's footsteps?
no
253. What is the coolest web site you know of?
project gutenberg
254. Which cartoon would you most like to see turned into a movie?
thundercats
255. Of the following, which word best describes you: enthusiastic,
fair minded, generous, helpful
enthusiastic
256. Can you eat with chopsticks?
a little yes
257. Could you tell real money from counterfeit?
i don't really know
the cheesy ones--sure
the professional ones--probably not
258. What do you think about school uniforms?
cool
259. What ancient civilization would you most like to visit?
define Ancient
throw me way way back in Wales or Egypt
260. What would make a great new Crayola color?
wolf grey, timberwolf yellow, smoke black
261. If an art project is created with the intent of getting rich and famous, does that cast doubt over its significance as a work of art?
depends on the piece--often the art moves past its creator
262. If you became president, whom would you invite to sing at your inauguration?
Madonna
263. Who is the greatest philosopher of your country?
my fave, stephen hawking
264. If all the nations in the world are in debt, where did all the money go?
into many officials' pockets
265. Is it as easy to make you happy now as it was when you were a child?
it's easier today
266. Who knows more...you, or your parents?
depends on the topic
267. What instrument would you like to be famous for playing?
hammered dulcimer
268. Children fill its lungs completely with air. Adults breathe in a more shallow way, not filling their lungs completely. Why the change?
the stress of being in the the grown-up and fighting to be a member of society
269. Would you have sex with a stranger for one million dollars?
condoms, condoms, condoms
oh yes i would
270. Are you completely in control of your body?
not really
Are you completely in control of your mind?
actually not as much as i would like
271. Which is more romantic: an expensive, glittering bouquet OR flowers that were hand picked as they grew beside the parkway?
hand-picked
272. Do you know yourself well enough to understand why you feel the way you do?
absolutely
273. Which do you do more often: let movies, songs and books put your feelings into words for you or put your feelings into words by yourself?
i do it
274. Do you believe celebrities when they are endorsing a product?
not all the time
275. What kind of movies do you wish were made more often?
dramatic thrillers that are not overly gory, but make you think
276. Does fashion matter to you?
comfort matters to me
277. Should politicians be held to the same legal standards as everyone else?
YES
278. What do you get in trouble for the most?
inappropriate comments
279. Should parents spank their kids?
depends on the kid and the parent
280. What is your worst daily habit?
refusing to fold the laundry
281. If you had your choice which one TV show would you have canceled?
I have no clue--I only watch the shows I like--otherwise I watch videos
282. Do you like the taste of sweet or salt?
depends on how I am feeling
283. Are you very precise about what words you use to describe your feelings and thoughts?
depends upon the person to whom I am speaking
284. What do you feel the most guilty about?
not doing asana practise more often
285. Do you meditate?
yes but not as much as I could or should
286. Can dreams be visions, or do you feel they are always random images?
oh no--they can be visions--definitely
287. Do you try to write/say what you are feeling in a true and simple way?
sometimes yes
other times i write with flourish
288. The thief _______ that everyone steals.
believes
What verb would you fill in the blank with?
believes
289. What's the most incredible experience you ever had?
define incredible
good incredible--not good incredible
what?
I remember falling--not a good incredible
I remember giving birth--good incredible
290. Are you ever afraid to write/say/think how you feel?
yes
291. Do you write/say/think it anyway or become intimidated and try to avoid it?
yes, but I am careful about who I let see what when I do
292. What is one thing you can't do?
feel safe in water over 5 ft deep
293. Do you like movies starring Charleton Heston (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charleton_Heston)?
yes
294. Are you gentle?
sometimes
295. When do you feel the most raw and vulnerable?
when there are storms coursing down outside and/or there are major weather shifts happening
296. Are you trying to find yourself?
not anymore--I know where I am and who I am
297. Where are you looking?
will it count to say I was not within, but I was not without
I was lost to the days and lost in a daze
and had to fight to find a way out
298. Are you sometimes afraid of being honest because you are afraid of hurting people's feelings?
yes, but I try to couch things in gentle terms while still being honest
299. What would make you a stronger person?
more tests by Fire
300. What book would you like to read sometime soon?
the Torah
I haven't read it all the way through
"In the practise of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher."
the Dalai Lama
Thursday, March 12, 2009
March Vision Board In A Book
First of all, I totally stold this idea, the 'fearless true love' here from Mother Henna.
Long ago she did a post about 49 wishes--and I had saved the post--and have since lost it--since last night when I used it as inspiration no less!
Anyway--this is my dream board--vision board--this is my work for this month. Next month I will have poster board--and more magazines--and more everything--but since there is no way for me to get poster board until probably next weekend I decided why not just use my art notebook as a place to ground things now--and go forward when I have everything around me that I need --or at least enough to move......
I had most of the supplies gathered before I actually sat down to work this up--when I had done the creative catalyst 1 I had these bits ready to do the next piece after the faces dried....and of course, once the faces dried I left things waiting for the next--prompt--or whatever--to take me over. Or present itself. Or whatever.
I was purging old emails from my mail client last night. And I love Mother Henna, and her artwork, so while I would be on a call with a client I would wander through Mother Henna's artwork--when I found that beautiful coffee cup in the 49 wishes post--and then of course once I was off the call I read the post as well.
Ever since I stumbled upon dream boards and vision boards and full moon dreamers I had been trying to decide what to do to create something for my own. The process sounds so much like SoulCollage work that it made me want to drag out my SoulCollage cards--and re-think what each means to me--and in truth it is about time for me to do that again anyway--not to mention it brought out to the fore-front I still haven't turned them into a 'regular-sized' deck of cards for more easy handling--which I truly do need to do--so I put it on my need to do list.
Anyway, every dream or idea or thought I have I kept asking myself to dig deeper and to go deeper and to get to the real bottom and to the real truth beneath everything. From work to home to friends to children to ex's to food to gardens to knitting to camping to wishes for those around me me--it all kept coming back and back and back, in one form or another, to love. Just love. So I kept asking myself what was holding me back--most of the time it actually is fear. Every time I sit down to write anything, for blog or publication or just for me--a novel, a collection, whatever--I am hampered by the fact at any minute the ex could rear up and use everything against me in a court of law. Which is why I force myself to post alot more of my writing here this year, rather than restricting it to my writing blogs. I am not free from his censorious little voice in the back of my head--but I am improving. I am trying to be more visible all around--and to be so fearlessly.
hence--I took the words right off of Mother Henna's wish--fearless true love--because in the end everything I wanted boiled down to those very simple three words.
The yellow in the heart shows up way better in the pictures than it does on the paper.
Otherwise--again with the simplicity of the piece, it is me--and it is honestly to my core what I am wishing for and wanting and dreaming of every moment --in every area of my life.
Here I set it out into the Universe and I set it free, because next full moon I will come back even more powerful--and even more specific. Here me roar. :-)
Ribbon Shawl Is Now A Finished Object
Pattern is on ravelry--and probably here somewhere too--I only fringed it on one side.
But it is done. One pre-trip goal met.
Little Girl Happy
E is now ever so thrilled -- her new light switch came in and we had to put it up immediately.
New Knitting Bags
Ok, well, number one these will be used as knitting bags, I am sure, simply because everything in the house at one time or another gets shoved into the hold this knitting project or this yarn duty. But originally they were made to hold books--and since we're running away fro the week-end, to hold clothes--and notebooks and pens and papers and highlighters, oh my.
Second, I really meant to do alot more with these than I did. I didn't realise when I bought them (Yes, I bought them rather than cutting them out myself--I know--LAZY me--and them with only 4 visible arms to boot!) that they would be iron-on-able. But they were--wah-hoo. I thought there would be sewing and embroidering and maybe even some bedazzling to be done. Then I ironed those puppies onto the bags and I thought--wow--the simplicity is just--pretty neat. The turquoise bag is completely done--I will not do another thing to it. But the denim bag and the black bag are darker--and they seem to be asking for some pop, especially the denim bag. I do not plan to do much, and I can't tell you now what I plan for them as I have no idea--but still...and it's all a maybe at the moment, because I really kinda like just the outlined form there on the bag and nothing else. One octopus per side. Simple and understated. I really like that. But we do all know I am weird. :-)
These are pictures of the fronts and the backs.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Leaning Into Open Space
I waited my entire life to figure out who I am and who I am supposed to be. These are two completely separate beings. The person I must be for other people, for the rest of the world at large. And the person I am simply because this is me. I spent so much time and effort becoming the person everyone else wanted me to be that I never really had any time to figure out the real me. I didn’t like that person, the one who lived to put on the show for the rest of the world. I hate her. She is so fake, even in her gentle sweetness. So contrived and uninvolved. Like the surface of the ocean, where the soft gentle waves rock rhythmically, hypnotically, back and forth. The mind-numbing certainty of it all, that basic repetition. It doesn’t change. That’s all there is to it. As if there were nothing at all underneath. That isn’t me. I didn’t realize for too long that that isn’t me. It was never me. I wasn’t there.
All those years I spent as a hollow corn-husk doll. A smile pasted to my face and a kind word for everyone. I had hurt inside for so long there was no other place for the pain to go or to be. The tears I had cried had dried up, created the brittle façade that surrounded me like faery armor made from the finest metals, spun so thin and yet so strong. I didn’t stop. I didn’t think. I didn’t wander.
Enter you, into my glassine world. Not so much a breath of fresh air, but the brutal torrent of the monsoon. I was overwhelmed, swept up in the turbulent muddied waters, pummeled from above and below by storms that knew no boundaries, that tore at my breast as effectively as they tore at my soul. You didn’t even notice me at first. I was hidden too deeply beneath the glamours that clustered tightly about me. I saw you. Your eyes tippled over mine, not registering my presence. I went home. The mighty walls of my dam began to show cracks, nowhere close to bursting. I dreamed of great frogs singing, a holy chorus meant to rock the heavens. I awoke screaming, my throat rived, beveled and unleveled, choking with the belch of rotted meat long gone to seed. The man asleep beside me a stranger who had dragged me along at his side, forcing me to smile and nod and deny the reality of my own sweet grace.
He took me to a doctor. He sent me to specialists. I cried. Great heaping gulping wailing sobs and monstrous shrieks and alibis. The bellowing shook me out, clawing its way down to me, the essential vital essence of me, hounding me, shaking me, drubbing me, clobbering me, beseeching me, resurrecting me. No one heard a sound. I sat in offices, in cold chairs and warm, smiling dumbly and pretending to play along. I was given prescriptions, and exercises, and suggestions. The prescriptions I filled and left for the man to take. He gobbled them up, a greedy child noshing on fresh candies, his daemons ahowl for his blood every moment anyway. I ignored the advice, delayed the exercises, cast aside the concern and the queries.
I dug down. Excavated. I pulled out the old books, the ones dressed in molting leathers. I emptied the shelves within the castle in my mind, though my own self still clung to the bars beneath the earthen floors harbored in the dungeon. I was wide, and small, and stilted. I was the empty bowl, refilling myself over and over, only to look and find the bowl empty again. Surely a task set before me by the gods as punishment for some harrowing crime I had committed, be it in this life or another.
I found tools, rakes and shovels and picks and pitches and tines, scythes and axes and saws and hammers. I drew blood. I burned flesh. I drew pictures. I pillaged and I raped and I sorted. But there was nothing there. Only the ruminants of the whist long since having passed.
I had to see you once again. I had no reason to do so. I knew of no way to contact you, no way to request an audience. There was no rationale for us to meet again. Other than this over-eager sensation of my life depending upon the very breath you exhale, the merest bit of dust caught in the corner of your eye, the glimmer of the light off your hair. I didn’t care.
I called. I stuttered. Finally I begged, pleading, in the most hushed manner I was capable of divulging. I don’t know why you accepted, you who could not have picked me out of the crowd to save my life. You invited me, bid me, enticed me, entreated me. I do believe, sir, you tempted me to tempt you. Somewhere within you you realized that we were meant to be. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. You simply did not realize the type or the level of work involved.
I am the volcanic mountain, fuming and bulging with the heaviness of the molten moisture within my stacks, but I am blocked by rock and man and foul. This is not the way to attract.
Yet, there you were, from that first second moment, when the air between us vibrated and energized. We became smoke, lingering over the flesh, while burrowing far inside. We stood, man and woman, not two feet from one another. All alone in the world. The doors were all locked. The clocks were all stopped. The sun rose no further. The moon moved not a spot. Our bodies fell to the floor, discarded remnants unwanted and unneeded for this process. You saw me. You truly saw me. The battered bruised frightened little girl, hunkered down beneath the ground, huddled up cringing in a corner. I saw you, the golden god, the angel’s wings, the breath of fire. You drew me out from the spoiled grave and stood me in your flames. Your touch destroyed me. Your ardent flames licked and salved me, brushing away the filth and the dirt. You kissed me, sealing into my lungs the hearth of your own, filling my walls with your tomb. We did not touch; we
melted. You swept me into your arms and we jettisoned through the atmosphere as if we were the latest spaceship rocketing past the worlds. I was inside you. You were within me. I was awash with the glimmer of hope, the seductive speech of wisdom. I the little germ fell to nourishment within your great expanse, kindling the thought of recompense, that I might totter up, reaching out to the sun to be burned again by the rays, succored by the blood, and nourished past the point of needing to pretend.
You stayed with me, as we dripped, sweating tears and oils and unguents upon one another. My body the universe splitting open and agape as you reached in to eat your fill. This is not hope, not faith. This is the Truth of this place. We were made to fit within one another. This hollow filled by that spear. This shoulder meant for this tear. With tongues and fingers meeting here. We were rebourn, a phoenix bursting forth from the ashes, sinew wrapped us at the core, transplanting us from one cosmos to another, choking on the placenta and sulfur of the new realm as we fight to maintain our grip on the essence between us.
The clocks embarked upon their momentary transit once again. Time and space refolded themselves, leaving us marked and dazed, consummated and still partial. The sun passed through the skies, leaving a dark trail for the moon to trip upon as it arose to announce the blues of the marrows leaking yet around the corners.
I stood there, naked and unafraid. You stood there too, and you saw me. You reached out and touched me. I knew. You knew.
It’s a brand new space beneath our souls.
We walk towards one another, eradicating the old from whence we had come. The grains are taking hold, steeling our resolve. There is no need to turn. We are home now.
written by TK Kietero
copyright 2009
all rights reserved
All those years I spent as a hollow corn-husk doll. A smile pasted to my face and a kind word for everyone. I had hurt inside for so long there was no other place for the pain to go or to be. The tears I had cried had dried up, created the brittle façade that surrounded me like faery armor made from the finest metals, spun so thin and yet so strong. I didn’t stop. I didn’t think. I didn’t wander.
Enter you, into my glassine world. Not so much a breath of fresh air, but the brutal torrent of the monsoon. I was overwhelmed, swept up in the turbulent muddied waters, pummeled from above and below by storms that knew no boundaries, that tore at my breast as effectively as they tore at my soul. You didn’t even notice me at first. I was hidden too deeply beneath the glamours that clustered tightly about me. I saw you. Your eyes tippled over mine, not registering my presence. I went home. The mighty walls of my dam began to show cracks, nowhere close to bursting. I dreamed of great frogs singing, a holy chorus meant to rock the heavens. I awoke screaming, my throat rived, beveled and unleveled, choking with the belch of rotted meat long gone to seed. The man asleep beside me a stranger who had dragged me along at his side, forcing me to smile and nod and deny the reality of my own sweet grace.
He took me to a doctor. He sent me to specialists. I cried. Great heaping gulping wailing sobs and monstrous shrieks and alibis. The bellowing shook me out, clawing its way down to me, the essential vital essence of me, hounding me, shaking me, drubbing me, clobbering me, beseeching me, resurrecting me. No one heard a sound. I sat in offices, in cold chairs and warm, smiling dumbly and pretending to play along. I was given prescriptions, and exercises, and suggestions. The prescriptions I filled and left for the man to take. He gobbled them up, a greedy child noshing on fresh candies, his daemons ahowl for his blood every moment anyway. I ignored the advice, delayed the exercises, cast aside the concern and the queries.
I dug down. Excavated. I pulled out the old books, the ones dressed in molting leathers. I emptied the shelves within the castle in my mind, though my own self still clung to the bars beneath the earthen floors harbored in the dungeon. I was wide, and small, and stilted. I was the empty bowl, refilling myself over and over, only to look and find the bowl empty again. Surely a task set before me by the gods as punishment for some harrowing crime I had committed, be it in this life or another.
I found tools, rakes and shovels and picks and pitches and tines, scythes and axes and saws and hammers. I drew blood. I burned flesh. I drew pictures. I pillaged and I raped and I sorted. But there was nothing there. Only the ruminants of the whist long since having passed.
I had to see you once again. I had no reason to do so. I knew of no way to contact you, no way to request an audience. There was no rationale for us to meet again. Other than this over-eager sensation of my life depending upon the very breath you exhale, the merest bit of dust caught in the corner of your eye, the glimmer of the light off your hair. I didn’t care.
I called. I stuttered. Finally I begged, pleading, in the most hushed manner I was capable of divulging. I don’t know why you accepted, you who could not have picked me out of the crowd to save my life. You invited me, bid me, enticed me, entreated me. I do believe, sir, you tempted me to tempt you. Somewhere within you you realized that we were meant to be. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. You simply did not realize the type or the level of work involved.
I am the volcanic mountain, fuming and bulging with the heaviness of the molten moisture within my stacks, but I am blocked by rock and man and foul. This is not the way to attract.
Yet, there you were, from that first second moment, when the air between us vibrated and energized. We became smoke, lingering over the flesh, while burrowing far inside. We stood, man and woman, not two feet from one another. All alone in the world. The doors were all locked. The clocks were all stopped. The sun rose no further. The moon moved not a spot. Our bodies fell to the floor, discarded remnants unwanted and unneeded for this process. You saw me. You truly saw me. The battered bruised frightened little girl, hunkered down beneath the ground, huddled up cringing in a corner. I saw you, the golden god, the angel’s wings, the breath of fire. You drew me out from the spoiled grave and stood me in your flames. Your touch destroyed me. Your ardent flames licked and salved me, brushing away the filth and the dirt. You kissed me, sealing into my lungs the hearth of your own, filling my walls with your tomb. We did not touch; we
melted. You swept me into your arms and we jettisoned through the atmosphere as if we were the latest spaceship rocketing past the worlds. I was inside you. You were within me. I was awash with the glimmer of hope, the seductive speech of wisdom. I the little germ fell to nourishment within your great expanse, kindling the thought of recompense, that I might totter up, reaching out to the sun to be burned again by the rays, succored by the blood, and nourished past the point of needing to pretend.
You stayed with me, as we dripped, sweating tears and oils and unguents upon one another. My body the universe splitting open and agape as you reached in to eat your fill. This is not hope, not faith. This is the Truth of this place. We were made to fit within one another. This hollow filled by that spear. This shoulder meant for this tear. With tongues and fingers meeting here. We were rebourn, a phoenix bursting forth from the ashes, sinew wrapped us at the core, transplanting us from one cosmos to another, choking on the placenta and sulfur of the new realm as we fight to maintain our grip on the essence between us.
The clocks embarked upon their momentary transit once again. Time and space refolded themselves, leaving us marked and dazed, consummated and still partial. The sun passed through the skies, leaving a dark trail for the moon to trip upon as it arose to announce the blues of the marrows leaking yet around the corners.
I stood there, naked and unafraid. You stood there too, and you saw me. You reached out and touched me. I knew. You knew.
It’s a brand new space beneath our souls.
We walk towards one another, eradicating the old from whence we had come. The grains are taking hold, steeling our resolve. There is no need to turn. We are home now.
written by TK Kietero
copyright 2009
all rights reserved
One Hundred Things I Love
the aroma of honeysuckle
the prick of roses when I prune
the smile from the dog when she sees me
the ornery glint in my children's eyes
my children's laughter
the feel of dirt in my hands while I garden
planting seeds and growing them
baking
the smell of baking bread
snuggling beneath bunches of warm blankets
curling up in the corner of the couch to read a good book
the pleasure of stroking good high-quality yarn
finishing a project
starting a project
a good dramatic thriller, book or tv
CSI the original
my trinity wedding ring
my hair
my ocean pen with its brown ink
my best friend
the tree in my front yard
the fence between my yard and the neighbors
flowers growing in barrels and buckets
vines growing up the side of stone cottages
laughing
hiking through the woods/mountains
paddling a canoe
picking up rocks along the way
reading (and not driving) while on long drive to look at the countryside
horses
wearing girly dresses w cowboy boots
chic hats
black velvet gloves
blue nail polish--not too dark, not too light
dark forest green nail polish
goddess statuary
the geisha world
the feel of a library or bookstore
the smell of a yarn store
Deva Premal
the eyes of St Therese at the Living Insights center
sandalwood incense burning
my brayer
learning to draw
knitting, the way the fiber moves through my fingers to create something
teaching a dog to sit using popsicles as a treward
long walks through pastures and hills
falling asleep in the man I love's arms
sitting at the edge of a river staring at the rocks at the bottom
tadpoles swimming
the smell of spring
fresh cut grass
ocean breezes
sunsets
full moons
shooting stars
walking through museums
intimate dinners with friends
my rocking chair
my deep freeze
warm squishy mud between my toes
dancing in the rain
the shark tanks in the aquarium
wandering aimlessly through museums looking at everything
Georgia O'Keefe
Frida Kahlo
Anais Nin
vampires
pens that write with green or purple ink
reams of paper waiting for me
touching things, like hand-woven blankets in the import store
lightning storms
buttered and salted popcorn
watching scary movies in the dark
my children as they sleep
angels
kelpies
mermaids
octopus
sea shells
frogs chirruping in the distance
wolves howling
loons howling
chickens in the backyard
the dog asleep on my feet
lavender
hand-made soap
almond oil
fresh spinach salad
peas freshly plucked from the garden
new bourn babies
long hot bubble baths with no interruptions
day dreaming
singing
dancing
whirling around
sharing my life with those I love
writing
poetry
the breath of Yoga
the prick of roses when I prune
the smile from the dog when she sees me
the ornery glint in my children's eyes
my children's laughter
the feel of dirt in my hands while I garden
planting seeds and growing them
baking
the smell of baking bread
snuggling beneath bunches of warm blankets
curling up in the corner of the couch to read a good book
the pleasure of stroking good high-quality yarn
finishing a project
starting a project
a good dramatic thriller, book or tv
CSI the original
my trinity wedding ring
my hair
my ocean pen with its brown ink
my best friend
the tree in my front yard
the fence between my yard and the neighbors
flowers growing in barrels and buckets
vines growing up the side of stone cottages
laughing
hiking through the woods/mountains
paddling a canoe
picking up rocks along the way
reading (and not driving) while on long drive to look at the countryside
horses
wearing girly dresses w cowboy boots
chic hats
black velvet gloves
blue nail polish--not too dark, not too light
dark forest green nail polish
goddess statuary
the geisha world
the feel of a library or bookstore
the smell of a yarn store
Deva Premal
the eyes of St Therese at the Living Insights center
sandalwood incense burning
my brayer
learning to draw
knitting, the way the fiber moves through my fingers to create something
teaching a dog to sit using popsicles as a treward
long walks through pastures and hills
falling asleep in the man I love's arms
sitting at the edge of a river staring at the rocks at the bottom
tadpoles swimming
the smell of spring
fresh cut grass
ocean breezes
sunsets
full moons
shooting stars
walking through museums
intimate dinners with friends
my rocking chair
my deep freeze
warm squishy mud between my toes
dancing in the rain
the shark tanks in the aquarium
wandering aimlessly through museums looking at everything
Georgia O'Keefe
Frida Kahlo
Anais Nin
vampires
pens that write with green or purple ink
reams of paper waiting for me
touching things, like hand-woven blankets in the import store
lightning storms
buttered and salted popcorn
watching scary movies in the dark
my children as they sleep
angels
kelpies
mermaids
octopus
sea shells
frogs chirruping in the distance
wolves howling
loons howling
chickens in the backyard
the dog asleep on my feet
lavender
hand-made soap
almond oil
fresh spinach salad
peas freshly plucked from the garden
new bourn babies
long hot bubble baths with no interruptions
day dreaming
singing
dancing
whirling around
sharing my life with those I love
writing
poetry
the breath of Yoga
Wishcast Wednesday
Jamie’s question today is… What do you wish to change?
Now, please, this is my first one, even though I read about it last week for the first time and thought it was amazing. Also note that even though I ought to--I do not always realise what day of the week it is--no matter how many times in one day I write 'Wednesday, month/day/year' on whatever project--that doesn't mean I recognise that it actually IS Wednesday. So, if I am late posting--forgive me. I catch up when I can.
Jamie said to go to other participant's blogs and read their wish in order to support them.
I just clicked at random, really, and came to Sarah's blog.
Talk about the hand of God here--anyone who knows me gets the rowen connection there very quickly.
Then read her post for today--she is far more articulate than I--but she pretty much explained why I chose to home-school--among other things.
It was so touching.
Then again, it sort of makes me feel like a schmuck because my wish is so self-centered. I wish to change for whom I work actually. I do not want to work for the service anymore. I don't really wish to change my job per se; I love what I do. But I do wish to add more to it, in so many ways.
If nothing else I can say that I am taking steps, small as they may be, to move forward and make the changes I am wishing for come true.
Slowly but surely.
I never did care much for the tortoise--I am so much the hare myself.
But the tortoise does have a point. Darn it. :-)
Now, please, this is my first one, even though I read about it last week for the first time and thought it was amazing. Also note that even though I ought to--I do not always realise what day of the week it is--no matter how many times in one day I write 'Wednesday, month/day/year' on whatever project--that doesn't mean I recognise that it actually IS Wednesday. So, if I am late posting--forgive me. I catch up when I can.
Jamie said to go to other participant's blogs and read their wish in order to support them.
I just clicked at random, really, and came to Sarah's blog.
Talk about the hand of God here--anyone who knows me gets the rowen connection there very quickly.
Then read her post for today--she is far more articulate than I--but she pretty much explained why I chose to home-school--among other things.
It was so touching.
Then again, it sort of makes me feel like a schmuck because my wish is so self-centered. I wish to change for whom I work actually. I do not want to work for the service anymore. I don't really wish to change my job per se; I love what I do. But I do wish to add more to it, in so many ways.
If nothing else I can say that I am taking steps, small as they may be, to move forward and make the changes I am wishing for come true.
Slowly but surely.
I never did care much for the tortoise--I am so much the hare myself.
But the tortoise does have a point. Darn it. :-)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Creative Therapy Catalyst 1
I started to work on the creative therapy catalysts--finally.....
Here is the first one.
This is the text--it has a certain rhythm.
Sort of like a poem.....
I lost myself-for
years and years.
I thought I knew what love was-
I thought I had a clue-
I gave my soul to the Devil-
and I was all through.
It look so long to find me-
Through the briars and the pines-
I'm still not sure I'm just not
there
As I wander deep inside.
But happy glimpses
Call me-
I awake to smiling faces-
With Irish eyes a gleaming-
I know I've found my
place.
Decorating My Home
Remember that surprise lot of yarn I bought from ebay for my birthday?
It was far too pretty to sit covered up in the box it came in--and my knitting basket is truly filled to overflowing with stuff for the twins and the patons essence shawl and whatever else fell at my feet and needed to be stuffed somewhere.
I pulled out the placenta bowl from my son's birth (what? you don't know what that is? it's the bowl used to catch the afterbirth --after giving birth....if you need more of an explanation--google it :-) ) and filled it with the beautiful yarns.
However, it filled up really fast--and I couldn't see all the gorgeous fibers well enough.
I caught myself digging to find the ones I want to see, the ones I wanted to pet.
Yes, I will randomly walk by and pet my yarn--yarnoholics understand--I hope. :-)
So, I have all these empty vases hanging around--I put them to good use. See the picture here.
I have the vases on top my bookcases--full now instead of empty.
I prefer the yarns to flowers anyway. :-)
Birthday
You can see I do not download the pictures from my camera that often.
These are the flowers my kids got me for my birthday--they are still looking really good today--right this minute--the flowers and the kids.
The ex gets credit too--he did try to find me an octopus book--but I am not joking when I say no one can find any.
Surely there is a biology textbook written about octopus out there--I will even accept one with squids and nautilus and so on in it. :-)
For the record, I don't like cut flowers--but cannot tell my dd that. She loves to get me flowers, even when she yanks them up out of the yard.
I've tried, many times, to tell her that I prefer potted plants--but it doesn't do any good. :-) Her mama needs fresh pretty and smelling good flowers--end of statement. And this one came with shiny stuff on the vase too--so the crow in her could not resist.
Other Bracelets
While the ex had my other name bracelet and was supposedly repairing it (note--with the re-stringing of beads and the repair--fixing the bracelet in the previous post took me less than 5 minutes, ok)--I ordered another name bracelet, because I wanted something pretty. I thought I was buying an interconnected bracelet that had two strands--what I got was two bracelets. I love them to death; do not get me wrong. I just wanted them to be connected.
I have also since ordered another bracelet that will have the double strand that I am looking for.
I changed the clasps on both of these, because they came with the typical necklace style clasp that are hard for me to open and close on my own. I gave them lobster clasps so I can work them myself. If I cannot work them myself I cannot wear them.
I think these are beautiful.
:-)
Altered Bracelet
The ex made made me a bracelet eons ago that I dearly loved and treasured--it had both my kids names on it.
Then for some reason he broke it. I saved every bead.
I asked him last year around christmas if he would fix it--he never got around to it--so I made him give it back to me around the time of my birthday.
I re-strung it--and I really like it better. He used gold-looking stuff that tarnished--and we all know how I feel about gold. (Hint--I am a silver person.)
Here's are some pics.
I will end up re-stringing it again, simply because I want to at this point--I want to put it on a toggle clasp. But this is a good place to begin--at least I can wear it again.
Question of the Week, March 9, 2009
This is from my knittingparents yahoo group:
"""What do you use for a knitting bag?
Bonus points if you take a photo and post it in your album!!"""
I have all sorts of knitting bags, many of which I made myself, including two of the three bags in this picture. I use tote bags, and old purses --because I have some big older purses and small projects do fit in the smaller purses too--I have made bags and sacs. I have knitted bags and totes. I use the not-plastic grocery store totes. In a pinch I use the plastic grocery store bags--because I run out of room.
Usually when I am on the run, I dump something in the purse I am carrying, unless the project is too big.
Announcement
Please do note: today is the day that I OFFICIALLY signed up for NaNoWriMo 2009.
Please stand by--updates will be coming as they become pertinent.
Please stand by--updates will be coming as they become pertinent.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Vindication
I remember that day all too well. Nick and I had been fighting off and on for weeks prior to ‘the incident’. He had his cheap-thrill bimbo, whatever you wanted to call her. I was tired of his other women being thrown in my face so frequently. I told him I was out, I was gone. He told me that was fine, he had other women more than willing to do what he wanted, to be there when he wanted them there, and to leave when he told them to, who never got upset no matter where or with whom he spent the night. He told me, told me, I should just go running to John and hop into bed with him, that that would just be the perfect ending to our relationship, told me to hurry up and just get it over with already.
Well, John and I had been friends for awhile. I wouldn’t even have known him if not for Nick. Plus, Nick knew all too well John had always had a thing for me. John had always made it clear he would be there waiting for me whenever things went South with Nick and me.
Nick stormed out one door. I blew out another door. Each of us heading our own way, away from the other. You know John had to be the first one I ran into that night when I hit the bar scene seeking surcease from my misery.
I am a recovering alcoholic. I’d been clean and sober then for going on ten years. But, Nick was my soul, and I was lost. I was dead inside. I hated myself. I hated my life. Without him, nothing could ever be real or good again. I saw no hope. I did see that bottle of tequila though. John, being the dear friend he was, was not about to let me go chasing the worm all alone that night. Apparently, we really hit it hard. Really hard. We went out clubbing, dancing, way too much, way too close, grinding and clinging on dance floor after dance floor. We were seen kissing, by way too many people, kissing and groping one another. There was more than one bottle drunk that night between us, and they weren’t all tequila either. I have no clue what he gave me to swallow, or what we smoked. I just know some fool took pictures. Way more than one fool at that.
Of course, as per my usual, we ended up at my place after all was said and done. On the guest room bed. Michael, my room-mate, came in the next afternoon, since the door was shut tight. We never closed the bedroom doors unless we were trying to keep someone out. John and I were tangled up in a heap, both of us fully clothed, under the blankets. But, the smell of –everything—was all over that room, all over us. Bars. Smoke. Alcohol. I could smell a woman all over John. And all I knew for sure was that woman was not me. Even drunk, even stoned, there was no way I would betray Nick. I knew that.
Michael saw John and me in bed together, under the covers. He never knew we were fully clothed. I hit the shower instantly. I stayed in there for a long time, a very long time. So long Michael took it as an admission of guilt. The pictures of John and me all over each other made it everywhere. Oh yeah for the technological revolution, with its camera phones and email access, instant messaging. They came from so many people, too many sources. People who had supposedly been my friends too. Nick was more than furious with me. John didn’t fare much better, because he immediately awoke that afternoon and began to brag about how fantastic I was in bed and how I had more than lived up to all his fantasies and dreams. Nick gave him more than one bloody lip in the weeks that followed.
Usually when Nick and I fought, we ended up talking a few days later, if not the next day. This time, there was no reconciliation. After he came in screaming over the pictures and the blitz of hatred those had inspired, we were done, he assured me. If we happened upon one another, as we often ran in the same circles regardless due to our work, his face went corpse white, his eyes glazing over with anger and hatred. He couldn’t spit on me if I were on fire, not to save my life.
My best friend and savior Michael turned on me, barely speaking to me. His boyfriend Padraic leered and pandered to me, trying to convince me I should bed him next. I couldn’t stand to be in my own home anymore most of the time. I ended up spending more and more time at my studio, trying to work on my sculptures, sleeping on the floor when things got too tough to try to keep standing. Nick was my muse. Without him, I was lost.
Fast forward, through all my hurt and pain and shame and degradation, to Nick, engaged to some stupid heiress type. Michael insisted on taking me to Nick’s engagement party, to help me get over Nick at last, he claimed as he dragged me along, kicking and complaining the whole way. John was there, a man I hadn’t talked to since he had ruined my life. On his arm was this fluffy little vixen with hair done up like a poodle. Mandy? Mindy? I never remembered her name. I knew she was a drinker and a drugger and a partier. I knew she and John had been an on again-off-again thing for nearly a year. She and John came together, arm in arm, stoned or drunk or both. Who knew? I didn’t care.
Nick and Jenny. The happy couple. If he were so happy, why did he keep staring at me like that, with that smoldering hunger way back in his eyes? I hadn’t thought Nick and John were still talking. I didn’t understand why John and that girl of his had shown up to this little soiree. It was almost funny when John started in on Nick about me. John loved to rub in the fact that he had slept with me. Until Mindy/Mandy spoke up, chirping that John had never slept with me. She reminded John, and told the rest of her rapt audience, that he had called her and had her come over to my place after I had passed out on the couch when we got home that night. After she and John had had sex, she had helped him put me in the guest bed before she had gone home to whatever man she’d been dating and sleeping with at the time. She even told everyone that they hadn’t undressed me because John was afraid I would hate him the next morning if I were disrobed in any way.
Jaws dropped. The room, which had been buzzing softly, full of about a hundred of Nick and Jenny’s best friends, went dead silent. Even the fly on the wall shut up, and fell off the wall. I was crying. I could have kissed that little sleaze for her god-awful flapping mouth. Nick’s look of utter horror just about broke my heart. John actually had to sit down so crippled was he by the discovery of his failure to bed me. I wasn’t the only one crying. Michael stood behind me, his arms wrapped around me, whispering apologies into the back of my head. Mindy/Mandy kept jabbering on, giving all sorts of details and explanations and who knew what else, because everyone had stopped listening to her. All eyes were on Nick …and me.
Nick actually took Jenny’s hand off his arm and took a step away from her. She tried to restrain him, but he shook her off with a coldness that shocked her into silent submission. He took one step towards John, who now sat with his head in his hands, bent over sobbing brokenly. I couldn’t see Nick’s face as he stood there gawking at the man who was once his best friend since childhood. The man who had devastated my life and taken away the one true love of my life and my soul. Nick shook his head once as if to clear it before walking right over to me. Michael released me before Nick reached me, pushing me forward somewhat so that I might meet Nick part-way. Nick didn’t pause, didn’t say a word. He scooped me up in his arms, his lips finding mine. I couldn’t move at first, then I responded to him, hesitantly, then more vividly. I kissed him back, the way he was kissing me, as if my life depended upon it. My arms encircled his neck. He carried me out of the room, out of the building. We were soon in the limo that had been reserved for Jenny and him. He slid me into the back seat as the driver opened the door at our approach. Nick took a second to tell the driver where to take us. Then he was there beside me, holding me tight against him, cuddling me on his lap as if I were a small child.
I don’t remember a word he said that entire ride. All I know is tears kept falling. Mine. His. Mingling together. Striking my cheek, pooling together and staining the blouse I was wearing. We were together again. Reunited. Nothing else mattered to me. Not in the least.
Well, John and I had been friends for awhile. I wouldn’t even have known him if not for Nick. Plus, Nick knew all too well John had always had a thing for me. John had always made it clear he would be there waiting for me whenever things went South with Nick and me.
Nick stormed out one door. I blew out another door. Each of us heading our own way, away from the other. You know John had to be the first one I ran into that night when I hit the bar scene seeking surcease from my misery.
I am a recovering alcoholic. I’d been clean and sober then for going on ten years. But, Nick was my soul, and I was lost. I was dead inside. I hated myself. I hated my life. Without him, nothing could ever be real or good again. I saw no hope. I did see that bottle of tequila though. John, being the dear friend he was, was not about to let me go chasing the worm all alone that night. Apparently, we really hit it hard. Really hard. We went out clubbing, dancing, way too much, way too close, grinding and clinging on dance floor after dance floor. We were seen kissing, by way too many people, kissing and groping one another. There was more than one bottle drunk that night between us, and they weren’t all tequila either. I have no clue what he gave me to swallow, or what we smoked. I just know some fool took pictures. Way more than one fool at that.
Of course, as per my usual, we ended up at my place after all was said and done. On the guest room bed. Michael, my room-mate, came in the next afternoon, since the door was shut tight. We never closed the bedroom doors unless we were trying to keep someone out. John and I were tangled up in a heap, both of us fully clothed, under the blankets. But, the smell of –everything—was all over that room, all over us. Bars. Smoke. Alcohol. I could smell a woman all over John. And all I knew for sure was that woman was not me. Even drunk, even stoned, there was no way I would betray Nick. I knew that.
Michael saw John and me in bed together, under the covers. He never knew we were fully clothed. I hit the shower instantly. I stayed in there for a long time, a very long time. So long Michael took it as an admission of guilt. The pictures of John and me all over each other made it everywhere. Oh yeah for the technological revolution, with its camera phones and email access, instant messaging. They came from so many people, too many sources. People who had supposedly been my friends too. Nick was more than furious with me. John didn’t fare much better, because he immediately awoke that afternoon and began to brag about how fantastic I was in bed and how I had more than lived up to all his fantasies and dreams. Nick gave him more than one bloody lip in the weeks that followed.
Usually when Nick and I fought, we ended up talking a few days later, if not the next day. This time, there was no reconciliation. After he came in screaming over the pictures and the blitz of hatred those had inspired, we were done, he assured me. If we happened upon one another, as we often ran in the same circles regardless due to our work, his face went corpse white, his eyes glazing over with anger and hatred. He couldn’t spit on me if I were on fire, not to save my life.
My best friend and savior Michael turned on me, barely speaking to me. His boyfriend Padraic leered and pandered to me, trying to convince me I should bed him next. I couldn’t stand to be in my own home anymore most of the time. I ended up spending more and more time at my studio, trying to work on my sculptures, sleeping on the floor when things got too tough to try to keep standing. Nick was my muse. Without him, I was lost.
Fast forward, through all my hurt and pain and shame and degradation, to Nick, engaged to some stupid heiress type. Michael insisted on taking me to Nick’s engagement party, to help me get over Nick at last, he claimed as he dragged me along, kicking and complaining the whole way. John was there, a man I hadn’t talked to since he had ruined my life. On his arm was this fluffy little vixen with hair done up like a poodle. Mandy? Mindy? I never remembered her name. I knew she was a drinker and a drugger and a partier. I knew she and John had been an on again-off-again thing for nearly a year. She and John came together, arm in arm, stoned or drunk or both. Who knew? I didn’t care.
Nick and Jenny. The happy couple. If he were so happy, why did he keep staring at me like that, with that smoldering hunger way back in his eyes? I hadn’t thought Nick and John were still talking. I didn’t understand why John and that girl of his had shown up to this little soiree. It was almost funny when John started in on Nick about me. John loved to rub in the fact that he had slept with me. Until Mindy/Mandy spoke up, chirping that John had never slept with me. She reminded John, and told the rest of her rapt audience, that he had called her and had her come over to my place after I had passed out on the couch when we got home that night. After she and John had had sex, she had helped him put me in the guest bed before she had gone home to whatever man she’d been dating and sleeping with at the time. She even told everyone that they hadn’t undressed me because John was afraid I would hate him the next morning if I were disrobed in any way.
Jaws dropped. The room, which had been buzzing softly, full of about a hundred of Nick and Jenny’s best friends, went dead silent. Even the fly on the wall shut up, and fell off the wall. I was crying. I could have kissed that little sleaze for her god-awful flapping mouth. Nick’s look of utter horror just about broke my heart. John actually had to sit down so crippled was he by the discovery of his failure to bed me. I wasn’t the only one crying. Michael stood behind me, his arms wrapped around me, whispering apologies into the back of my head. Mindy/Mandy kept jabbering on, giving all sorts of details and explanations and who knew what else, because everyone had stopped listening to her. All eyes were on Nick …and me.
Nick actually took Jenny’s hand off his arm and took a step away from her. She tried to restrain him, but he shook her off with a coldness that shocked her into silent submission. He took one step towards John, who now sat with his head in his hands, bent over sobbing brokenly. I couldn’t see Nick’s face as he stood there gawking at the man who was once his best friend since childhood. The man who had devastated my life and taken away the one true love of my life and my soul. Nick shook his head once as if to clear it before walking right over to me. Michael released me before Nick reached me, pushing me forward somewhat so that I might meet Nick part-way. Nick didn’t pause, didn’t say a word. He scooped me up in his arms, his lips finding mine. I couldn’t move at first, then I responded to him, hesitantly, then more vividly. I kissed him back, the way he was kissing me, as if my life depended upon it. My arms encircled his neck. He carried me out of the room, out of the building. We were soon in the limo that had been reserved for Jenny and him. He slid me into the back seat as the driver opened the door at our approach. Nick took a second to tell the driver where to take us. Then he was there beside me, holding me tight against him, cuddling me on his lap as if I were a small child.
I don’t remember a word he said that entire ride. All I know is tears kept falling. Mine. His. Mingling together. Striking my cheek, pooling together and staining the blouse I was wearing. We were together again. Reunited. Nothing else mattered to me. Not in the least.
How To Destroy A Relationship
How To Destroy A Relationship In One Year Or Less
Please note: this article is not based on any one particular person. It is based upon many different people and relationships that I have observed and/or counseled over the past years. If you feel I am talking about you specifically, I am not. But if you feel that way, you need to take a deep long hard look at yourself and your relationship. If what I write here resonates that strongly with you, then something is severely wrong in your world that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
First of all, in order to destroy a relationship, when you go out in public together do not sit with, or even near, your significant other. Do not stand by them. Do not interact with them unless you absolutely have to do so. Treat your significant other as if they were just like any and every other person in the room. Always act as if you are not a couple and you are not there together. Even if you are only at a friend’s house.
Do not call your significant other. Do not email. Do not text. Do not IM. Don’t ask how their day is going. Don’t ask them about things they are interested in. Leave them hanging at least all during the work week. Let them call you. Let them chase you. Let them make all the moves to initiate conversation.
Make plans without telling your significant other. Make sure your SO tells you every detail of their life and schedule. Make sure you never tell them anything about your own schedule, even when asked point blank. Be secretive about your life, your comings and goings, and your friends, your feelings.
Keep all your feelings inside. Bottle them up. Do not share. When asked a specific question, shrug and say you don’t know or you aren’t sure. Do not give definitive answers. Remain irresolute and ambiguous. Be unable to explain your actions, your feelings, your decisions. Be unwilling to communicate at all on any level. Focus on meaningless details and explode them into huge arguments. Twist things around and throw them back on your SO to that they feel horrible and useless and lost. That way you feel as if you have the upper hand. Then when they least expect, start making demands and issuing orders and edits without explanation.
Have expectations of your SO and don’t tell them what those expectations are. Keep them guessing about your desires and intentions. Make sure you let them know you have to lower your expectations so that they even begin to measure up even though they are failing miserably. When they question what your intentions and expectations are, be unable to tell them. Resort to shrugging and saying you just cannot explain.
Do not communicate what you enjoy, or what feels good to you. Make sure you do not allow your SO to do anything that they may enjoy. Make them feel belittled and unable to please you. Force them to work harder to please you all the time and leave them unhappy and not fulfilled. Then stop having sex with them. Tell your SO that you no longer feel a connection and are no longer able to be intimate with them until that connection is reaffirmed. Be unable to explain how the connection was lost. Be unable to explain how to re-establish the connection.
Act subversive, as if you are hiding things. Walk away when you are on the telephone so your SO cannot overhear the conversation. Go into another room to IM and/or text people. Make sure your SO knows you are doing this. If your SO enters the room, pretend to be doing something else, or refuse to allow them to see the screen. Go through SO’s things, their drawers, their files, their phones. Read their mail and email behind their backs. Make sure you check credit card bills for strange charges. Treat them as if you know they are doing something wrong. Let them see that you are trying to discover what that something might be.
Do not be interested in things that your SO is interested in. Tell them their work bores you. Tell them their hobbies hold no interest for you. Be non-committal when their family and friends show up. Have other things to do so that you can leave and not be forced to endure time with them. But on the other hand, when you have family and friends over demand your SO’s complete attention and demand they be there and stay there the entire time. Demand your SO listen to details about your work and your day and your hobbies. Do not care when their eyes glaze over.
Do not allow your SO to speak their mind. Give them arcane abstract rules that hinder their expression of their opinions. Tell them they are only allowed to validate your feelings and the way they try express themselves makes you feel uncomfortable or unloved. Do not allow them to speak their minds under any circumstance.
Come over to hang out at your SO’s home and do nothing. Do not offer to help cook, or talk to them while they are doing things, or try to entertain them with stories or anything while they are busy. Sit staring at the television as if under a spell, flipping channels or really getting into one program; it doesn’t matter. Make messes. Leave your dishes on the table, or the end table.
Talk endlessly about how you plan on marrying your SO, some day. Make sure you are non-committal on dates and time-frames; make sure they understand sooner would be better than later. But when your SO does not immediately jump on that trip down the aisle, treat them like pond scum for being unable to commit to you.
Force your SO to do everything your way. Dishes must be washed this way. Your SO must be dressed this way. You So can only be friends with certain people, because you do not like all of their friends, so the ones you do not like must be removed from their life. They cannot speak to certain kinds of people. Make arbitrary rules, like don’t touch me there, and then change the rule without telling your SO and become angry and embittered when they still don’t touch you there.
Do not do anything they ask you. They ask you to show your care and concern for issues in their life by wearing a certain piece of jewelry, for example a bracelet, put the bracelet away and never speak of it again. If it comes up, make excuses and be non-committal. Shrugging and I don’t know are perfect fall-backs. If they ask you to make certain changes to accommodate situations better, say a cat door into the garage because you never clean the little box and the smell is horrendous, refuse to do it. Keep talking about it and research it to death, but never actually do it. Make sure you bring it up fairly often so they know you’re still thinking about it, but refuse to do it as a matter of course.
Force your SO to make all the significant choices, like what’s for dinner. Remain non-committal and shrug a lot. Say things like it’s really up to you. It doesn’t matter to me. Whatever you want. Then once the choice has been made, complain about it. Be disagreeable through the whole meal. Be sure to talk about somewhere else you would have rather gone that is farther out of the way, more expensive, etc. Be sure not to let your So eat anywhere you don’t like to eat, even if it is their favourite place to go.
Tell your SO there is an important to you trip you have to make and you want them to come with you. Be vague on travel times. Do not have any prepared trip details. Even if your SO has already said they have cannot get the time off work, be abrasive and ridiculing when they do not go with you. Make sure they know it’s their fault you could not go.
Do not ever tell your SO that you two are going on a trip, even a yearly scheduled event with a group of friends, as a last-ditch effort to save the relationship. Be bitter and nasty about issues that make no sense. Complain about where the group goes to eat. Complain about the conditions in the hotel. Complain about the atmosphere of the area. Complain if your SO does not drop everything and wait on you hand and foot the entire trip. Be sure to make your SO spends as much money as possible buying you things, taking you places, showing you the sights. This is especially good if you make more money than your SO.
Turns molehills into mountains. An example of this is, you two often go to the same spa in order to get massages, but you never get couples massages because your SO talks through the entire massage and you hate that. Go with your SO to that spa and say nothing about anything to your SO, get separate massages, then start a fight over the fact that they had a massage in a completely different room than you. Argue that it was very important to you that you had the massages together and that your SO must not love you at all. Brook no arguments from your SO; make them feel small and useless and unworthy.
Question your SO’s integrity. Create impossible tests and tasks for them, without telling them that is what your doing, and then degrade them and belittle them when they fail to meet your expectations.
Add people of the opposite sex to your facebook friends list, or myspace, or your blogroll, or whatever. Make a big deal out of telling your SO how great all your friends’ relationships seem to be going, while wondering aloud why you never go anywhere together or do anything. Then decide it is better for you to stay home, online, chatting with facebook friends, or whatever.
Be bossy. Let your SO make all the choices for plans, then take over and micro-manage every detail, complaining all the time that that isn’t really what you wanted to do anyway. Be sure if there are other people involved that you make them feel small and useless as well. Do not be afraid to be a tyrant with everyone.
Ignore your SO’s feelings about everything. Do not take their likes or dislikes into consideration ever. Always be thinking what can this person be doing for me right now. Never think, hey, SO may like to go to this camper show just to look around—think, god, I hate camper shows and you couldn’t drag me there if I were dead.
Forget you know what manners are. Be imperious and demanding. Holler DRINK! and expect your SO to immediately jump up and bring you a drink upon your command. Do not tell them what you want to drink, then when they get there tell them that isn’t what you wanted and to go back and do it again. Forget please and thank you and excuse me. Speak over them. Ignore them. Treat them like an annoying bug buzzing around you.
When confronted, pitch a fit and demand the relationship be saved, then refuse to do anything about it. Tell them it’s a couples thing and no one individual can do anything to fix anything in the relationship. Be sure to refuse to go to couples counseling, no matter how many times they suggest it. Pretend nothing is wrong and pretend that the past has no bearing whatsoever on the present. Have a fake relationship based on social chatting rather than intimate communication.
Based on this, never get married unless you settle for someone you can completely dominate and despise deep down, and do nothing but complain and feel the lack for the rest of your life. There is no way around it.
These are only a few suggestions. There are many more techniques that can be utilized. But for most people, these techniques work quite well.
Please note: this article is not based on any one particular person. It is based upon many different people and relationships that I have observed and/or counseled over the past years. If you feel I am talking about you specifically, I am not. But if you feel that way, you need to take a deep long hard look at yourself and your relationship. If what I write here resonates that strongly with you, then something is severely wrong in your world that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
First of all, in order to destroy a relationship, when you go out in public together do not sit with, or even near, your significant other. Do not stand by them. Do not interact with them unless you absolutely have to do so. Treat your significant other as if they were just like any and every other person in the room. Always act as if you are not a couple and you are not there together. Even if you are only at a friend’s house.
Do not call your significant other. Do not email. Do not text. Do not IM. Don’t ask how their day is going. Don’t ask them about things they are interested in. Leave them hanging at least all during the work week. Let them call you. Let them chase you. Let them make all the moves to initiate conversation.
Make plans without telling your significant other. Make sure your SO tells you every detail of their life and schedule. Make sure you never tell them anything about your own schedule, even when asked point blank. Be secretive about your life, your comings and goings, and your friends, your feelings.
Keep all your feelings inside. Bottle them up. Do not share. When asked a specific question, shrug and say you don’t know or you aren’t sure. Do not give definitive answers. Remain irresolute and ambiguous. Be unable to explain your actions, your feelings, your decisions. Be unwilling to communicate at all on any level. Focus on meaningless details and explode them into huge arguments. Twist things around and throw them back on your SO to that they feel horrible and useless and lost. That way you feel as if you have the upper hand. Then when they least expect, start making demands and issuing orders and edits without explanation.
Have expectations of your SO and don’t tell them what those expectations are. Keep them guessing about your desires and intentions. Make sure you let them know you have to lower your expectations so that they even begin to measure up even though they are failing miserably. When they question what your intentions and expectations are, be unable to tell them. Resort to shrugging and saying you just cannot explain.
Do not communicate what you enjoy, or what feels good to you. Make sure you do not allow your SO to do anything that they may enjoy. Make them feel belittled and unable to please you. Force them to work harder to please you all the time and leave them unhappy and not fulfilled. Then stop having sex with them. Tell your SO that you no longer feel a connection and are no longer able to be intimate with them until that connection is reaffirmed. Be unable to explain how the connection was lost. Be unable to explain how to re-establish the connection.
Act subversive, as if you are hiding things. Walk away when you are on the telephone so your SO cannot overhear the conversation. Go into another room to IM and/or text people. Make sure your SO knows you are doing this. If your SO enters the room, pretend to be doing something else, or refuse to allow them to see the screen. Go through SO’s things, their drawers, their files, their phones. Read their mail and email behind their backs. Make sure you check credit card bills for strange charges. Treat them as if you know they are doing something wrong. Let them see that you are trying to discover what that something might be.
Do not be interested in things that your SO is interested in. Tell them their work bores you. Tell them their hobbies hold no interest for you. Be non-committal when their family and friends show up. Have other things to do so that you can leave and not be forced to endure time with them. But on the other hand, when you have family and friends over demand your SO’s complete attention and demand they be there and stay there the entire time. Demand your SO listen to details about your work and your day and your hobbies. Do not care when their eyes glaze over.
Do not allow your SO to speak their mind. Give them arcane abstract rules that hinder their expression of their opinions. Tell them they are only allowed to validate your feelings and the way they try express themselves makes you feel uncomfortable or unloved. Do not allow them to speak their minds under any circumstance.
Come over to hang out at your SO’s home and do nothing. Do not offer to help cook, or talk to them while they are doing things, or try to entertain them with stories or anything while they are busy. Sit staring at the television as if under a spell, flipping channels or really getting into one program; it doesn’t matter. Make messes. Leave your dishes on the table, or the end table.
Talk endlessly about how you plan on marrying your SO, some day. Make sure you are non-committal on dates and time-frames; make sure they understand sooner would be better than later. But when your SO does not immediately jump on that trip down the aisle, treat them like pond scum for being unable to commit to you.
Force your SO to do everything your way. Dishes must be washed this way. Your SO must be dressed this way. You So can only be friends with certain people, because you do not like all of their friends, so the ones you do not like must be removed from their life. They cannot speak to certain kinds of people. Make arbitrary rules, like don’t touch me there, and then change the rule without telling your SO and become angry and embittered when they still don’t touch you there.
Do not do anything they ask you. They ask you to show your care and concern for issues in their life by wearing a certain piece of jewelry, for example a bracelet, put the bracelet away and never speak of it again. If it comes up, make excuses and be non-committal. Shrugging and I don’t know are perfect fall-backs. If they ask you to make certain changes to accommodate situations better, say a cat door into the garage because you never clean the little box and the smell is horrendous, refuse to do it. Keep talking about it and research it to death, but never actually do it. Make sure you bring it up fairly often so they know you’re still thinking about it, but refuse to do it as a matter of course.
Force your SO to make all the significant choices, like what’s for dinner. Remain non-committal and shrug a lot. Say things like it’s really up to you. It doesn’t matter to me. Whatever you want. Then once the choice has been made, complain about it. Be disagreeable through the whole meal. Be sure to talk about somewhere else you would have rather gone that is farther out of the way, more expensive, etc. Be sure not to let your So eat anywhere you don’t like to eat, even if it is their favourite place to go.
Tell your SO there is an important to you trip you have to make and you want them to come with you. Be vague on travel times. Do not have any prepared trip details. Even if your SO has already said they have cannot get the time off work, be abrasive and ridiculing when they do not go with you. Make sure they know it’s their fault you could not go.
Do not ever tell your SO that you two are going on a trip, even a yearly scheduled event with a group of friends, as a last-ditch effort to save the relationship. Be bitter and nasty about issues that make no sense. Complain about where the group goes to eat. Complain about the conditions in the hotel. Complain about the atmosphere of the area. Complain if your SO does not drop everything and wait on you hand and foot the entire trip. Be sure to make your SO spends as much money as possible buying you things, taking you places, showing you the sights. This is especially good if you make more money than your SO.
Turns molehills into mountains. An example of this is, you two often go to the same spa in order to get massages, but you never get couples massages because your SO talks through the entire massage and you hate that. Go with your SO to that spa and say nothing about anything to your SO, get separate massages, then start a fight over the fact that they had a massage in a completely different room than you. Argue that it was very important to you that you had the massages together and that your SO must not love you at all. Brook no arguments from your SO; make them feel small and useless and unworthy.
Question your SO’s integrity. Create impossible tests and tasks for them, without telling them that is what your doing, and then degrade them and belittle them when they fail to meet your expectations.
Add people of the opposite sex to your facebook friends list, or myspace, or your blogroll, or whatever. Make a big deal out of telling your SO how great all your friends’ relationships seem to be going, while wondering aloud why you never go anywhere together or do anything. Then decide it is better for you to stay home, online, chatting with facebook friends, or whatever.
Be bossy. Let your SO make all the choices for plans, then take over and micro-manage every detail, complaining all the time that that isn’t really what you wanted to do anyway. Be sure if there are other people involved that you make them feel small and useless as well. Do not be afraid to be a tyrant with everyone.
Ignore your SO’s feelings about everything. Do not take their likes or dislikes into consideration ever. Always be thinking what can this person be doing for me right now. Never think, hey, SO may like to go to this camper show just to look around—think, god, I hate camper shows and you couldn’t drag me there if I were dead.
Forget you know what manners are. Be imperious and demanding. Holler DRINK! and expect your SO to immediately jump up and bring you a drink upon your command. Do not tell them what you want to drink, then when they get there tell them that isn’t what you wanted and to go back and do it again. Forget please and thank you and excuse me. Speak over them. Ignore them. Treat them like an annoying bug buzzing around you.
When confronted, pitch a fit and demand the relationship be saved, then refuse to do anything about it. Tell them it’s a couples thing and no one individual can do anything to fix anything in the relationship. Be sure to refuse to go to couples counseling, no matter how many times they suggest it. Pretend nothing is wrong and pretend that the past has no bearing whatsoever on the present. Have a fake relationship based on social chatting rather than intimate communication.
Based on this, never get married unless you settle for someone you can completely dominate and despise deep down, and do nothing but complain and feel the lack for the rest of your life. There is no way around it.
These are only a few suggestions. There are many more techniques that can be utilized. But for most people, these techniques work quite well.
Questions and Reflections Catch-Up
If you were a colour, what would you be?
Original answer posted on Gaia:
Do I have to pick just one colour?
I keep looking at the paints I have set out before me today--and all the stones in the bracelets I am wearing--and then I have to say well what is my favourite colour (purples) to wear (blues)--and never one shade pops up--it's always several at a time.
I would be the ocean--a vast myriad of changing wavy swirls and swoops, blues and greens and pinks and purples and everything in between at one time or another.
Answering now:
More often than not, I am blue. Not in a sad way. There are no green-eyed blonde-haired blues here. I am the transitional azure skies blue. I am the sweeping indigo to ice blue swirls that surround the beaches. I am the blue glinting at your from the skin of tropical frogs and oceanic fishes. I am deep-sea blue, mixed with teal and turquoise, the underwater ambivalence to the upper drier world. I am not one shade of blue, but every shade of blue, hinted at, dreamed of, and pondered over, dancing on the winds of whispers, waiting for my time to shine.
What did you, or do you, like most about school?
In elementary school I loved everything about school—except the other children. I never could stand other children or their stupidity and/or their ignorance. I had friends and my friends are excluded from this—but overall—I hated the other people. They got in the way and they slowed things down—they held me back from really being able to learn everything I could learn—and I resented that.
In middle school and high school, the only redeeming factor about school was that I didn’t have to be at home. I had moved so much when I was younger that school literally presented me with nothing new to learn. I was so thrilled when I became a freshmen in high school and started to take French. Within two weeks I was learning more and better on my own out of class than I was in class. By the end of the first semester I could keep up with year two students. High school was when I sat down in class and wrote my own stuff and ignored what was going on in the class—and yes, I always got very high marks, even when I tried not to—until we hit the algebraic wall anyway. Then I just needed a decent teacher who did more than stare at the ceiling and say look at your book.
After high school, college classes and technical schools, well, I was just really happy when everything was done. There were some interesting evenings in massage therapy school, but overall it was a wasted experience. I was only almost happy during the first half of the first semester—and then there was really nothing else to learn except rote memorization of anatomy—which I’d been through before in other courses for other reasons.
What I love about my own education process—the whole self-taught self-led education that I have been giving myself since I was twelve years old and tired of the whole American school system thing—is the huge wide world waiting before me, old and new, everything spread out before me like a bountiful buffet. I can take my time. I can pick and choose. I can take my time, learn a little here and a little there. I can delve in deeply and become utterly absorbed and suck the marrow from the bones of any one topic—or many topics. I can skim over the top of things and just pick up what I need to know, leaving the rest for later. I can come back to a topic, after years of leaving it all sitting on a shelf. I can do whatever I want the way I want to do it—and it all sticks in my brain somewhere along the way. I have books that I have been reading for more than twenty years—as in I started reading it twenty years ago and I am still not finished reading the entire thing yet—and it’s ok—I am still aware of the beginning of the book all the way up to where I am in the book, every time I pick it up, even if I have to flip back and speed-read a little here and there to refresh my brain. I love that.
These days I prefer distance learning, things I can do at my own pace, in my own way, if I have to advocate something the rest of the country finds palatable. Personally I don’t care about certifications or associations or anything else, although I am trying hard to swallow the bilious fact that I need to pull all my old records together so that I can say—here’s where I’ve been and how I know how to do this and why—although most of my associations I would prefer to remain clandestine. Gods above, I don’t even want to admit who fathered my children in open public. I’ll widely tout my children—just not the biological donors responsible—not any of them.
How does your mind relate to your body?
This is sort of a weird question for me actually. For years, my heart and brain were disconnected from my body. It has been a slow integration process. Even now my body has reactions that I cannot figure out how to mentally assess or process. Things are more cohesive these days, but there is still a lot trapped in my musculature that I cannot wrap my brain around. Brain and body usually work well together these days, for the most part, but there are still quirks.
Where is your name from?
As far as I know, my dad picked it from the tv show Bewitched.
I do know my dad refused to allow my mom to name me, as was the custom in my mother’s family, Mary Catherine (the first daughter of the first daughter is always named Mary Catherine in my mother’s family).
I do know my middle name is my great-grandmother’s first name. Even though I change the spelling off and on out of sheer spite and force of will—it’s a matter of aesthetics with me.
I do know that there is a Tabitha in the Christian bible: Acts 9:36-42
Aramaic origin means gazelle. Somewhere along the line one of the readings I read, when I was about 10 or 11 said my name means beloved of God.
What is the first thought that crossed your mind this morning?
Same thought that crosses my mind every morning—how much longer can I sleep until I absolutely cannot stay in bed another second………
What motivates you the most?
I would love to say something pithy here—like my children—or society as a whole—or the desire to be a good person—but actually it is sheer stubbornness of will. I simply will not lay down and die—but I am not going to just sit still and wait for Death to approach either. I motivate me—I make me get up and do things—even if it takes awhile for me to really want to do them.
Original answer posted on Gaia:
Do I have to pick just one colour?
I keep looking at the paints I have set out before me today--and all the stones in the bracelets I am wearing--and then I have to say well what is my favourite colour (purples) to wear (blues)--and never one shade pops up--it's always several at a time.
I would be the ocean--a vast myriad of changing wavy swirls and swoops, blues and greens and pinks and purples and everything in between at one time or another.
Answering now:
More often than not, I am blue. Not in a sad way. There are no green-eyed blonde-haired blues here. I am the transitional azure skies blue. I am the sweeping indigo to ice blue swirls that surround the beaches. I am the blue glinting at your from the skin of tropical frogs and oceanic fishes. I am deep-sea blue, mixed with teal and turquoise, the underwater ambivalence to the upper drier world. I am not one shade of blue, but every shade of blue, hinted at, dreamed of, and pondered over, dancing on the winds of whispers, waiting for my time to shine.
What did you, or do you, like most about school?
In elementary school I loved everything about school—except the other children. I never could stand other children or their stupidity and/or their ignorance. I had friends and my friends are excluded from this—but overall—I hated the other people. They got in the way and they slowed things down—they held me back from really being able to learn everything I could learn—and I resented that.
In middle school and high school, the only redeeming factor about school was that I didn’t have to be at home. I had moved so much when I was younger that school literally presented me with nothing new to learn. I was so thrilled when I became a freshmen in high school and started to take French. Within two weeks I was learning more and better on my own out of class than I was in class. By the end of the first semester I could keep up with year two students. High school was when I sat down in class and wrote my own stuff and ignored what was going on in the class—and yes, I always got very high marks, even when I tried not to—until we hit the algebraic wall anyway. Then I just needed a decent teacher who did more than stare at the ceiling and say look at your book.
After high school, college classes and technical schools, well, I was just really happy when everything was done. There were some interesting evenings in massage therapy school, but overall it was a wasted experience. I was only almost happy during the first half of the first semester—and then there was really nothing else to learn except rote memorization of anatomy—which I’d been through before in other courses for other reasons.
What I love about my own education process—the whole self-taught self-led education that I have been giving myself since I was twelve years old and tired of the whole American school system thing—is the huge wide world waiting before me, old and new, everything spread out before me like a bountiful buffet. I can take my time. I can pick and choose. I can take my time, learn a little here and a little there. I can delve in deeply and become utterly absorbed and suck the marrow from the bones of any one topic—or many topics. I can skim over the top of things and just pick up what I need to know, leaving the rest for later. I can come back to a topic, after years of leaving it all sitting on a shelf. I can do whatever I want the way I want to do it—and it all sticks in my brain somewhere along the way. I have books that I have been reading for more than twenty years—as in I started reading it twenty years ago and I am still not finished reading the entire thing yet—and it’s ok—I am still aware of the beginning of the book all the way up to where I am in the book, every time I pick it up, even if I have to flip back and speed-read a little here and there to refresh my brain. I love that.
These days I prefer distance learning, things I can do at my own pace, in my own way, if I have to advocate something the rest of the country finds palatable. Personally I don’t care about certifications or associations or anything else, although I am trying hard to swallow the bilious fact that I need to pull all my old records together so that I can say—here’s where I’ve been and how I know how to do this and why—although most of my associations I would prefer to remain clandestine. Gods above, I don’t even want to admit who fathered my children in open public. I’ll widely tout my children—just not the biological donors responsible—not any of them.
How does your mind relate to your body?
This is sort of a weird question for me actually. For years, my heart and brain were disconnected from my body. It has been a slow integration process. Even now my body has reactions that I cannot figure out how to mentally assess or process. Things are more cohesive these days, but there is still a lot trapped in my musculature that I cannot wrap my brain around. Brain and body usually work well together these days, for the most part, but there are still quirks.
Where is your name from?
As far as I know, my dad picked it from the tv show Bewitched.
I do know my dad refused to allow my mom to name me, as was the custom in my mother’s family, Mary Catherine (the first daughter of the first daughter is always named Mary Catherine in my mother’s family).
I do know my middle name is my great-grandmother’s first name. Even though I change the spelling off and on out of sheer spite and force of will—it’s a matter of aesthetics with me.
I do know that there is a Tabitha in the Christian bible: Acts 9:36-42
Aramaic origin means gazelle. Somewhere along the line one of the readings I read, when I was about 10 or 11 said my name means beloved of God.
What is the first thought that crossed your mind this morning?
Same thought that crosses my mind every morning—how much longer can I sleep until I absolutely cannot stay in bed another second………
What motivates you the most?
I would love to say something pithy here—like my children—or society as a whole—or the desire to be a good person—but actually it is sheer stubbornness of will. I simply will not lay down and die—but I am not going to just sit still and wait for Death to approach either. I motivate me—I make me get up and do things—even if it takes awhile for me to really want to do them.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Little Blue Book (Pictures Forthcoming Upon Finish)
My altered Alyce book is coming along. I am not really happy with it though. I really should have waited for the gesso.
First I removed half the pages of the book.
Then I painted with blues and white for the backgrounds on each remaining page.
I pulled out my rubber stamps and stamped things, using black ink pads.
I glued on various pictures in various fashions.
I glued the metal pieces on for the closure.
I glued in buttons for one scene. Fabric for one scene. Leaves on one scene. Etc. I am not yet done gluing—or drawing.
I began to add the poetry in this morning—with a regular black marker. Not a special permanent ink one or anything. The ink bleeds through the pages too much. Only here and there. But still. It’s bleeding through. Which annoys me.
Some aspects I do like though. In places the black of the ink pad cancels out the black of the marker but for a shadowed affect. I like that.
I really like the way some of the glued-in pictures turned out.
I haven’t finished gluing things in, colouring certain bits in w coloured pencil, or adding poetry. I will post the poetic bits later on, probably under photos of the pages.
But at least I am working on it, a little bit every day.
First I removed half the pages of the book.
Then I painted with blues and white for the backgrounds on each remaining page.
I pulled out my rubber stamps and stamped things, using black ink pads.
I glued on various pictures in various fashions.
I glued the metal pieces on for the closure.
I glued in buttons for one scene. Fabric for one scene. Leaves on one scene. Etc. I am not yet done gluing—or drawing.
I began to add the poetry in this morning—with a regular black marker. Not a special permanent ink one or anything. The ink bleeds through the pages too much. Only here and there. But still. It’s bleeding through. Which annoys me.
Some aspects I do like though. In places the black of the ink pad cancels out the black of the marker but for a shadowed affect. I like that.
I really like the way some of the glued-in pictures turned out.
I haven’t finished gluing things in, colouring certain bits in w coloured pencil, or adding poetry. I will post the poetic bits later on, probably under photos of the pages.
But at least I am working on it, a little bit every day.
Simple Cheese Lasagna
This is my recipe for some very basic lasagna.
Now, I have tried for years to make the very best tasting lasagna ever for the ex. And I never really liked it any of the times I made it for him. I never liked the chili I made for him either. Or a grand myriad of other things either. Although he always liked everything I made him, according to what he told me and the way he ate everything, I never really felt like I was doing a good enough job. Not compared to his mother. I would struggle with recipes and ingredients. She would go to her kitchen and whip something fantastic up faster than you could wink.
I have been meaning to make lasagna as a thank you for my best friend for weeks now. I bought the stuff to make it a couple weeks ago. The ricotta cheese was not close to its expiration date, but why push it? Plus, my daughter has been asking me to make it for her too ever since she heard that her uncle wanted some. Between the three of us, we all decided that cheese lasagna was the way to go.
I bought about 6 cans of spaghetti sauce, various flavours and styles. I bought a pound of whole milk mozzarella cheese. I bought 4 bags of pre-shredded cheese in a variety of mixes, only one of which was completely mozzarella. I bought two boxes of lasagna noodles. I bought two 15 ounce containers of ricotta cheese, one whole milk and one skim milk.
Do you know I didn’t use most of what I bought? Good thing is we can use it again later on in other recipes.
I cooked the entire box of lasagna noodles. I should have only cooked half of them. These noodles turned out perfectly. I undercooked them. Way al dente. In addition, I left them in the water instead of rinsing them or anything. Nothing stuck to anything else. Not one noodle fell apart, even when I wanted it to since the pan was a steep oval and some smaller pieces would have come in handy. I have never had lasagna noodles turn out this well before.
Ingredients used in this recipe:
Half box of lasagna noodles, cooked al dente
2 cans of chunky spaghetti sauce
2- 15 ounce containers of ricotta cheese
2 bags of shredded cheese (one was mozzarella and one was Italian cheeses mixed)
3 large eggs
handful of various herbs and spices
I will assume here you know how to cook the lasagna noodles.
I put the ricotta cheeses together in a bowl. I added three whole large eggs. I added a heavy dose of my herbes de Provence, a heaping teaspoon of minced garlic with the juice, some basil, some sage and some ground mixed pepper.
I used egg beaters to blend this mix into a lovely consistency. Then I set it aside.
I was a little worried here when the dog refused to even touch the egg beaters when I was done, but she is becoming a very finicky thing in her old age (she’s ten months old now).
I doused the bottom of the baking dish (an oval dutch oven looking thing) with olive oil. I splashed sauce along the bottom and swooshed it around so that the sauce covered the whole area.
I added a layer of overlapping noodles, because the shape of the pan made it necessary to have the edges overlap in places.
I added half the ricotta mixture and smoothed it out over the noodles.
I sprinkled the two shredded cheeses over the ricotta.
I added another layer of overlapping noodles.
I poured the rest of the spaghetti sauce over those noodles.
Another layer of the ricotta, using all of it this time.
Another layer of the shredded cheeses.
Another layer of overlapping noodles.
This time I poured an entire can of spaghetti sauce over the top of everything.
Then I sprinkled the remainder of the shredded cheese over the top.
I covered the dish and put it in a 375 degree oven for forty-five minutes.
After 45 minutes I took the cover off, and let the dish cook for another fifteen minutes.
Then I checked on the dish to see if it was getting too brown – because if it gets too brown the kids won’t touch it. The cheese had melted but had barely begun to turn any colour other than white.
I left the dish in the oven for another 20 minutes with the heat off simply because the kids were playing on the computer and interrupting them when they are both giggling madly together is not a good thing. Moreover, the lasagna was done a lot sooner than I had thought it would be.
E had the first piece, since she swears she’s never tried lasagna before. She did pull out the chunks of tomato, which I expected, but she wolfed everything else down and asked for another piece—not just another piece but a HUGE piece.
N had to watch E eat her first piece before he asked for some. Then he too had another big piece for seconds.
Apparently, the discerning dog desires her food cooked, because she was in heaven eating the bits and pieces left on everyone’s plates.
For me personally, it was the best lasagna I have ever made. And it tasted so good too.
Enjoy!
Now, I have tried for years to make the very best tasting lasagna ever for the ex. And I never really liked it any of the times I made it for him. I never liked the chili I made for him either. Or a grand myriad of other things either. Although he always liked everything I made him, according to what he told me and the way he ate everything, I never really felt like I was doing a good enough job. Not compared to his mother. I would struggle with recipes and ingredients. She would go to her kitchen and whip something fantastic up faster than you could wink.
I have been meaning to make lasagna as a thank you for my best friend for weeks now. I bought the stuff to make it a couple weeks ago. The ricotta cheese was not close to its expiration date, but why push it? Plus, my daughter has been asking me to make it for her too ever since she heard that her uncle wanted some. Between the three of us, we all decided that cheese lasagna was the way to go.
I bought about 6 cans of spaghetti sauce, various flavours and styles. I bought a pound of whole milk mozzarella cheese. I bought 4 bags of pre-shredded cheese in a variety of mixes, only one of which was completely mozzarella. I bought two boxes of lasagna noodles. I bought two 15 ounce containers of ricotta cheese, one whole milk and one skim milk.
Do you know I didn’t use most of what I bought? Good thing is we can use it again later on in other recipes.
I cooked the entire box of lasagna noodles. I should have only cooked half of them. These noodles turned out perfectly. I undercooked them. Way al dente. In addition, I left them in the water instead of rinsing them or anything. Nothing stuck to anything else. Not one noodle fell apart, even when I wanted it to since the pan was a steep oval and some smaller pieces would have come in handy. I have never had lasagna noodles turn out this well before.
Ingredients used in this recipe:
Half box of lasagna noodles, cooked al dente
2 cans of chunky spaghetti sauce
2- 15 ounce containers of ricotta cheese
2 bags of shredded cheese (one was mozzarella and one was Italian cheeses mixed)
3 large eggs
handful of various herbs and spices
I will assume here you know how to cook the lasagna noodles.
I put the ricotta cheeses together in a bowl. I added three whole large eggs. I added a heavy dose of my herbes de Provence, a heaping teaspoon of minced garlic with the juice, some basil, some sage and some ground mixed pepper.
I used egg beaters to blend this mix into a lovely consistency. Then I set it aside.
I was a little worried here when the dog refused to even touch the egg beaters when I was done, but she is becoming a very finicky thing in her old age (she’s ten months old now).
I doused the bottom of the baking dish (an oval dutch oven looking thing) with olive oil. I splashed sauce along the bottom and swooshed it around so that the sauce covered the whole area.
I added a layer of overlapping noodles, because the shape of the pan made it necessary to have the edges overlap in places.
I added half the ricotta mixture and smoothed it out over the noodles.
I sprinkled the two shredded cheeses over the ricotta.
I added another layer of overlapping noodles.
I poured the rest of the spaghetti sauce over those noodles.
Another layer of the ricotta, using all of it this time.
Another layer of the shredded cheeses.
Another layer of overlapping noodles.
This time I poured an entire can of spaghetti sauce over the top of everything.
Then I sprinkled the remainder of the shredded cheese over the top.
I covered the dish and put it in a 375 degree oven for forty-five minutes.
After 45 minutes I took the cover off, and let the dish cook for another fifteen minutes.
Then I checked on the dish to see if it was getting too brown – because if it gets too brown the kids won’t touch it. The cheese had melted but had barely begun to turn any colour other than white.
I left the dish in the oven for another 20 minutes with the heat off simply because the kids were playing on the computer and interrupting them when they are both giggling madly together is not a good thing. Moreover, the lasagna was done a lot sooner than I had thought it would be.
E had the first piece, since she swears she’s never tried lasagna before. She did pull out the chunks of tomato, which I expected, but she wolfed everything else down and asked for another piece—not just another piece but a HUGE piece.
N had to watch E eat her first piece before he asked for some. Then he too had another big piece for seconds.
Apparently, the discerning dog desires her food cooked, because she was in heaven eating the bits and pieces left on everyone’s plates.
For me personally, it was the best lasagna I have ever made. And it tasted so good too.
Enjoy!
This Week's Writing Update
I didn’t think I would be able to get much writing done w N here this week-end. Some days when he is here I often wonder if I will make it up by 9a to log in to work. This morning, thanks to it being so chilly and my own inability to sleep, I actually did get up—and eventually settle in to write a little before I had to log in. I had roughly 40 minutes to write by the time that I had N settled down and breakfast and cartoons and whatever else he needed.
Word count for the first week:
Monday (first day) - 926 words (not counting the myriad of email flying that morning—that alone should more than triple my count—but I didn’t realize I “should” count every single word I type or write in my word count—since I do morning word count and that’s it. I figure I meet my goal and the rest is all gravy, right?)
Tuesday-1599 words—Monday was the only day this week I managed to get up around 7a. The rest of the week I was lucky to claw my way out of bed by 8a to stumble into my chair to write. Can we say cathartic experience though? Better than meditation first thing in the morning. Better than morning pages first thing in the morning. Even better than asana practise first thing in the morning.
Wednesday-1779 words—and I even have a pm word count here too of 797. I was on a roll.
Thursday-2334 words—I took Natalie Goldberg’s advice. In her book, “Writing Down The Bones”, she says she writes first thing in the morning, before brushing her teeth or anything else. Straight out of bed and into the writing. I modified that somewhat for myself. I have to let the dog out. I have to brush my teeth and use the facilities. And I need a drink too. By the time I am done in the bathroom and have my drink ready, my computer is booted and ready for me, and the dog is ready to come in, whether she likes it or not. This schedule is really working for me. My best time of day is when the kids are asleep in the morning. E usually sleeps til 10 or 11a. Nights are for knitting and whatever.
Friday-1222 words
This morning, Saturday, even with the false starts and the initial interruptions, 1106 words.
I ordered “No Plot? No Problem!” by Chris Baty and it arrived this week—it came FAST. I was very surprised with the shipping—but I am not knocking it. It’s great.
This has to be the very best book on writing I have ever read. To the point where every writer’s course, every creative writing course, literature arts program I have ever taken I could throw out the window—and I have thrown out the window—of course, if you know me, you know I was already fed up enough with them while I was taking them and I threw much of them out the window to begin with anyway. All my how to write books, all my books on writing by writers, all my artist way type books—don’t need them. I read everything I needed to know in the introduction of ‘No Plot?’.
You can say you want to write all your life and never do a darn thing but talk. Or you can shut up, take the plunge, and bloody well write. Writing is writing—editing and fleshing out can come later on. Just put the main thoughts down onto paper and move. The rest can come later—or you can toss the entire thing. Either way, there is a HUGE difference in saying I am going to write some day and I am writing now.
I personally am writing NOW.
This November I will enter the NaNoWriMo—and I will finish it. What am I going to be doing in the mean time? Establishing new habits so that I can bilk writing time out of every single day no matter what goes on or what happens. I am currently in the middle of chapter 4 of “No Plot?” and I have goals. And as the book so recommends I plan to shout from the rooftops that I am doing this, that I will be writing a book in 30 days, along with a bunch of other real writers world-wide. With my current daily word-count I think I can do it—under 1700 words per day. I think I can do it. I know I can do it. I work for an hour a day, roughly, usually less, so an hour in the morning and whatever other time I need to squeeze in—I don’t see that as bad.
The good thing that has come from this 1000 words per day every morning thing is I am exploring the Fifth Realm stuff more. I am working on a lot more non-fiction than I would have said I would. Plus, I have another story floating that comes from a dream I had just a couple days ago. There is nothing at all to it except for one scene. But the possibilities are just – so open and phenomenal.
It’s good to get the juices flowing again. I haven’t been in space like this since I was in high school—when I wrote all day long every day because school was so bloody boring.
Word count for the first week:
Monday (first day) - 926 words (not counting the myriad of email flying that morning—that alone should more than triple my count—but I didn’t realize I “should” count every single word I type or write in my word count—since I do morning word count and that’s it. I figure I meet my goal and the rest is all gravy, right?)
Tuesday-1599 words—Monday was the only day this week I managed to get up around 7a. The rest of the week I was lucky to claw my way out of bed by 8a to stumble into my chair to write. Can we say cathartic experience though? Better than meditation first thing in the morning. Better than morning pages first thing in the morning. Even better than asana practise first thing in the morning.
Wednesday-1779 words—and I even have a pm word count here too of 797. I was on a roll.
Thursday-2334 words—I took Natalie Goldberg’s advice. In her book, “Writing Down The Bones”, she says she writes first thing in the morning, before brushing her teeth or anything else. Straight out of bed and into the writing. I modified that somewhat for myself. I have to let the dog out. I have to brush my teeth and use the facilities. And I need a drink too. By the time I am done in the bathroom and have my drink ready, my computer is booted and ready for me, and the dog is ready to come in, whether she likes it or not. This schedule is really working for me. My best time of day is when the kids are asleep in the morning. E usually sleeps til 10 or 11a. Nights are for knitting and whatever.
Friday-1222 words
This morning, Saturday, even with the false starts and the initial interruptions, 1106 words.
I ordered “No Plot? No Problem!” by Chris Baty and it arrived this week—it came FAST. I was very surprised with the shipping—but I am not knocking it. It’s great.
This has to be the very best book on writing I have ever read. To the point where every writer’s course, every creative writing course, literature arts program I have ever taken I could throw out the window—and I have thrown out the window—of course, if you know me, you know I was already fed up enough with them while I was taking them and I threw much of them out the window to begin with anyway. All my how to write books, all my books on writing by writers, all my artist way type books—don’t need them. I read everything I needed to know in the introduction of ‘No Plot?’.
You can say you want to write all your life and never do a darn thing but talk. Or you can shut up, take the plunge, and bloody well write. Writing is writing—editing and fleshing out can come later on. Just put the main thoughts down onto paper and move. The rest can come later—or you can toss the entire thing. Either way, there is a HUGE difference in saying I am going to write some day and I am writing now.
I personally am writing NOW.
This November I will enter the NaNoWriMo—and I will finish it. What am I going to be doing in the mean time? Establishing new habits so that I can bilk writing time out of every single day no matter what goes on or what happens. I am currently in the middle of chapter 4 of “No Plot?” and I have goals. And as the book so recommends I plan to shout from the rooftops that I am doing this, that I will be writing a book in 30 days, along with a bunch of other real writers world-wide. With my current daily word-count I think I can do it—under 1700 words per day. I think I can do it. I know I can do it. I work for an hour a day, roughly, usually less, so an hour in the morning and whatever other time I need to squeeze in—I don’t see that as bad.
The good thing that has come from this 1000 words per day every morning thing is I am exploring the Fifth Realm stuff more. I am working on a lot more non-fiction than I would have said I would. Plus, I have another story floating that comes from a dream I had just a couple days ago. There is nothing at all to it except for one scene. But the possibilities are just – so open and phenomenal.
It’s good to get the juices flowing again. I haven’t been in space like this since I was in high school—when I wrote all day long every day because school was so bloody boring.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Dream Of A Toy-Maker
I think I need to re-think how I think about dolls. I need to re-think what I think about dolls, what I think a doll “is”.
Now, I have an abundance of doll-making books, from Waldorf-style dolls to beaded art dolls. I have joined various online groups. I receive numerous newsletters and email updates. I peek at different blogs and websites at random. Plus, I do nothing but scour etsy.com for hours on end, especially when I am on calls, looking at everything and nothing in particular. Not to mention, I have run across divergent creatures called dolls in my anthropological studies as well.
When I think “doll”, I think a cuddly smaller version of a human infant. A squeezable toy to love and hug and sleep snuggled up against my chest, as I did when I was a child. But even some of my own doll creations cannot match that standard. My own unbeaded ‘Bobbsey Twin” dolls are roughly five inch tall teardrops. Black teardrops. They have no edifying marks to designate them as anything. Yet, unequivocally, to me they are dolls. Sofia, with whom I have slept, is a rectangle that has been rounded on one side and has a face first sewn and now glued on. Elannah is a knitted figure that has hair and little else. Yet, these dolls are still lovable. Elannah is my son’s special favourite when he’s here. It’s the hair and the soft squishy body. Or so he tells me.
I have been wanting a doll of my own. I have the pullip doll. I have the Frida doll the ex got me ages ago. I got the Alice doll for my birthday, even though it is smaller than I had thought it would be. I have the dolls I have made myself. None of it feels “right”. I go to etsy.com, searching for nothing in particular, and I find these art dolls that vibrate within me. I find a raven spirit doll that makes my heart soar. These are not the ten or twelve inch human-like figures. One is sticks and bits of leaf wrapped in twine with a jewel for a face. This is the doll that speaks to me. This is the doll from which I find myself unable to look away.
I have a tin full of little doll faces that I made from a mold and some clay. The same face I see on many of these dolls, blank shiny moon face, awaiting its paint and its beauty to be drawn on to its smooth surface. I often catch myself picking the tin up, flipping open the lid, and staring down at all those miniscule creations as they patiently smile in wait for their physical forms to be complete. Forms I may dream of, yet have not begun to plan to build.
It was the raven spirit doll that began to sing within me. This little five inch long bit of bracken and dust came to visit in my dreams, chanting and swaying, awakening something else within me. Before I pick up a beading needle to put to a doll again, I want to take classes, or get a dvd, or something. I need to be able to sit in front of someone and watch them do the beadwork before I will have enough confidence to try it on my own. Then maybe the Bobbsey twins on my altar will be more than dark spots of love doting mutely on me.
Any small rectangle of cloth, knotted on three ends constitutes a cunning child’s toy. Give me a little time and some decent glues and paints and watch what I can do. Any stick represents a doll. A few feathers and a stone or two and I can turn it into something even more magical.
I give myself permission to make dolls. I give myself permission to make dolls out of anything and everything my heart desires. I give myself permission to make these dolls for fun, for gifts, for friends, for loved ones. I give myself permission to sell these dolls. I give myself permission to throw them away, or to let the dog have them to chew, if I am not satisfied with them in any way.
I also give myself permission to incubate, to gather more information. I give myself permission to buy more doll-related books, whatever topic that may turn out to be (like mythology). I give myself permission to read and to study. I give myself permission to take classes, to go to seminars. I give myself permission to speak up, to speak out, and just to be.
I can be more than a toy-maker. I can be a Doll Creator. And that is what I want to be.
copyright 2009 TK Kietero
all rights reserved
Now, I have an abundance of doll-making books, from Waldorf-style dolls to beaded art dolls. I have joined various online groups. I receive numerous newsletters and email updates. I peek at different blogs and websites at random. Plus, I do nothing but scour etsy.com for hours on end, especially when I am on calls, looking at everything and nothing in particular. Not to mention, I have run across divergent creatures called dolls in my anthropological studies as well.
When I think “doll”, I think a cuddly smaller version of a human infant. A squeezable toy to love and hug and sleep snuggled up against my chest, as I did when I was a child. But even some of my own doll creations cannot match that standard. My own unbeaded ‘Bobbsey Twin” dolls are roughly five inch tall teardrops. Black teardrops. They have no edifying marks to designate them as anything. Yet, unequivocally, to me they are dolls. Sofia, with whom I have slept, is a rectangle that has been rounded on one side and has a face first sewn and now glued on. Elannah is a knitted figure that has hair and little else. Yet, these dolls are still lovable. Elannah is my son’s special favourite when he’s here. It’s the hair and the soft squishy body. Or so he tells me.
I have been wanting a doll of my own. I have the pullip doll. I have the Frida doll the ex got me ages ago. I got the Alice doll for my birthday, even though it is smaller than I had thought it would be. I have the dolls I have made myself. None of it feels “right”. I go to etsy.com, searching for nothing in particular, and I find these art dolls that vibrate within me. I find a raven spirit doll that makes my heart soar. These are not the ten or twelve inch human-like figures. One is sticks and bits of leaf wrapped in twine with a jewel for a face. This is the doll that speaks to me. This is the doll from which I find myself unable to look away.
I have a tin full of little doll faces that I made from a mold and some clay. The same face I see on many of these dolls, blank shiny moon face, awaiting its paint and its beauty to be drawn on to its smooth surface. I often catch myself picking the tin up, flipping open the lid, and staring down at all those miniscule creations as they patiently smile in wait for their physical forms to be complete. Forms I may dream of, yet have not begun to plan to build.
It was the raven spirit doll that began to sing within me. This little five inch long bit of bracken and dust came to visit in my dreams, chanting and swaying, awakening something else within me. Before I pick up a beading needle to put to a doll again, I want to take classes, or get a dvd, or something. I need to be able to sit in front of someone and watch them do the beadwork before I will have enough confidence to try it on my own. Then maybe the Bobbsey twins on my altar will be more than dark spots of love doting mutely on me.
Any small rectangle of cloth, knotted on three ends constitutes a cunning child’s toy. Give me a little time and some decent glues and paints and watch what I can do. Any stick represents a doll. A few feathers and a stone or two and I can turn it into something even more magical.
I give myself permission to make dolls. I give myself permission to make dolls out of anything and everything my heart desires. I give myself permission to make these dolls for fun, for gifts, for friends, for loved ones. I give myself permission to sell these dolls. I give myself permission to throw them away, or to let the dog have them to chew, if I am not satisfied with them in any way.
I also give myself permission to incubate, to gather more information. I give myself permission to buy more doll-related books, whatever topic that may turn out to be (like mythology). I give myself permission to read and to study. I give myself permission to take classes, to go to seminars. I give myself permission to speak up, to speak out, and just to be.
I can be more than a toy-maker. I can be a Doll Creator. And that is what I want to be.
copyright 2009 TK Kietero
all rights reserved
The Queen's Presence
I am not actually certain when the Octopus began to come to me in my dreams. I am even less certain when She began to manifest in my daily life. The sheer suddenness of Her appearance in my life is a little daunting. Before I really had a chance to know what was happening, I was online scanning pictures for “the right” picture. Once I found it, it was a simple process to find a decent tattoo parlor. I went once to get some test work done, small simple tattoos that I figured even a monkey could do. The details of the final product of my simple designs thrilled me to no end. I scheduled another appointment right there to have the work done on the Masterpiece.
My tattoo is not too large. It is roughly five inches by seven inches. It is by far the largest one I have now. I have many tattoos. Whenever I get a new tattoo there is an internal acceptance process my body goes through in order to assimilate the ink and the spiritual import. I get a little sick, usually for a day or two. For me, it’s like getting a deep-tissue massage that releases every toxin that my body has stored and I have to drink lots of fluids and rest as I release everything and re-organise internally. When I got the Queen tattoo, I was dog-sick for over a week. Now, other than some very small areas in some rather small tattoos, I had not had much colour work before. The Queen is in full-colour. And She is extremely life-like.
Now, during my search for “the” picture, I also tried to do as much research on the animal itself as I could. I had always liked octopus. The one Jacque Costeau program I have seen when I was a young child that stuck with me was the one about the octopus and Jacque asking if someone thought the octopus could feel pleasure. I found a lot of biological information. I found out about the tentacles, the intelligence, the shape-shifting, the mimicry. I watched videos of octopus snatching sharks from the water and eating them. I watched videos of the depth of octopus camouflage. I watched videos of octopus in captivity who squeezed through horribly tiny tubes and pipes and holes. I watched video of octopus leaving the water of their own tank and moving through the air and dry land to get to other food sources, in or out of another nearby tank. I read accounts of octopus interactions with humans and otherwise.
I read whatever mythology I could find as well. What I read left a lot to be desired. Are octopus simply aliens from another planet? Are they the last of their kind of the creatures who ruled Earth before humans gained ascension? Are they the Dream Weavers? Have they come from a different dimension? The stories that I did find were short and without much detail.
I know, as a ShapeShifter, that I need to do my own research, my own inner work. I have gathered information from outside sources. Now I must find what the Octopus means to me.
There are a vast many correlations between one Guardian (Grandmother Spider) and the other Guardian (Queen Octopus) in my Life. I have been under the protection and at the discretion of Grandmother Spider since I was a small child. Spider has eight legs. Octopus has eight legs. Both are said to have climbed from one World into another. Each has similarities, but each also strays farther into deeper paths away from one another.
Octopus regenerate. They change colors. They have ink or poison, for not all octopus have ink. They come in sizes from very tiny to absolutely huge. They are intelligent beyond what humans are usually willing to accept from an “animal”. They can survive both on land (for short time periods) and in the water. They morph into whatever shape is needed for the situation. Octopus do not fit into a mold; there is no “box” into which we can stuff an octopus and say—stay there, as we do with most other species we know. Octopus are Other-Worldly.
My own studies led me to specialize in the blue-ring octopus. She is an extremely defensive mother, cradling her young in her arms until they hatch, at which time she withers away and dies, her life force continuing in her young. She is the smallest of octopus. She has no ink. Her rings are hidden until she releases her poison. If you see the blue rings light up, you are already dead as the poison is already in the water and you are already surrounded by it and being killed by it. She is protective of her home. She is not aggressive. She does prefer to swim away, if no eggs are present, rather than fight or kill. All she wants is to hunt for her dinner and then go home, left in peace and unmolested.
I walk this Path. I walk through the Worlds, Known and Unknown. I see the Savagery, yet I am not a part of it. I feel the Pain of the masses, wherever I go. I cannot escape that. It is not my job to Heal them. It is not my job to Free them. Those who come to me for help take only what they will from the experience. I force nothing upon them. I am not the Enemy. I am not the Master. I am merely on a Journey, a wandering minstrel, taking in the Sights, waiting for my feet to turn the right direction and lead me straight into my Home.
copyright 2009 TK Kietero
all rights reserved
My tattoo is not too large. It is roughly five inches by seven inches. It is by far the largest one I have now. I have many tattoos. Whenever I get a new tattoo there is an internal acceptance process my body goes through in order to assimilate the ink and the spiritual import. I get a little sick, usually for a day or two. For me, it’s like getting a deep-tissue massage that releases every toxin that my body has stored and I have to drink lots of fluids and rest as I release everything and re-organise internally. When I got the Queen tattoo, I was dog-sick for over a week. Now, other than some very small areas in some rather small tattoos, I had not had much colour work before. The Queen is in full-colour. And She is extremely life-like.
Now, during my search for “the” picture, I also tried to do as much research on the animal itself as I could. I had always liked octopus. The one Jacque Costeau program I have seen when I was a young child that stuck with me was the one about the octopus and Jacque asking if someone thought the octopus could feel pleasure. I found a lot of biological information. I found out about the tentacles, the intelligence, the shape-shifting, the mimicry. I watched videos of octopus snatching sharks from the water and eating them. I watched videos of the depth of octopus camouflage. I watched videos of octopus in captivity who squeezed through horribly tiny tubes and pipes and holes. I watched video of octopus leaving the water of their own tank and moving through the air and dry land to get to other food sources, in or out of another nearby tank. I read accounts of octopus interactions with humans and otherwise.
I read whatever mythology I could find as well. What I read left a lot to be desired. Are octopus simply aliens from another planet? Are they the last of their kind of the creatures who ruled Earth before humans gained ascension? Are they the Dream Weavers? Have they come from a different dimension? The stories that I did find were short and without much detail.
I know, as a ShapeShifter, that I need to do my own research, my own inner work. I have gathered information from outside sources. Now I must find what the Octopus means to me.
There are a vast many correlations between one Guardian (Grandmother Spider) and the other Guardian (Queen Octopus) in my Life. I have been under the protection and at the discretion of Grandmother Spider since I was a small child. Spider has eight legs. Octopus has eight legs. Both are said to have climbed from one World into another. Each has similarities, but each also strays farther into deeper paths away from one another.
Octopus regenerate. They change colors. They have ink or poison, for not all octopus have ink. They come in sizes from very tiny to absolutely huge. They are intelligent beyond what humans are usually willing to accept from an “animal”. They can survive both on land (for short time periods) and in the water. They morph into whatever shape is needed for the situation. Octopus do not fit into a mold; there is no “box” into which we can stuff an octopus and say—stay there, as we do with most other species we know. Octopus are Other-Worldly.
My own studies led me to specialize in the blue-ring octopus. She is an extremely defensive mother, cradling her young in her arms until they hatch, at which time she withers away and dies, her life force continuing in her young. She is the smallest of octopus. She has no ink. Her rings are hidden until she releases her poison. If you see the blue rings light up, you are already dead as the poison is already in the water and you are already surrounded by it and being killed by it. She is protective of her home. She is not aggressive. She does prefer to swim away, if no eggs are present, rather than fight or kill. All she wants is to hunt for her dinner and then go home, left in peace and unmolested.
I walk this Path. I walk through the Worlds, Known and Unknown. I see the Savagery, yet I am not a part of it. I feel the Pain of the masses, wherever I go. I cannot escape that. It is not my job to Heal them. It is not my job to Free them. Those who come to me for help take only what they will from the experience. I force nothing upon them. I am not the Enemy. I am not the Master. I am merely on a Journey, a wandering minstrel, taking in the Sights, waiting for my feet to turn the right direction and lead me straight into my Home.
copyright 2009 TK Kietero
all rights reserved
Writing
Joining the writer's groups has helped me ALOT more than I thought it would. And it wasn't the group challenges that have helped me either. It's listening (fine, reading) to what other people have set themselves as goals. One woman was keeping track of her writing--and she is a 'published writer' :-) --her goal is to write 1000 words a day. At first I was thinking, wow, 1000 words, huh. That could be tough. I have email readings where 500 words kills me trying to draw out something I could say in 5 words and be done, but work requires the added verbiage. I have been at it for three days now. The first day I wrote over 900 words and thought I was good. That is 900+ words for the intro to a story--not counting the vast amount of email I typed and sent during that 30-45 minute period I was 'writing'. Yesterday it was over 1500 words. Today it was over 1700 words. It takes me less than an hour, without the added help of email, to write that much. I go to bed planning what I will get up and work on.
I am no longer afraid of November or NanoWrite. I've started a novel several Novembers. I jsut never really went anywhere with anything. Worse, it's all the same novel. :-)
I am not holding myself to working 'just' on the novel right now. Right now I am just trying to train myself to write, every morning, and then we can flow into other things. Even though the majority of what I have written is novel-bound.
I am also slowly working my way back into the swing of the writer's group I was in last year that I just sort of abandoned after the move. At least I am keeping up with posts. I am working on a squidoo presence--I am still leery of appearing like an idiot. Although give me a couple more weeks and I will start pimping out my best friend since he will need a new girlfriend.
Plus, I have been doing research here and there on other sources for my writing as well. As much as I want the novel to be written and published--I want to move back into the non-fiction field again. There are even more fears attached to that one, mostly having to do with the people I used to associate with--and the x. I hate writing knowing he could use it against me--but then-- he never really did get me. Between the non-fiction work I do and the erotica I write and what I prefer--he missed alot about me. His loss--because he is definitely not my loss.
Anyway....I have to write in private for awhile to get over that part. And even now I feel that tug of, no I must hide this, quivering in my breast about things that I need to write about and need to publish. The other fear I have is not that what I write will be used against me in a court of law (x), but that my personal truths and purposes will be used against me in other ways--but I won't get into that--because deep down I know--it can't. As silly as it seems. The weird things I learned--like how to ensure no one can use your own hair against you. Very simple things that the majority of people just miss or don't believe. Pity them. I don't, but you can. I guess someone has to, but it won't be me anymore.
Who knows Maybe the ex was right all those years ago and I will be the Leader of my own Cult. Can you see it? Another Farm --I can see it--and I can relish the thought. It takes alot of work though. But that is something I can do.
No real knitting news. Other than I threw my lovely purple hat in the wash to felt it and shrink it a little. I did not throw it in the dryer. It's alpaca as the base of it, so it did tame down a little. We'll see how much later on this morning when I head towards doing laundry again.
Do you know what was wrong with my washing machine? My daughter. She sat on the washer--or climbed on it to get to the stuff on the shelves--and knocked the spin cycle pin (you know, you close the door and the spin works; you open the door and the spin stops for safety's sake) loose. Our resident Macgyver came over and fixed it with a piece from a curtain rod hanger thingy. Works great now--and I have been washing blankets and towels ever since. Haven't folded a thing, but plan to get to that--some time today--if I have to. I hate to fold clothes--I really do.
Have to work on the laundry. Have to get the dishes done. We have a curling iron now and I was so preoccupied yesterday (with just not being near cartoons or anything else) that I didn't curl E's hair--even though I did mean to. I kinda hope I can do it. I don't know much about curling irons. I never used one myself as a teen-ager--I had curly hair. Plus, I learned quick if I want my hair to look good the less I touch it the better. It still stands that way today as well. The less I do, the better I look. Period. :-) Have to make cheese cake today, because I was in a mood yesterday and not about to do anything that would create more havoc in the kitchen. Since the washer died we've had the needing to be washed blankets on the floor by the washer--which is on the other side of the refrigerator--which means most of my kitchen was under laundry. Not a good place for me. My sink is small, even though it has 2 sides to it--which means if you put 1 dish in it it looks full. I am planning to replace the double sink with one great big one without dividers or anything. I am not planning to replace the cabinets though--them I want to strip and paint more than anything. But we'll get to that.
I have all my plants ready to be ordered for the landscaping party I am planning. That means me--I am planning to landscape. I found a place that will get me alot more than I originally wanted for alot less--we were going to order through the arbor day foundation--but when I can get 5 plants elsewhere for the price of one through the arbor day foundation--guess where I am going. I am planning to order several different kinds of roses too--I think at least three kinds. But only one is going in front of the house's front windows. The other ones--I have to think about a bit.
I can't wait. This is the stuff I love. Planting and growing things. And I am ordering castor beans--because I am buying tiger lilly bulbs--I love tiger lilies -- and should a mole try to eat my lilies I think I might just eat the mole (figuratively of course).
Ok, girl fell back to sleep now--she's been tossing and turning a bit because she was too warm--I turned the heater down and cracked the door. If I let it get too chilly I can't sleep--and neither can she. But in the mornings it works to my benefit to keep her warm because she sleeps longer and deeper--both kids when both are here. And they so dearly need good solid sleep. N always looks as if he is about to fall over the bags under his eyes are so huge, between sleep deprivation and allergies that T just says N has to learn to live with just like everyone else does. Now, as he says that, keep in mind this is the man who would lecture me relentlessly on how young children need their sleep and lots of it and why and yadayadayada--come to find out they only need sleep when he wants them asleep so he can get laid. The man who made the porn star hate sex--yep--that's him. That should say alot right there.
And before this degenerates into a bash the ex party--for which I have no time nor stomach today--I am going off to do some other things.
Oh wait. Twitter and I have issues. I know I have the right user name and password--I wrote them out in big block letters more than once now--but any time I go to log in I have to request a new password because the system won't let me in--not only does it not like the password--it doesn't like the user name. So if I let twitter twit on by, that would be why. It's too much of a hassle most of the time.
Ciao.
I am no longer afraid of November or NanoWrite. I've started a novel several Novembers. I jsut never really went anywhere with anything. Worse, it's all the same novel. :-)
I am not holding myself to working 'just' on the novel right now. Right now I am just trying to train myself to write, every morning, and then we can flow into other things. Even though the majority of what I have written is novel-bound.
I am also slowly working my way back into the swing of the writer's group I was in last year that I just sort of abandoned after the move. At least I am keeping up with posts. I am working on a squidoo presence--I am still leery of appearing like an idiot. Although give me a couple more weeks and I will start pimping out my best friend since he will need a new girlfriend.
Plus, I have been doing research here and there on other sources for my writing as well. As much as I want the novel to be written and published--I want to move back into the non-fiction field again. There are even more fears attached to that one, mostly having to do with the people I used to associate with--and the x. I hate writing knowing he could use it against me--but then-- he never really did get me. Between the non-fiction work I do and the erotica I write and what I prefer--he missed alot about me. His loss--because he is definitely not my loss.
Anyway....I have to write in private for awhile to get over that part. And even now I feel that tug of, no I must hide this, quivering in my breast about things that I need to write about and need to publish. The other fear I have is not that what I write will be used against me in a court of law (x), but that my personal truths and purposes will be used against me in other ways--but I won't get into that--because deep down I know--it can't. As silly as it seems. The weird things I learned--like how to ensure no one can use your own hair against you. Very simple things that the majority of people just miss or don't believe. Pity them. I don't, but you can. I guess someone has to, but it won't be me anymore.
Who knows Maybe the ex was right all those years ago and I will be the Leader of my own Cult. Can you see it? Another Farm --I can see it--and I can relish the thought. It takes alot of work though. But that is something I can do.
No real knitting news. Other than I threw my lovely purple hat in the wash to felt it and shrink it a little. I did not throw it in the dryer. It's alpaca as the base of it, so it did tame down a little. We'll see how much later on this morning when I head towards doing laundry again.
Do you know what was wrong with my washing machine? My daughter. She sat on the washer--or climbed on it to get to the stuff on the shelves--and knocked the spin cycle pin (you know, you close the door and the spin works; you open the door and the spin stops for safety's sake) loose. Our resident Macgyver came over and fixed it with a piece from a curtain rod hanger thingy. Works great now--and I have been washing blankets and towels ever since. Haven't folded a thing, but plan to get to that--some time today--if I have to. I hate to fold clothes--I really do.
Have to work on the laundry. Have to get the dishes done. We have a curling iron now and I was so preoccupied yesterday (with just not being near cartoons or anything else) that I didn't curl E's hair--even though I did mean to. I kinda hope I can do it. I don't know much about curling irons. I never used one myself as a teen-ager--I had curly hair. Plus, I learned quick if I want my hair to look good the less I touch it the better. It still stands that way today as well. The less I do, the better I look. Period. :-) Have to make cheese cake today, because I was in a mood yesterday and not about to do anything that would create more havoc in the kitchen. Since the washer died we've had the needing to be washed blankets on the floor by the washer--which is on the other side of the refrigerator--which means most of my kitchen was under laundry. Not a good place for me. My sink is small, even though it has 2 sides to it--which means if you put 1 dish in it it looks full. I am planning to replace the double sink with one great big one without dividers or anything. I am not planning to replace the cabinets though--them I want to strip and paint more than anything. But we'll get to that.
I have all my plants ready to be ordered for the landscaping party I am planning. That means me--I am planning to landscape. I found a place that will get me alot more than I originally wanted for alot less--we were going to order through the arbor day foundation--but when I can get 5 plants elsewhere for the price of one through the arbor day foundation--guess where I am going. I am planning to order several different kinds of roses too--I think at least three kinds. But only one is going in front of the house's front windows. The other ones--I have to think about a bit.
I can't wait. This is the stuff I love. Planting and growing things. And I am ordering castor beans--because I am buying tiger lilly bulbs--I love tiger lilies -- and should a mole try to eat my lilies I think I might just eat the mole (figuratively of course).
Ok, girl fell back to sleep now--she's been tossing and turning a bit because she was too warm--I turned the heater down and cracked the door. If I let it get too chilly I can't sleep--and neither can she. But in the mornings it works to my benefit to keep her warm because she sleeps longer and deeper--both kids when both are here. And they so dearly need good solid sleep. N always looks as if he is about to fall over the bags under his eyes are so huge, between sleep deprivation and allergies that T just says N has to learn to live with just like everyone else does. Now, as he says that, keep in mind this is the man who would lecture me relentlessly on how young children need their sleep and lots of it and why and yadayadayada--come to find out they only need sleep when he wants them asleep so he can get laid. The man who made the porn star hate sex--yep--that's him. That should say alot right there.
And before this degenerates into a bash the ex party--for which I have no time nor stomach today--I am going off to do some other things.
Oh wait. Twitter and I have issues. I know I have the right user name and password--I wrote them out in big block letters more than once now--but any time I go to log in I have to request a new password because the system won't let me in--not only does it not like the password--it doesn't like the user name. So if I let twitter twit on by, that would be why. It's too much of a hassle most of the time.
Ciao.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Reflecting
What could you never give up?
Kids excluded here--
I sat and I thought and thought about it--
at some point there is nothing I won't give up, nothing I won't walk away from.
I do have the capacity to sit up one morning and decide I've had enough--walk out of the house and never look back.
Long ago--I would have said my writing--but so? Donate it to some college or library or something.
Burn it. Whatever. I'll write more, wherever I go.
Clothes are clothes. Dogs are nice, but can be replaced.
The kids will follow me regardless, whether it be a month or a year, they will come for me.
I take it back--the one thing I won't give up ever again--is quite simply ME.
Kids excluded here--
I sat and I thought and thought about it--
at some point there is nothing I won't give up, nothing I won't walk away from.
I do have the capacity to sit up one morning and decide I've had enough--walk out of the house and never look back.
Long ago--I would have said my writing--but so? Donate it to some college or library or something.
Burn it. Whatever. I'll write more, wherever I go.
Clothes are clothes. Dogs are nice, but can be replaced.
The kids will follow me regardless, whether it be a month or a year, they will come for me.
I take it back--the one thing I won't give up ever again--is quite simply ME.
Too Much Thinking
Number one--I have to give x props because he did try to find me an octopus book for my birthday--NO ONE can find one. :-) If you have nay ideas--please email me and let me know. :-)
I have had alot of time to think--I basically stop trying to clean when my ds is here--it's not really all worth the effort--and it gets to be quite disheartening to try to keep things clean and knowing he'll just mess it up--knowing he'll go back to his dad soon and I can clean up and not have to worry......
One thing I have decided is to stop wooing my sister A and only respond to her if she sends me something.
I have not heard one word from her at all since well before we moved from WV.
I have sent emails--I have forwarded emails--I have a box sitting here for her.
We'll take the box w us to WV to drop it off, but that is pretty much the last contact I am going to force upon her.
She obviously doesn't want anything to do w me or us, so all I can do is honour her wishes.
I wish we could have more contact--but actions do speak louder than words--and her words shout--leave me alone.
So we will-unfortunately.
I joined a writer's group today, hoping the challenges would inspire me and motivate me into doing more than journalling and making lists.
I did start my Altered Alyce book yesterday too--discovered my gesso is NOT here--it was decoupage medium I saw and got excited. All I did w N here is cut out 1/2 the pages to make sure everything we'll do will fit--then that's it.
I have some ideas about the background colouration anyway--dry-brushing. We'll see.
I also found a what seems to be decent meditation group--and my goal is to meditate w them every Monday.
My writing goal is about to become 1000 words per day--have to set my goal to-start date.
Also found an Artist's Way group close too--so am looking forward to re-commencing there again.
I am coming down to the last bits on my ribbon shawl too--thankfully. Even on larger needles the yarn gets caught and makes me peckish quite often. The 2 balls after the current OTN two are the very last of the yarn. Then the fringing begins. :-)
I am actually looking forward to tiny needles and the new pretty pretty yarn.
Must finish dishes tonight--means a second run must begin before bed.
Tomorrow the laundry I shall tackle--mostly because I have so much more to wash now.
I have had alot of time to think--I basically stop trying to clean when my ds is here--it's not really all worth the effort--and it gets to be quite disheartening to try to keep things clean and knowing he'll just mess it up--knowing he'll go back to his dad soon and I can clean up and not have to worry......
One thing I have decided is to stop wooing my sister A and only respond to her if she sends me something.
I have not heard one word from her at all since well before we moved from WV.
I have sent emails--I have forwarded emails--I have a box sitting here for her.
We'll take the box w us to WV to drop it off, but that is pretty much the last contact I am going to force upon her.
She obviously doesn't want anything to do w me or us, so all I can do is honour her wishes.
I wish we could have more contact--but actions do speak louder than words--and her words shout--leave me alone.
So we will-unfortunately.
I joined a writer's group today, hoping the challenges would inspire me and motivate me into doing more than journalling and making lists.
I did start my Altered Alyce book yesterday too--discovered my gesso is NOT here--it was decoupage medium I saw and got excited. All I did w N here is cut out 1/2 the pages to make sure everything we'll do will fit--then that's it.
I have some ideas about the background colouration anyway--dry-brushing. We'll see.
I also found a what seems to be decent meditation group--and my goal is to meditate w them every Monday.
My writing goal is about to become 1000 words per day--have to set my goal to-start date.
Also found an Artist's Way group close too--so am looking forward to re-commencing there again.
I am coming down to the last bits on my ribbon shawl too--thankfully. Even on larger needles the yarn gets caught and makes me peckish quite often. The 2 balls after the current OTN two are the very last of the yarn. Then the fringing begins. :-)
I am actually looking forward to tiny needles and the new pretty pretty yarn.
Must finish dishes tonight--means a second run must begin before bed.
Tomorrow the laundry I shall tackle--mostly because I have so much more to wash now.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Today's Question
and then some too--since I found the Q&R for the Curious thanks to that email from Siona earlier. :-)
What does your body want to say to the world?
be free
breathe
live
explore
be free
What's your favorite insect?
praying mantis
how can one creature be so--meditatively engrossing while be able to scare the pants off small children, be such a good thing to have on hand to control unwanted insect populations and a creature only dreams may surround
If you could be anywhere but here, where?
Wales, deep and lost in the hills and the valleys, surrounded by sheep and the taste of sea smarting the breeze
If you have to leave Earth, what 5 things will you bring?
not counting kids or pets--
a pen with plenty of ink refills (do the refills count as one or each refill individually? or do we count ink along w the pen)
a blank journal
a comfortable pair of boots
a pair of knitting needles
my wedding ring set
What flower holds the most meaning for you?
there's a toss up
either the rose or honeysuckle
I love roses--and they hold way too much inference about the previous marriage I was in--it's a flower of hope and majesty and just perfection on so many levels to me.....
but
honeysuckle always evokes such a positive sense of well-being and bliss in me--it is the scent of all things good
and it is pretty darned tasty too in a variety of forms
Why did you choose your profile picture?
My gaia profile pic is my fave octopus seen right at the top of this blog--my blue-ringed baby.
This is also the tattoo--the exact (fairly much--this picture was the template) image of my tattoo--
There are so many things I could say about this creature--but there is so much I would prefer to keep to myself.
This creature is me--on far too many levels. See me and be warned--even though if you pass the test you will never find anyone more devoted.......
This octopus is also my guardian and my teacher--how can I deny that?
What does your body want to say to the world?
be free
breathe
live
explore
be free
What's your favorite insect?
praying mantis
how can one creature be so--meditatively engrossing while be able to scare the pants off small children, be such a good thing to have on hand to control unwanted insect populations and a creature only dreams may surround
If you could be anywhere but here, where?
Wales, deep and lost in the hills and the valleys, surrounded by sheep and the taste of sea smarting the breeze
If you have to leave Earth, what 5 things will you bring?
not counting kids or pets--
a pen with plenty of ink refills (do the refills count as one or each refill individually? or do we count ink along w the pen)
a blank journal
a comfortable pair of boots
a pair of knitting needles
my wedding ring set
What flower holds the most meaning for you?
there's a toss up
either the rose or honeysuckle
I love roses--and they hold way too much inference about the previous marriage I was in--it's a flower of hope and majesty and just perfection on so many levels to me.....
but
honeysuckle always evokes such a positive sense of well-being and bliss in me--it is the scent of all things good
and it is pretty darned tasty too in a variety of forms
Why did you choose your profile picture?
My gaia profile pic is my fave octopus seen right at the top of this blog--my blue-ringed baby.
This is also the tattoo--the exact (fairly much--this picture was the template) image of my tattoo--
There are so many things I could say about this creature--but there is so much I would prefer to keep to myself.
This creature is me--on far too many levels. See me and be warned--even though if you pass the test you will never find anyone more devoted.......
This octopus is also my guardian and my teacher--how can I deny that?
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